Mortal Allies Series

Episode 5

War and Roses

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 15: Et tu, Brute?

Chapter Notes:

My sincerest apologies for the lateness of posting this chapter. I do have a really good excuse though! Wanna hear it? Gonna tell you anyway, skip it if you want...

For a couple of weeks, a grey tabby cat has been coming and going around my boyfriend's farm. We think some people who moved left her, not sure. Anyway, she's very skittish, very hungry, but would never stay, always ate and ran.

Well, this past weekend, she showed back up with TWO KITTENS, about 6-8 weeks old. They took to hiding/hanging out under our vehicles. We couldn't even begin to catch them, they're so afraid of people, and the mother cat was having none of it either. So, we left them—feeding them, but not much more to be done at this point.

So, on Tuesday my boyfriend drives down to my house, about 65 miles, much of it on interstate highways, some of it through town and stop and go traffic.

On Wednesday night, as I was working in the yard, I would've sworn I'd heard a kitten meow. I stopped, looked around, looked under the cars... listened, nothing. No more sound. Okay, I'm losing my mind or a mockingbird has learned to meow.

On Thursday morning, my boyfriend says he thought he heard a kitten meow. We pop the hood of his pickup and, sure enough, one of the kittens is there.

ONE. OF. THE. KITTENS. IS. THERE.

IN THE ENGINE AREA.

This kitten has ridden in the undercarriage, somehow not fallen out, not been torn up by the engine, not been burned by the heat, for 65 MILES! And then, IT STAYED IN THAT GODAWFUL place for TWO DAYS AND NIGHTS.

I'm calling him/her Mad Max, Road Warrior. He/she is taking to the house like a cat to catnip! I was so afraid it would be utterly wild and un-tame-able, but it's getting less and less afraid every hour and more and more affectionate and playful. Super sweet, and clearly a badass.

-X-

Spike woke to silence and darkness.

There were no heart beats.

There were no soft sighs, or the slow, rhythmic breathing of Buffy as she slept.

There were no muffled 'woofs' from the dog as he dreamed.

There were no candles flickering.

There were no fairy lights twinkling.

He pushed up to one elbow and blinked around the room, confirming his aloneness. The only light in the windowless building seeped in around the doorframe and through the odd crack or lost knothole in the wall.

"Bugger," he muttered, his heart sinking. What had he done wrong now? Had he made a fool of himself with his confessions and tears? But she'd comforted him, and said she understood, said their mangled hearts were just right for each other.

Had Buffy expected him to ravage her, despite their furry chaperone? Had he somehow hurt her or insulted her by not at least trying something? Truth be told, he'd had in mind a bit more than sleep when he'd arranged the room, but by sending the dog out, Joyce had made her wishes known—no hanky-panky on her property. Spike didn't particularly like it, but he respected her, and wouldn't break her rules... much.

And Buffy had said the words. Those three words that meant the world. The words he hadn't been brave enough to say, not until she had. And her bravery made him love her that much more. They'd both been damaged, been hurt, had their hearts torn and tattered in the past, but she'd been the one to gather her courage, lower her walls, and open her heart to him.

God, she was fucking glorious.

And gone.

Spike put his hand on the pillow, preparing to push up to his feet. His fingers touched something... paper, it felt like. He stopped, frowning, and picked it up. Tilting it toward the wan light, he brought his demon up and read...

-x-

Hey, baby,

I had a study session already planned with Willow this afternoon, so I needed to get ready and go. Sorry to leave you like this, but you looked so peaceful, I couldn't bring myself to wake you.

I left a quilt and the big umbrella by the door for whenever you get up so you can get back to the house.

Last night was magical. Perfect. The best National Hot Chocolate Day ever! I say we make this a tradition too: Piña Coladas, the Macarena, Bruce Springsteen, dancing, Arabian Nights by candlelight... maybe even wrestling with Spike! And definitely the sleeping in your arms part.

I'll be back before dusk. Maybe we can patrol together?

See you soon.

HYYGF – Buffy

PS: I owe you two kisses—wake up kiss and goodbye kiss. Don't forget to collect later.

PPS: I love you.

PPPS:

There was a vampire from York Street,

Biggest Bad I ever did meet,

He bought me some cheese,

Saved me from rat fleas,

And healed my sad heart, quite a feat.

XOXO

-x-

Spike laughed at her poem, tears pooling in his eyes. No one had ever written him a poem before, not even a sodding limerick.

"Love you, too, Slayer," he rasped through his emotions.

Spike ran his fingers over those words as if he could absorb them through his skin, hold them there forever. His fears fell away in an instant, shedding like water from a duck's back. His heart soared and swelled, filling with a flood, no, a tsunami of joy. He pushed up to his feet, carefully folding the letter and tucking it into his pocket for safekeeping. He looked around at the Aladdin-esque décor. He'd originally thought that he would use it in the octagonal sitting room, just off the master bedroom, in Hawley Manor, but maybe he should pack it up and save it just for National Hot Chocolate days.

Either way, he'd need to take it down from here and move it. Assuming Xander, the Mighty Midge Slayer, had got all the slain creepy-crawlies cleaned up from Spike's new home. He decided he could check during patrol tonight as he began picking up all the colorful pillows and packing them back into their boxes. Spike started humming to himself, then singing softly as he worked...

"So, somebody ran out
"Left somebody's heart in a mess
"Well, if you're looking for love
"Honey, I'm tougher than the rest."

-X-

"Willow!" Buffy squealed as she entered her friend's bedroom through the outside doors. Though she had her books in hand, studying was the last thing on the Slayer's mind.

Willow, sitting cross-legged on the bed, already studying, looked up inquiringly. Buffy was glowing, beaming, maybe even floating. The redhead perked up from her study-stupor, her eyes widening. "What happened? Did you and Spike...?" Her eyes widened even more, letting her look finish the question for her. "Was science done? Was home reached?"

