Spike loaded the slayer's bags into the back of the four wheel drive monstrosity he had forced the watcher to rent. The DeSoto would never make it to this Mammouth place. The rental was a nice machine with heated seats and a fantastic radio. Buffy would be comfortable in it. The watcher had done right by her. All that really mattered, anyway. The old man wasn't such a bad sort. Anyone that could take the piss out of Angelus while being tortured was at least a tad bit acceptable. Didn't mean he'd give the bloke an easy time though.

He looked back toward the house where the loving and controlling arms of the slayer's cadre of nits was busy reminding her what was expected of her. The whelp had been throwing fits since he found out about this little excursion. Red had been concerned and consoling. The pair of them did more damage to Buffy than he'd ever managed. He sighed and waited for them to finish stoking the fires of her guilt and inadequacy. Slayer would be a pill for hours, all filled up with self loathing and doubt. He leaned against the glossy surface of the rental car and lit a cigarette. There was nothing for it. He sighed.

He watched her standing in the open doorway with her bestest buddies in the world. They weren't bad people, but they hadn't quit punishing her for Angelus. No matter what the girl did, she couldn't escape his bastard sire's ghost.

He took a long drag on the cigarette. The heat from it filled his lungs warming him a bit. It really was the little things that made his unlife bearable.

Giles came over to stand next to him. It was time for the fatherly warnings. He rolled his eyes and blew a smoke ring.

"Keep her there the whole time, Spike. She needs this break." The watcher's quiet words caught him mid smirk.

"She doesn't need a break. Are there even any demons to hunt up there?" Spike's eyes narrowed as he assessed the human beside him. "It wasn't a coincidence that Joyce headed back to her sister's place for the holidays, was it?"

"No. I convinced Joyce to go." Giles sighed and looked directly at him. "There are demons up there. You'll have your bit of violence. Keep her safe."

"What am I keeping her safe from?" Spike glanced back at Buffy. She flipped her golden hair over her shoulder. She was so much more than just a slayer. "I need to know what the real threat is."

"There shouldn't be one." The watcher looked away from him. "I'm very good at this, Spike. I choose you to protect her for a reason and that is all you need to know."

"So, I'm good enough to protect her, but not to be trusted. Seems about par for the course with you lot. Does she know?"

"She knows there are demons to kill." Giles flushed, his heartbeat erratic. "It's my job to protect her."

"Fine, Watcher, but this will cost you." Spike took a long drag on his cigarette. The slayer was in real danger, and these fools were sending her away with no knowledge of the threat.

"What do you want?" The weary note in the watcher's voice should have thrilled him, but she needed the fool, loved him like a father.

"A boon, a simple favor. I'll just collect it in the future." Spike shrugged.

"I will not owe you some vague favor, Spike." Green eyes narrowed, the watcher turned to face him with hands fisted.

"It will not hurt the slayer in anyway. It will not endanger your precious brat brigade either. You'll be in my debt, and I will relish it." Spike smiled as the watcher snorted.

"I'll owe you." Giles voice was troubled.

"I'll do my best to return her to you safe and sound. Did your Da really ask this of you or was that just a bit of guilt you used to get her agreement?" Spike listened to the quick catch in the man's breathing. The quick flush of guilt was all the answer he needed.

"My father did call me."

"Splitting hairs. That's a devil's game. Best you leave it to my ilk, yeah?" Spike smiled at the sudden slump to the man's shoulders. Ah, the simple pleasures. Guilt was just the toy for him.

Buffy laughed and his eyes fastened on her, washed in the golden glow of the electric lights of her home. He felt the siren call of her, the strength and resilience he knew was hidden by the kittenish exterior of the girl. He missed fighting her, missed kissing her. He shifted and adjusted his pants.

Things had been much easier before Willow's spell. He had hated her, pure unadulterated abhorrence. Now, he existed in a world where he could no longer detest the bint. He'd held her in his arms and listened to her quiet confession of her fears and desires. He'd kissed her lips and felt her tremble with desire. The spell had robbed him of his ability to see her in one dimension. She was vulnerable despite her strength, and it bothered him to see her suffer. He'd always respected her. She could fight like a demon, and dance like an angel. Her smiles were all the sunshine he needed.

The spell was reversed, but its effects lingered. Hell, he had found a strange desire to write poetry again. Perhaps it was the flash of grief in her eyes before she had risen above him sputtering in showy disgust.

He sighed. The trip would give him some time with her, not that it would come to anything. Still, a demon could dream.

Buffy playfully pushed Xander and Willow out the door. They both smiled back at her. Their eyes never caught the nervous flex of her fingers. Their ears didn't hear the sudden flurry of her beating heart. Goodbyes, even temporary ones, hurt her.

She looked to him and he offered a bland face. She wouldn't welcome his concern.

"Can we please get a move on. The rocks are mossy, Slayer." He tapped his bare wrist. "I'd like to be on the road sometime before midnight."

"I have a couple of things to grab. Patience is a virtue." She snarled.

"She's nervous. Try to control your urge to torment her." The watcher shook his head.

"You want to owe me another favor?" Spike enjoyed the man's quick shake of the head.