IX

They’d only been walking a few minutes.
 
"Wait." Spike said, stopping abruptly.
 
Buffy turned questioning eyes to him, and Spike couldn’t help but notice how the moonlight reflected there…and on the tip of her nose…and on her bruised mouth…and down her-
 
"Spike?"
 
"What?"
 
"No. That was my question. Why are we stopping?"
 
"Oh. Uh…I've got a bike, love." He pointed a thumb behind him. "Just inside the gate, back a ways."
 
"Wait..." he added with a growing smile... "You've got a helmet in your bag. When did you start using motorized transport, pet? What've you got? A little scooter or somethin'?" He was grinning widely at the thought of Buffy zipping about in a little EuroScoot, but stopped when he realized how hot it was, too.
 
"No scooter. Just a helmet."
 
"Okay."
 
"Long story."
 
"I've got time, Slayer. And by the look of things, so do you."
 
"Yeah well, there's a time and a place for everything. Right now, it's time to find my car."
 
"You have a car?!"
 
"It's a Mini," she smiled proudly. It was the first time he'd seen her smile that night. "My little two-door tramp. She's gone off with the girls I just rescued from your girlfriend -"
 
"Oi!"
 
"Run, penis lady, run!" Buffy mimicked. Smile number two.
 
"Give me a little credit for wanting to save your arse, pet. Even if I'd thought it was old and unfit." He winked.
 
She glared. "Fine. Credit dispensed." Her smile vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, though. "Anyway, I'm hoping the girls left the car at the hospital. I need to head there to find out."
 
"Well, let's get the bike and ride there. I can follow you to the house after."
 
She captured his eyes for a moment. "Alright." Turning around, the two headed back to the North Gate at a comfortable pace given their injuries.
 
Spike started chuckling as they walked.
 
"What's so funny?" she asked, looking at him askance.
 
He kept his eyes straight ahead. "You, driving a car."
 
"I'm an excellent driver!"
 
"Uh huh."
 
"I am, damn it!"
 
"Prove it, then."
 
"What?"
 
Spike stopped again - causing her to overstep him and have to turn around.
 
"You can drive us to the hospital." He sucked in his cheeks to mask his grin.
 
Buffy blinked. "Fine. Sure. I can do that. It's just a bike. It's not like it's a fighter jet or something. No biggie."
 
That made him suck in his cheeks harder. Spike picked up the pace towards the North Gate, Buffy close on his heels. They let the noises of the night take over the conversation from there, but arrived at the bike quickly.
 
"Oh."
 
Buffy was looking at the bike like it was a fighter jet.
 
"It's not electronic, pet," he explained, stifling a chuckle. "It's a Bonneville."
 
"A who?"
 
"A classic. They don't make 'em like this anymore, love. Doesn't do the driving for you. You're in control." Raising an eyebrow, he added, "Think you can handle that?"
 
"Being in control? What do you think?"
 
"Alright, then." He smiled. "Take us away." Pulling the keys from his pocket, he extended his hand to her, palm up. Snatching the keys with one hand, she shoved her bag at him with the other. She hadn't taken the helmet out, which was kind of curious.
 
After securing the bag to the back of the bike, Spike threw his left leg over the seat and settled back far on the cushion to give her space.
 
Imitating his actions, Buffy settled into the space in front of him.
 
"Here, let me." Spike slid up against her back, and slipped his right leg under hers.
 
"What-"
 
"Just letting up the kickstand, love. Sparing your injured knee a little." He retracted his leg reluctantly and subtly readjusted his pants. "You can take it from here. You'll need to kick-start it, though. You know how t-"
 
"I've got it." Buffy scanned the various parts at the front of the bike.
 
"No, that there is the clutch, love," he explained, pointing to it with a finger. Behind her, he could smile freely, but he still had to struggle to keep the amusement out of his voice.
 
"I knew that."
 
"Just checking."
 
"Alright." She took a deep breath and exhaled. "Here we go."
 
Buffy successfully kick-started the engine on her first try. "Ooh!"
 
Guess it surprised her as much as it did him - though he knew she’d get the hang of it in the end.
 
"Hold on!" She shouted over her shoulder.
 
Yes.
 
God, yes.
 
Cautiously, Spike brought his hands forward to rest loosely at her hips - eyes trained on her to detect any tension it might elicit. She seemed to be prepared for it, though, because she stayed relaxed.
 
"Bloody hell!"
 
Spike gripped her hips more firmly as she threatened to throw him off the bike when she sped away.
 
"Sorry!" But she didn't sound it.
 
Buffy whizzed down the bike lane that followed the cemetery's tree-lined borders - long, fragrant locks flying wildly in his face. He wondered if she had skipped the helmet for that purpose - to try to annoy him. Shutting his eyes, he buried his face in her hair.
 
"Christ!" She'd made too sharp a turn at the cemetery's northeast corner and would've thrown him off the bike again had he not wrapped his arms around her middle.
 
He was a genius. A sick, evil genius.
 
With his arms enclosing her waist, his chest pressed against her back, and his face nestled in her hair, he let her warmth and scent envelop him. Thankfully, she had the habit of driving in spurts - accelerating and decelerating as she struggled with the gears. It gave him the perfect excuse to stay that way.
 