Buffy blushed as she plopped down on the bed next to her friend, dropping her books. "Not that... yet," she revealed, grinning. "He got me more prezzies! Look!" Buffy held up the necklace for inspection. "He had this whole surprise waiting when we got home. He turned the workout room into this amazing Aladdin's palace-tent-thingy with fairy lights and candles. God, I should've gotten a picture of it! It was sooo pretty and so sweet. The necklace is sunstone. He got it in Mexico cos it reminded him of me," Buffy rambled giddily. "And he got me this cool wall hanging, but it was too big to bring. I'll show it to you later. It's the sun and moon, and so pretty! He said it was my life—you know, with the living in two worlds stuff. And, the best part!" she continued the words tumbling out in a single breath, "He said he loved me! Well, I said it first—even though I didn't mean to—it just came out and I thought maybe he didn't notice, cos it was just three words in the middle of a bunch of other words, but he totally noticed of course, because he's Spike, and he said it back!"

"Buffy! That's amazing! You look so... glowy and happy," Willow observed. "You really love him, don't you?"

Buffy bent her head shyly before looking back at her friend. "I do... I really do."

"Oh, Buffy! I'm so happy for you," the witch exclaimed, leaning over to hug her friend.

Buffy returned the hug with interest, but was careful not to crush her judgement-free bestie. "And, best of all—the world didn't stop spinning, no earthquakes, not even a dubious dream!" she remarked as Willow pulled back.

Both girls immediately leaned over and knocked on the wooden bedside table, warding off jinxes.

"And check this out!" Buffy continued, pulling out the slim poetry book from her bookbag and holding it out to Willow. "'Cats!'"

The redhead took the book, opening it and flipping through. "Poetry about cats?" she questioned, her brows furrowed. Wow, Buffy must really have it bad for Spike if she's this excited about an old poetry book about cats.

"Not just a book! Look! 'Cats'!" Buffy explained flipping it to the back and showing Willow the tickets.

Willow's mouth formed an 'O' as she looked over the tickets and then the hotel reservations. She looked back up at Buffy with wide eyes. "Only one hotel room," she pointed out, grinning.

"Well, it's a suite... there are technically two bedrooms."

Willow wagged her brows. "Will the maid be making up both beds in the morning?"

Buffy tittered nervously. "Possibly not. I think much sciencing is about to be done," she squeaked. "Eeep! Is it too soon? Should I wait?"

"No way! I mean... not unless you want to. Do you want to?" she asked.

The Slayer hugged herself, running her hands up and down her own arms. "I'm tired of waiting. I want to do the sciencing, but there's also not wanting to mess everything up."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if I'm not good at... science? Spike's like, way experienced—like he's got a PhD in astrophysics—and I'm over here tumbling a slinky down the stairs in first grade."

"Aw, Buffy. I'm sure that's not important. There's lots of sparkage between you guys—anyone can see it. You won't mess it up," Willow assured her gently.

"What if I do?"

"You won't. There is no 'wrong'."

Buffy huffed skeptically. "Maybe not, but there's good and bad... hot and lukewarm, exciting and... deflating."

"First, I don't think Spike's capable of deflating in your presence," Willow pointed out cheekily.

"Willow!" Buffy screeched, her eyes wide. "You naughty girl!"

The witch laughed. "Well, it's a little hard to miss in those tight jeans. And the dress slacks last night? Even more noticeable. You can't expect a girl to just not look when it's right there for the ogling! Actually, I was starting to feel bad for that poor zipper."

"I know, right?" Buffy was giggling even as she shook her head and rolled her eyes. Her friend had a point. Even her mom had noticed Spike's package way back when Spike was just the vampire helping Buffy defeat Angelus. Subtlety, thy name is not Spike.

"But I'm totally serious about the... the messing up part." The Slayer took a breath, her amusement fading. She looked down at the bedspread, tracing the random pattern with a finger. "Angel... Angelus said I was... not good," she admitted. She'd never told anyone that before. It felt both freeing and terrifying. "In bed, I mean..."

She could feel Willow stiffen in indignation. "Angel and Angelus are both poop-heads."

The Slayer looked up at her friend then, her teeth gnawing nervously on her bottom lip. "What if he's right? What if Spike... what if he thinks so, too? What if he leaves?"

"I think you're missing the whole 'poop-head' concept." Willow shook her head. "Spike is not a poop-head. Also, Spike isn't Angel."

Buffy rolled her eyes. That had been established time and again.

"What I mean is," the witch continued, "he doesn't seem like the leaving type—you know, judging by how long he was with Drusilla. And he really cares... he loves you. You just said so! All you have to do is just be yourself and it'll be perfect."

Buffy sighed. Pie in the sky placations. Willow didn't know how terrible Buffy was in the science department. Hell, Buffy wasn't even sure how horrible she was! She couldn't deny what Wills said about Spike not being the leaving type, though. But what if she totally flunked science and Spike still stayed and didn't say anything? That would almost be worse. He'd just stop touching her, stop flirting with her, stop kissing her, and eventually stop loving her. Then he'd take his imperfectly perfect piñata glue and leave. What had Spike said about Dru? There were some things even a git like him couldn't suffer? Something like that. What if Buffy's lack of science skills was one of those things he couldn't suffer?

"Trust me, Buffy," Willow admonished, reaching out to squeeze her friend's arm. "Just be you. Spike'll fall at your feet, bowing to the wonder of Buffy slinky science."

The Slayer snorted, giving her friend a small smile. "Thanks, Wills." She'd been feeling so happy on the way over here—Spike loved her!—but now she was back to worrying about what came next. She had a week. A week to learn all she could from her books. She could do this! She had to do this. She'd come too far to flunk out now. Buffy straightened and refocused. "So... French first, or World Lit?"

-X-

As Spike hurried through the bright, midday sunbeams to the house, he wondered if they made beach umbrellas in black. They were dead useful at keeping the sun off, but walking about with a brightly colored rainbow over his head was bad for the image. Maybe he could paint it black...

Spike was jerked from his musings by a laconic, "Hey." He looked up to find wolf-boy coming around the corner of the house.

"Buffy's off with your girl," Spike told him as he mounted the back porch steps, shifting the umbrella to the side to keep from hitting it on the eve of the house.

"Yeah, I know," Oz agreed, following him onto the porch. "Came to talk to you. You said anytime. Does this anytime work for you?"

Spike shrugged as he collapsed his sun shield and set it down next to the back door. "Good as any. Let me get some smokes. Can talk out here, yeah?"

"Sure," Oz agreed, taking a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs. As soon as Spike opened the door to the kitchen, his namesake bounded out, tail wagging wildly, eyes bright and eager for company.

"You are a pain in my arse," the vampire informed the dog as he went inside, but the Guardian paid him no heed, zeroing in on the 'do not crunch' werewolf who seemed to always have a treat of some sort for him.

Oz produced a Milk-Bone from his pocket—one of the XXL ones—and presented it for inspection. Spike snatched it up and headed to the yard with his prize, slobber already dripping from his dark lips.

"What can I do ya for?" Spike asked when he returned, fag already held between his lips. The cigarette was lit before he'd sat down in the other chair. A deep inhalation of nicotine-laced smoke followed as he grabbed up the new ashtray from the floor and set it on the arm of his chair.

"Looking for some advice," Oz told him, leaning forward, his forearms on his thighs. "About living with a demon."

Spike arched a brow. "Relatively sure your girl's a witch, not a demon."

A twitch at the corner of the young man's lip was the only response to Spike's remark. "I meant my demon. The wolf."

Spike nodded, taking another drag on the cigarette. "Looking to control it, are you?"

"I'd be more asset, less dangerous liability if I could. You seem to have yours on a tight leash."

Spike chuckled. "Yeah, well, Angelus took great pleasure in training my demon during what ya might call my formative years. Learned quite a lot 'bout control under his not-so-tender tutelage. Not that I generally used what I'd learned, mind." The vampire smirked at some distant memory before shaking his head and refocusing on Oz. "But, I don't reckon a couple of decades at his knee is exactly what you're lookin' for."

"I was hoping for something a little less intense," Oz agreed.

The vampire nodded again, inhaling another long drag of mentholated smoke. "Problem is," he said after a few moments. "Your demon and mine are a bit different. You've got a sub/dom situation; mine's symbiotic."

"How do you mean?"

"I need mine to keep me up and about—be dust long ago without it. My demon needs me, my memories, my brains—sparse as they may be—to get on in this world. If it took over completely, didn't listen to logic and reason from time to time, it'd be slaughtered like a ravening dog... or might just run out into the street and get run over like a sodding squirrel. Bloody single-minded, it is. Depends on me t' keep it from getting squashed like a bug; I depend on it to keep me alive... undead," Spike explained with a shrug. "Yours doesn't particularly need logic or human-like brains... or doesn't make use of 'em, anyway. Takes over completely, yeah?"

Oz nodded. "Three nights a month."

"Right. Knows it can't get on like that all the time, so there's a built-in leash—the full moon. Not foolproof, of course, but got less chance of it getting you flattened by a Mack Truck if it's only got those three nights off the leash."

"And there's no way to control it more than that?" Oz wondered. "If I could bring it out at will, keep control of it when I change—that'd be hugely helpful."

Spike stubbed out his cigarette and lit another with a click of his Zippo before answering. "Heard tell of some Turkic shamans who could change at will. A wolf is supposedly the mother of all Turkic people."

"Turkic? Do you mean Turkish?" Oz asked.

Spike shook his head. "Turkic's more than Turkish. They were nomads, wandered about a lot. Apparently originated in Mongolia or China or whatnot, and spread out from there over the centuries, mostly Eurasia, Russia, Arabia, down to northern Africa. But, as it turns out, the shamans I heard of were in Turkey."

Oz nodded thoughtfully.

"Doubt it would be easy," Spike warned. "Not in your demon's nature to be controlled. But I could look into it. See if there's anyone willing to teach you. Doubt they'd come here, mind."

Oz continued to nod, his gaze distant. "I'd appreciate it. I'm afraid one day..." He stopped and looked over at Spike, meeting his eyes. "If I hurt Willow—or anyone but, Willow..." He shook his head mournfully. "There've been some close calls. Forgiveness wouldn't be an option."

Spike nodded, taking another drag on his cigarette. "See what I can find out," he agreed.

-X-

Buffy hurried home after the study session, anxious to see Spike, extra-ready for him to collect the past-due kisses she owed him... with interest.

When she got home, there were no cars in the drive—both Spike's and her mom's vehicles were gone. Buffy frowned as she let herself in, dropping her bookbag on the table by the door with one hand as she ruffled Spike's ears with the other. "Where is everybody?" she asked the dog, as she headed for the kitchen to check the notes by the phone.

Spike followed, bouncing happily around her legs, bumping into her until she started scratching his ears again. "Mom's at the gallery," Buffy read from the notes tacked up on the board by the phone. "And Spike's running a few errands. What kind of errands does a vampire have to run in the middle of the day?" she asked, looking down at her friend.

The dog sneezed violently and shook his head.

"Big lotta help you are," Buffy muttered disconsolately. Then she brightened. She could use this time to study... not French or World Lit, but the most important thing she'd ever need to learn: The Joy of Sex. She headed to her room, her furry friend following happily at her heels.

-X-

Spike knew he looked like a complete plonker as he hurried from the parking area of the Edna May House to the wide porch steps with the big, colorful beach umbrella warding off the sun. The only saving grace was he doubted he'd ever see anyone he actually knew here—apart from the Council bird—and there likely wouldn't be any demons out and about in the middle of the afternoon, so his reputation could remain intact.

He drew a few stares—some amused, some not so much—as he mounted the steps and finally closed the umbrella as the roof blocked out the afternoon sun's rays. He'd never actually been in through the front doors before, though he was sure he could find Lydia's room without much trouble. But first he wanted to check and see if there was a basement, and if that basement had sewer access.

He strode across the lobby, which was decorated in antiques and collectables that brought his mum to mind. It was authentic and tasteful, with just a flair of California in the light colors they'd chosen for the drapes and upholstery rather than the heavy, dark colors of his youth that the actual Victorians favored. Still, it couldn't help but stir a small fire of nostalgia in him.

A stab of pain came with the memory, but it was tempered with Buffy's soothing words, with her understanding, with her forgiveness. That old, gaping wound felt... less. He'd been repressing it for decades, not letting it heal, but now that he'd pulled the plaster off, opened it to the air, it might actually become tolerable.

He walked like he knew where he was going, swinging his colorful umbrella like a dandy, and utterly ignoring the questioning gaze of the young clerk behind the counter. He could see the wide staircase leading up to the second floor; it would be logical for the down staircase to be behind it, if there was one. Unless the only way down into the basement was through the old servant's area. A definite possibility in a house this old.

Spike grinned as he located a door that said, 'Employees Only' tucked in just where he expected the stairway to be. He turned the knob. It was unlocked. This was going swimmingly! He ducked through the door and found himself on a drab, dark landing. Beyond it, stairs led down into a cobwebbed, musty expanse of blackness. Spike felt around and his fingers touched a switch on the wall. With a flick, one wholly inadequate, bare lightbulb hanging from a wire about halfway down the staircase flickered to life. It put out barely enough illumination to be called a light, but that didn't matter. Spike could see fine. He brought up his demon and trotted down the creaky, wooden steps which appeared to be original to the house, and not kept in the best of repair.

In the large room, which was filled with grimy miscellany and mostly forgotten detritus, Spike found what he was looking for: an entrance to the sewers. There was another door there, this one heavy steel and locked from the basement side with two padlocks. Spike grabbed an old fireplace poker and made quick work of the hasps, pulling them free of the old doorjamb. The tunnel beyond the door was well lit and there was even a faded sign, hand painted next to the door, 'The Wilkins Residence' it read. Sunnydale was the most demon-friendly bloody town Spike had ever seen. Not even Rome or New York had such an extensive, well maintained, marked, and illuminated sewer system. He wondered idly if the Chamber of Commerce had a map of the sewers he could pick up. Be right handy, that.

Spike pushed the door closed and did what he could to hide the fact that the hasps were broken, pressing them back in place and leaning a warped and water-stained dining table up against the door frame, blocking easy view of the door. He wasn't sure it was necessary, as it didn't appear anyone ever came down here these days, but better safe than make the trip and be blocked from entering.

He needed to get this interview with the Council chit started and finished, but Buffy couldn't know about it—it would defeat 90% of the purpose. But, with his new relationship status and homeownership, finding time—and inclination—to slip out of an evening had proven to be a challenge. With this sewer access, it would be easier to make it here during the daylight hours while Buffy and her mates were at school, and no one would be any the wiser. If he could get an entrance from the Summers' basement to the sewers, it would be a real doddle. He'd ask Joyce about that tonight.

With a smile on his lips and a happy bounce in his step, Spike headed back up to the lobby and then on to Lydia's suite to have a word, set up a schedule, and get his Slayer the rewards she so richly deserved.

-X-

'The important points are these—in mutual, let-go intercourse, make as much noise as you like. It is curious that we need to write this down, but house and hotel designers haven't yet realized it. They all seem to be married to noiseless, childless partners, or they'd avoid plasterboard walls.'

Buffy looked up from 'The Joy of Sex', and around at her own four walls. They certainly weren't soundproof by any means. She thought back to her one and only sexual experience. There hadn't been much noise with Angel... not loud noise. It was all muffled and soft, moans and whispers. Which was probably how the first time should be, she supposed. She was very sure that was not how it would be with Spike. Spike was never soft and muffled... Okay, sometimes he was, but mostly when he was asleep, or on the verge of sleep. He absolutely wouldn't be that way during wild monkey sex. She was sure Spike would be all aboard with the letting-go-and-making-all-the-noise train.

'Finding out someone else's needs and your own, and how to express them in bed, is not only interesting and educative, but rewarding, and what sexual love is all about.

'Any sex behavior is normal which (1) you both enjoy, (2) hurts nobody.'

Well, that was startlingly wide open. Buffy gnawed on her lip, wondering what Spike might think of as 'normal', given that definition. What if he wanted to do some of those contortionist things in the Karma Sutra... or worse? Buffy gulped. There was really no telling what Spike would want to do. Then came back to rule number one, she supposed. Would she enjoy it? Because they both had to enjoy it for it to be 'normal', and what if she did enjoy it, did that make her kinky or weird even if they were technically normal?

Buffy felt a frisson of excitement and fear tingle through her. How would she know what she liked if she didn't try it at least once, right? Like, she totally didn't like tofu, but she had tried it once. Her eyes drifted back to the drawer where she'd shoved the 'Kama Sutra for Beginners' that she'd stolen. Would Spike know all those positions? Would he show them all to her? Could she then, like, veto certain ones that weren't awesome?

She sighed. Cart, horse, much? She needed to get good at vanilla before she started fantasizing about sampling all the flavors. If her vanilla sucked, then adding chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and sprinkles to it wasn't going to make it any better.

She heard the front door open, and her dog was suddenly alert, rising from his bed and heading for the hall. Buffy jumped up too, shoving a bookmark between the pages and then slipping the book beneath her pillow. Her heart fluttered in anticipation of seeing Spike, her boyfriend, and getting those kisses she'd been cheated out of that morning.

"Buffy? Are you here?" her mother's voice came up the stairs. The Slayer sagged, her excitement plummeting.

"Up here studying!" she replied, sticking her head out into the hallway as Spike trundled down the stairs, assuming the duty of official greeting party.

"I thought I'd make lasagna for dinner, that sound good?" Joyce called back.

"Yum!" the girl agreed. She could hear Spike dancing around Joyce down in the foyer, apparently giving his approval also.

Buffy headed back for her room as she heard Joyce talking to the dog, her voice trailing away toward the kitchen as the dog's nails tapped happily across the floor, following. She plopped back down on the bed, retrieving her book, and resuming her study.

'Sex is the most important form of adult play. If you can't relax here, you never will. Take your shell off with your clothes. Getting unscared is probably the most important lesson of sex.'

"Easy for you to say," Buffy grumbled. "How do you get unscared?"

Her face crunched up in thought, remembering how scared she'd been when she was first Called, when Merrick had taken her out to learn to fight and dust vampires. They were mostly just fledges at first, but she'd been terrified. She'd missed the heart with her stake, she got beat up, she'd nearly gotten killed more than once, but she kept trying, and eventually she figured it all out. Now she was hardly ever scared on patrol—and barely gave fledges a passing thought as she dispatched them. With time and practice, she'd gained skill and confidence, and she'd gotten unscared.

Angel hadn't stuck around to give her a chance to do that with sex. She just needed to make sure Spike did. She turned the page, hoping they got to the part that would tell her how to make sure that happened.

-X-

"'Ello, pet," Spike greeted Lydia when she cracked the door open to his knock. He'd heard voices and music from the other side of the door—a man's voice in particular—but the old interior walls and doors were apparently quite thick, as he hadn't been able to make out the words.

The blonde jumped a bit, a small gasp escaping her lips. Clearly a vampire at her door in the middle of the afternoon was not what she'd been expecting. "S-Spike," she stuttered, stepping behind the door so he could only see her flushed face through the five-inch-wide opening. Her blonde hair was in a messy bun, not her normal crisp, tight 'do, and sweaty tendrils had escaped, sticking to her damp face and neck. Her glasses were off, and her blue eyes were wide and slightly panicked. "W-what...? I was unaware we had an appointment."

"Interrupting, am I?" he teased, lifting on his toes to try and look in behind her. "Overnight guest?"

"Certainly not!" she objected haughtily.

"Afternoon guest, then?" he countered.

"Don't be absurd!"

"Two guests?" he suggested, curling his tongue against his teeth. "Need a fourth?" he offered, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Her sweaty face colored brighter, with splotches of red. "I was simply exercising. Cardio is a vital element for preparedness in case of an emergency and for overall health. Physical exertion keeps not only the body fit, but the mind sharp."

"Got no argument from me," Spike agreed with a smirk. "Question is, do ya want more company?" he reminded her, pressing on the door with the flat of his hand, opening it wider.

"There is no guest! No company! Stop that this instant! You are not invited—" Lydia insisted pushing against the door with her shoulder, but it was no use, she just slid back across the polished floor. "Oh, bugger it all!" Lydia exclaimed, giving up and stepping back.

Spike arched a brow at her, chortling at such vulgar words coming from the prim and proper Council woman. "Well, that could be arranged," he continued to needle, as he sauntered into the room. His eyes went to the bed first, but it was empty of company. There was a man in the room, though not exactly what Spike had expected. He was on the telly. A bloke with short, curly brown hair—nearly an afro—dressed in the poofiest shorts and tank top Spike had ever seen. He was frozen in place, in the middle of some sort of dance step, with several ladies around him and behind, also frozen in that step.

Lydia hurried past Spike and clicked the TV off, before turning to face him, brushing damp hair back from her face. "I told you, I was exercising," she ground out angrily. "Physical fitness is just as important as mental acuity in my profession."

Spike let his eyes drift down to her outfit—a sports bra and spandex leggings, along with a pair of trainers. He'd never seen so much of the chit's skin before, or her figure. She looked bloody fit to him. There was a curvy, nicely toned body hiding beneath the tweed suits and flannel nightwear—who knew?

"Was there something you wanted, or did you intend to simply watch me drip perspiration on the hardwood?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her sweaty bosom in a small attempt at modesty.

"Something to be said for that, I admit, but this is a business call," the vampire replied, settling his eyes back on her face. "Wondered if ya got that contract all sorted?"

"Oh, are you finally ready to begin?" she huffed, moving toward the en-suite to retrieve a towel and a robe. "I've been trying to get you here for a week, but you've apparently been otherwise occupied with more important endeavors."

Spike turned to watch her ass sway away from him. Not as nice as watching Buffy's bum wiggle away, but not a bad view. Yeah, he was with Buffy now—didn't mean he couldn't look! He wasn't dead, after all. Well, okay, yeah, he was dead, but he could still appreciate pretty girls in tight clothes if they happen to cross his path.

"Not more important, just hard to slip off of an evening. Thought we could make a go of it in the day," he suggested as she closed the door between them. He heard water running—the sink, not the shower.

When Lydia emerged, she was dressed in a white terry cloth robe and had apparently rinsed her face and neck with cool water, as she looked less sweaty, though she hadn't fixed her hair. "I do have other duties which I must attend to during the day," she reminded Spike, crossing the room to the dresser and some piles of papers on it. "I am still trying to interview Miss Summers' cadre of Sku-bees, as well as Angelus... Angel, who seems quite disagreeable."

Spike snorted as he began digging through the minibar. He frowned at the paltry selection. It looked like it hadn't been refilled at all since they'd emptied it several days ago.

Lydia set a thick folder down on the dining-table-cum-work-desk. "Don't bother with that," she informed him. "There are proper bottles in that bag next to the television."

Spike arched a brow, looking around. There was a large bag from 'Lucky Liquors' on the floor next to the telly. He rummaged around in it, taking inventory. There was quite a selection: Chivas Regal and Glenfiddich Scotch Whisky, Jameson Irish Whiskey, a bottle of Patrón Silver tequila, and Grey Goose vodka.

"Leave the Jameson, if you don't mind. I thought I might entice Angel with that," the liaison requested as she grabbed a couple of tumblers.

Spike considered the Patrón briefly, but just the idea of it had him a bit queasy from his last tequila-fueled bender. He settled on the Glenfiddich, opening the bottle as he made his way back to the table. "Not sure Angel is much of a drinker," he informed the woman as he poured both the glasses nearly full and took the seat opposite her.

"My research implies that he was in life. I thought it might... carry forward," Lydia explained as she slid a sheaf of paper over to Spike.

Spike shrugged. "Some things do, some don't. Angelus was fairly fond o' Kilbeggan back in the day."

Lydia started making a note of the brand, but Spike waved it off. "Jameson'll do," he assured her. "Had some bloody common off brand last night, he did. Didn't seem too fussed about quality. First time I've seen him with a drink in his hand in a good while, though."

She nodded, but finished writing down the brand. You never knew what information would be useful one day.

"'Course, if that's your theory, then I'd wear my hair down, if I was you, and maybe keep the spandex. He's right partial to bouncy blondes in tight togs."

The woman cleared her throat uncomfortably, touching her disheveled hair. "I see," she muttered, taking a sip of her drink.

"Speaking o' low standards, did you and the Watcher find your wayward Slayer last night?" he asked.

"Yes, we, err... Willy's is quite... interesting, is it not?"

Spike chuckled. "Never been to a demon bar before, I take it?"

Lydia looked uncomfortable. "I must admit, I have not. I've heard of them, read reports of them, of course, but..."

"Reports don't do 'em justice, I take?"

"You could say that," she agreed, taking another sip of her drink, her hand shaking slightly with the memory.

"But ya managed to get your girl sorted? Remind her o' the dangers of hanging about with Peaches?"

"Yes, I believe so. We gave her a quite stern talking to."

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll do the trick," Spike agreed, deadpan. He shook his head and turned his attention to the matter at hand. "So, got it all done, then?" he asked, picking up the contract. "The whole employment package—same as yours—favors for the Slayer, free access to all diaries and journals she wants, the dosh for her togs, new kit for that training room, and some decent weapons with a tasteful armoire t' keep them in? Guns and wooden bullets? That sword... the Phoenix Flame?"

Lydia either didn't notice the tint of sarcasm in his voice about Faith, or chose to ignore it, going with the change of subject. "I told you before that I have no authority over the sword. Perhaps, when I'm back at headquarters, I can investigate the circumstances surrounding it and why it has not been in any Slayer's hands since being rediscovered. I'm afraid the Uzis and wooden bullets are also unavailable."

Spike began to object, but Lydia raised her voice and continued speaking over him. "They are proprietary to the Special Operations Team. If any are requisitioned for other purposes, there will be questions. Mr. Travers will undoubtedly become involved in that case. You were quite clear that you did not want him to know of this agreement, therefore, the Uzis are off the table."

"Bugger," Spike muttered, flipping through the pages of the contract.

"We can, of course, supply funds for proper outfitting of the training area and new gear, just not those particular weapons."

Spike sighed. Well, it was better than nothing, he supposed. That sword should be in Buffy's hands though, not hanging on a wall collecting dust. He looked up at the Council bird. "That sword..."

"I promise to do all that I can regarding the Phoenix Flame. I simply do not have the authority at this time to suggest a change in policy. I will look into it," she assured him, taking another swallow of her whisky.

Spike read over the page that listed out their respective agreements and didn't see anything that looked fishy—it was what they'd agreed to. Sixty hours of interview time, including information about the Order of Aurelius, three questions he could deny, photos of him in his 'typical attire', and assisting Lydia with her liaison duties, where possible.

"And the Slayer's employment package?" he asked, looking back up at her.

She slid another packet across the table. On the front it read, 'Council of Watchers, London. Employment Contract. Buffy Anne Summers, Slayer.' Spike opened it and began reading, checking not just the salary—which seemed adequate—but also all the perks they'd discussed: vacation time, insurance benefits (health, dental, vision, long-term care, and double-indemnity life), education reimbursement for all Uni classes with a 'C' grade or better, and a substantial pension. There was a clothing allowance in there, as well, and an entire page of upgrades they'd provide to her training room and weapons—sans the wooden-bullet-firing Uzis and the Phoenix Flame Sword. There was even a provision for annual increases in the salary—fairly generous ones by his estimation—and a 'golden parachute' which would pay Buffy five years' worth of salary if they breached the contract. He smirked to himself—they didn't think she'd live long enough to collect that, or the pension. He planned to prove them wrong. Of course, there was a penalty if Buffy refused to perform her duties as the Slayer, protect the innocent, hold back the darkness, and all that rot, but Spike knew she could never stop being the Slayer, contract or not.

Spike nodded as he dropped the employment contract. "Seems fair."

"More than fair," Lydia insisted.

"Like you to give this to the Slayer now... this week."

Her perfectly plucked brows shot up. "You haven't even begun to—"

"Not gonna welch on you," he cut in. "You, on the other hand, I'm not so sure of."

"I can assure you—"

"Yeah, yeah—maybe you aren't a back-stabbing bastard, but what if word leaks out and ol' Vienna gets wind of it 'fore it's all signed, sealed, and delivered?"

"Vienna?"

"Travers—your bloody boss."

Lydia opened her mouth to object, to defend Mr. Travers, but then closed it again, her lips drawing into a thin line.

"Look, Slayer's all emancipated now—needs t' have an income. As I understand it, it's some rite o' passage or whatnot."

"Isn't she still residing with her mother?"

"What sodding difference does that make? She's gone through your bloody test, killed the big, bad vampire ya saved up special for her, made it past eighteen—not to mention keeping the world from ending a time or two. Time for the Council to step up and do the right thing."

"I assure you, this contract is far beyond the 'right thing'," Lydia argued.

Spike snorted, folding his arms over his chest stubbornly. "Give it to her or ya get nothing from me. Not a sodding peep. I keep my word. History says the Council's not quite as trustworthy."

Lydia glowered at him, but Spike could see the wheels turning behind those intelligent blue eyes. She knew he was bloody right. And he knew if he could get that employment contract signed, even if they broke it, they'd still owe Buffy a good bit of dosh.

The Council woman sighed finally, and pulled out two more copies of Spike's contract. "Please sign. In blood," she instructed, sliding them over to him, along with a penknife.

Spike grinned, letting his fangs extend. "Keep the pig-sticker, luv. Got my own." He pricked his thumb and pressed a bloody print to the place indicated on all three copies. The CFO's blood was already on them—all that was left was for Lydia to do the same, which she did, using the small knife.

She left one on the table for Spike and took the other two over to her briefcase on the chest of drawers. "I'll have those reports of other vampires teaming up with Slayers for you after the agreed to sixty hours of interview time has been fulfilled."

Bugger! He'd forgotten about that.

She smiled at him sweetly, clearly pleased with having some leverage over him. "Perhaps we could start now. A few hours of goodwill on your part would go a long way to assuring me that you are serious about this and are not going to renege... and it will get you closer to those reports." At his dark scowl she added, "Perhaps just some general questions to begin, and we can get more personal after I present the contract to the Slayer."

Spike clenched his jaw, but then sighed. The bird had gotten him on that one fair and square. He looked out at the sun, judging how long he had before dusk. "Two hours now—rest after Buffy has the contracts in hand."

Lydia shrugged her assent, and went to get her recorder and journal, eager to finally get her interview with the famous—and infamous—William the Bloody.

-X-

Buffy was getting more and more annoyed and worried as the afternoon went on with no sign of Spike. What could he possibly be doing for so long? 'Running errands' was awfully vague. Where was he? What if he was dust in the sun? How would she know? She even tried calling his cell phone, only to hear it ringing in the guestroom next door.

"He's fine," she assured herself. "Just being his normal annoying self. He'll be back soon."

With a sigh, she turned back to her book, trying to focus and stop thinking about, and worrying about, her vampire.

Clothes: Clothes, when they are worn, are there to be taken off—making love can very well start by undressing one another or by one partner stripping for the other. Clothes and their removal have a whole biology in terms of 'releasers', a releaser being what turns somebody on.

Buffy looked up from her book, her mind automatically jumping back to that night on the road trip when they'd shared a hotel room. Spike had dropped the towel from his waist, and gave her an eye-full of full-frontal, naked yumminess. There was no denying that it had acted as a 'releaser', as the 'Joy of Sex' defined it, even if she'd refused to admit it at the time. Even the memory of it had her tingling deliciously. And then the other night in the cemetery. Just the sound of his zipper sliding down had been... very releasing. And the feel of his cock in her hand... that had been... wow.

Chewing on her lip, Buffy tried to picture herself turning the tables, being the one to strip for Spike. The idea of it made her embarrassed, nervous, and excited. Angel hadn't complained about her body or her looks, just her performance. Maybe she could distract Spike with shiny, nude Buffy and he might not notice her lack of actual skill. Of course, that jerk at the speed dating thing had said her legs were too short and her boobs were too small... and her nose needed fixing.

She set the book down and got up to look in the mirror. She cupped her tits over her shirt, weighing them in her palms. Spike had fondled them, they seemed to fit his hands okay... they weren't, you know, overflowing, but he seemed to like them. He hadn't complained, anyway. And her nose... She leaned in closer to the mirror to examine it. It was a nose. It fit her face. Wasn't that the important thing? Finally, she looked down at her legs. They were strong and tan and went all the way to the ground. What more could you want?

Buffy sighed, turning this way and that in the mirror, pursing her mouth into duck-lips, smiling coyly, batting her lashes at herself. She frowned, not sure now. She knew for a fact that Spike liked her hair. She made a mental note to wear it down, loose around her shoulders. Maybe that would be distraction enough.

Flopping back down on the bed, she looked at the clock. Another half hour had passed with no sign of Spike. That knot of worry tightened in her chest.

"He's fine," she said adamantly, picking up the book and resuming her study, though she found herself having to read the same paragraphs two and three times as her mind wandered to a myriad of horrible scenarios that could've befallen Spike in the middle of the afternoon in Sunnydale.

"Spike can take care of himself," she reminded herself. "He survived you, didn't he?"

By the time the wonderful aroma of her mom's lasagna drifted up to her from the kitchen, the sun was beginning to set. Her stomach growled, pushing the knot of worry aside briefly, reminding her she hadn't eaten lunch.

Buffy gave up. It was all too much. She slipped the bookmark back between the pages and hid the book out of sight beneath her pillow. Convincing herself that Spike must have gotten stuck somewhere because of the sun, she decided to give him until full dark before allowing true panic to set in. If he wasn't home by then, she'd fire up that locator spell, and go kick his ass for making her worry.

She stretched her arms and rolled her head from side to side, trying to work the stress out of her shoulders, before she rose to go check out the status of dinner. Of course, her boon companion had abandoned her for his other sacred duty—the guarding of the kitchen floor from falling food—so she didn't have to worry about him racing past her on the stairs, at least.

It was then she heard the distinctive rumble of the DeSoto's engine pull into the drive. A tidal wave of relief flooded through her. She rushed down the stairs, meeting Spike just as he stepped through the door. Buffy threw herself at him, surprising him and knocking him back a couple of steps as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Where have you been?" she exclaimed, hugging him fiercely.

"Buffy!" he huffed in surprise, his arms wrapping around her automatically. "What're you doing here?"

"I live here, dummy!" she reminded him. "Where were you all afternoon? I was so worried!"

Getting past the initial shock of her welcome, he said, "Didn't mean t' worry you. How long ya been waiting?"

"Hours! Muchness of hours!" Buffy wailed, her nose buried in the side of his neck, breathing him in.

"Didn't know you'd be back so soon, luv. Yer note said something about going on patrol tonight, thought that was when you'd be back," Spike explained, rubbing a hand down her back soothingly.

By this time the dog had come to see what was happening, and began rubbing against the pair, knocking them this way, then that as he circled around, nose lifted, mouth lolling open, trying to get in on the hugs.

The Guardian finally managed to push them apart, making them both stumble a bit before catching their balance. Buffy's eyes met the vampire's in the low light of dusk, an aroma just now registering with her. "You've been drinking," she accused. "Just what kind of errands were you running?" she questioned, crossing her arms over her chest as her voice became suspicious.

Danger klaxons rang in Spike's head. He had to keep the whole deal with Lydia a secret. "I, err... just went down t' Willy's to spread the word that I'm back, is all. Let all the plonkers know Hawley Manor's mine now and t' bugger off."

"Willy's?"

"Yeah."

"At one in the afternoon?"

"Yeah."

"And it took you four hours to let the plonkers know you were back?" she asked dangerously. "Don't they have a bulletin board you could've just posted that notice on?"

Spike snorted a laugh but then realized she wasn't kidding and covered it by clearing his throat. He rubbed hand across the back of his neck hesitantly, dropping his gaze from hers. "Might'a had a hand or two o' poker in the back," he added to account for the time.

"You jerk!" Buffy exclaimed, smacking his shoulder with a solid slap.

Spike backed up to the edge of the porch.

Buffy followed him. "You jerkified jerk-face jerk!"

She hit his other shoulder, this time with a fist.

"Woof!" the dog interjected, looking between the two blondes, not sure whose side he should be on.

Spike stepped down one, backing away from the angry woman.

When she raised her hand to strike again, he caught it before it landed. "What the hell, Slayer?" he demanded. "A bloke can't go out for a spot of poker with his mates?"

"I was worried about you!"

"WHOOF!"

"I'm a sodding master vampire! Been taking care o' myself for a good long while. What the fuck were you worried about?" he shot back.

"WHOOF!" the dog added again, his bright eyes dancing between his two frens, still not sure what to do, but prepared to jump in at any moment.

"You said 'errands', not palling around with your buddies! There are just so many errands a vampire can run in the middle of the afternoon! What was I supposed to think? News flash: vampires can dust! Even you can dust, you stupid vampire!" Buffy wrenched her hand from his grasp and pulled it back to cuff him again.

Spike's heart cracked and sunshine poured into it, warm and soft and tasting of Buffy. He stepped back up onto the porch and pulled her into a tight, desperate hug before she had the chance to swing.

"I'm sorry, pet. Didn't mean to worry you," he swore, burying his nose in her soft tresses, breathing in the delicious scent of her. It filled every cell with awe and wonder, man and demon alike purred in pure elation. "Never... bloody hell, Buffy. Never had anyone care where I was before. Never meant t' make you fret. Thought I'd be home 'fore you were, if I'm honest."

"You should've just said where you were going... when you'd be back," she admonished, her anger draining.

"Sorry, luv. Just thought if yer mum saw it, she wouldn't think... well, not sure of her position on demon bars or gambling. Didn't want to brass her off," he covered.

She pulled back to look at him, a shimmer of tears in her eyes. "Dru never... she didn't care where you were or worry when you weren't back on time?"

He gave her a rueful smile, brushing a strand of golden hair back from her face. "Likely Dru wouldn't know how long I'd been gone. She'd go off with the fairies for hours... days sometimes. Time didn't really have much meaning with her. And don't think she'd ever consider worrying 'bout me."

Buffy dropped her eyes from his, the emotions shining in their blue depths suddenly felt overwhelming. "Oh. I'm sorry."

Spike shook his head and lifted her chin up with a finger. "Never be sorry, luv. Never stop worrying 'bout me. Bloody hell, Buffy... I..." He loved her more in that moment than in any that had come before. "Love you so much, Buffy. Means the world that you were worried. I'll be more careful, kitten... letting you know where I am and when I'll be back."

"And take your stupid phone with you," she suggested sulkily. "It's called a mobile phone for a reason."

"Woof," Spike agreed, sitting down now that the crisis seemed to have passed, but still staring up at them.

The vampire snorted, looking down at the dog. "Et tu, Brute?"

The mutt's huge jaw dropped open into a doggie grin, his wide tongue lolling out happily.

"You should listen to him," Buffy advised the vampire. "He's smarter than you."

The vampire chuckled and rubbed the dog's big head. "No doubt about that."

"Mom's got dinner almost done," Buffy relayed, turning to head back into the house.

Spike caught her hand and spun her back around. "Aren't you forgettin' something?" he wondered, his gazing turning downright sensual.

Buffy raised her brows in question even as her heart cartwheeled giddily in her chest.

"You owe me three brilliant snogs," he reminded her.

"Three? How do ya figure?" she demurred, proud of the calm in her voice despite what his look was doing to her insides.

"A wake-up kiss, a goodbye kiss, and a welcome home kiss," he reminded her, counting them off by lifting a finger on his left hand for each one, beginning with his pinky.

"After what you put me through you think you're gonna collect on those?" she rebuffed, but she wasn't pulling away from him and didn't back up when he took a step into her personal space.

"Woof!" Spike agreed.

"No one asked you, Cujo! Bugger off," the vampire ordered, waving a hand at the still-open door. "Think I heard some hamburger hit the floor in the kitchen."

The dog was up and gone before Buffy could blink, his nails sliding on the hardwood as he rounded the corner. "His loyalty has only one caveat: hamburgers."

Spike chuckled and pulled her into his arms. "Now, about those kisses," he murmured, dropping his lips to hers.

Buffy melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and welcoming his tongue into the sweet warmth of her mouth. He was fine. He hadn't meant to worry her. God, he'd never had anyone worry about him before. It seemed they both had a lot to learn in this relationship.

She wanted to hug him and hold him and love him forever, to never let anyone hurt him again.

Eventually, Buffy pulled back, breathless and flushed, her lungs starved for oxygen. "By the way, I love you too," she rasped against his lips before diving back in for the second brilliant kiss she was owed.

-X-

Chapter End Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and the harrowing story of Mad Max! As you can see, he/she's taken to house life like a cat to catnip!

Thanks as always go to All4Spike and MissLuci for their encouragement, beta skills, and suggestions.

References:

Et tu, Brute? is a Latin phrase literally meaning "and you, Brutus?" or "also you, Brutus?", often translated as "You as well, Brutus?", "You too, Brutus?", or "Even you, Brutus?". The quote appears in Act 3 Scene 1 of William Shakespeare's play Julius Caesar, where it is spoken by the Roman dictator, Julius Caesar, at the moment of his assassination, to his friend Marcus Junius Brutus, upon recognizing him as one of the assassins.

The 'man' in Lydia's room is Richard Simmons.

Some direct quotes from 'The Joy of Sex', Edited by Alex Comfort, MB, PHD, Copyright 1972. No copyright infringement is intended. For entertainment purposes only.