With his senses of touch and smell overwhelmed, and the hum of the bike dampening all other noise, Spike let himself fall into an almost dissociative fugue…Time passed unknown to him. Gone were the memories, the insecurities, and the loneliness. Gone was Spike. There was no William the Bloody. No Slayer or Savior of Slayers. No fool.
 
There was just warmth. And the floral scent of her shampoo. And the soft strength of her tummy.
 
"Spike."
 
And comfort.
 
"Spike."
 
And belonging.
 
"Spike."
 
And love.
 
"Spike!"
 
"Guaah!" Startled, he released her waist reflexively.
 
Buffy twisted around to see him. "Jeez! Did you fall asleep?" The bike had stopped, but the motor was still running.
 
He blinked rapidly in an effort to regain his focus. "Uh, yeah. Sorry, pet." He thought quickly. "Didn't have a good day's sleep is all."
 
Her brow furrowed in what looked like concern, but he couldn't be sure. "Well, sounds like you really need to rest after all." She signaled with her head to the building ahead. "We're here. Memorial. Keep your eyes peeled for my Mini."
 
"Oh," he sighed.  "That didn't take long." He winced inwardly at the disappointment in his voice.
 
"It's Santa Lucia. What did you expect?" Looking ahead, Buffy scanned the parking lot. "Let's circle the lot to get a bird's eye view."
 
"A bird's eye view would be from above, pet."
 
"You know what I mean."
 
As she turned into the parking lot entrance, she started a loop around the perimeter and scanned every row as she passed it.
 
From behind her, Spike just stared at Buffy. He was in no hurry to find her car.
 
"Found it!"
 
Bollocks.
 
The car was parked in front of the ER entrance. Slowing to a stop beside it, Buffy cut the engine and inspected the car while still on the bike.
 
"The girls must have gotten scared, because they've put the top back on."
 
"Well, looks alright to me, pet. Though I'm surprised you went for basic black. They don't make 'em in pink?"
 
"They do, but I'm practical girl these days. Black is discreet." Buffy dismounted and turned to face him. "Speaking of discreet, I noticed you've gone for a less neon shade of blond now. Is that your natural hair color?"
 
"Is that yours?"
 
"Shut up." Pouting, she turned on her heels and headed to the ER doors.
 
"Where are you goin'?" He spoke at her back.
 
"Keys. I told them to leave them inside," she replied without turning around.
 
"It's a hospital, love - not a valet service!" He shouted, but she had already shut the ER door behind her.
 
Spike sat back on the bike and started thinking about his current situation. It was bloody unreal, is what it was. Not three hours ago he was nursing a drink in a bar in Venice Beach trying to escape the memory of a girl that was lost to him a lifetime ago.  And now he was spending the night at her place. And she hadn't aged a day since he'd seen her last. And most insane of all –forty years hadn't weakened one bit, his want for her.
 
He sighed.
 
Christ, he wished he could make the want go away.
 
Angel must have been foaming at the mouth to get her back when he'd found out she wasn't ageing. And he'd gotten her too. But he couldn't keep her, could he? He was pretty sure she’d spoken of him in the past tense. Maybe she’d spent enough time with the arrogant prick to realize he wasn't worth a second go. The prat was never gonna be able to sell himself as a hero to the real thing.
 
At least he hoped so.
 
Spike turned his head to the ER doors to see Buffy hustling back, still with a bit of a limp in her step.
 
"Everything alright, Slayer?"
 
"Yup," she replied, showing him the keys. "The receptionist was a bit pushy, though. She kept trying to get me to talk to the cops about the incident."
 
"Cops?"
 
"They're in there with the girls apparently. I didn't see them and I didn't want to." Buffy pressed the unlock button on her keychain and opened the driver's door. 
 
"Bloody hell!" Spike covered his nose with the sleeve of his duster.
 
Buffy quickly turned away - a hand over her mouth - while kicking the door shut with her foot.
 
"Slayer, your car smells like shit."
 
Buffy sent him a death stare.
 
"Sorry," he added, hands raised in surrender. "Guess that's obvious."
 
"So what do I do now? I'm not driving home in this!" Buffy threw her head back as if she were imploring heaven to help her, before returning her gaze to him. "I don't suppose you-"
 
"No."
 
"You don't even know wha-"
 
"Forget it, Slayer. You really hate me that much?"
 
She looked stunned by the question and her response was quiet. "What?"
 
He sighed. "Do you know how sensitive a vampire's nose is?"
 
She didn't answer him.
 
"If I can smell human fear, for christsakes, what do you think your shit mobile smells like to me?"
 
Buffy looked away. "Sorry."
 
He blinked.
 
Bloody hell. Twice in one night. That made twice in history now.
 
She was still quiet. "So what now?"
 
"Well..." Spike eyed the car. "I reckon all Queenie needs is a good airing out for a day before she's safe enough to drive to a car wash, or for us to wash."
 
"Who?"
 
"Oh, just named her Queenie for you."
 
"Um, why?"
 
"Cause it suits."
 
"Um, how?"
 
"You know, Buffy's Mini. So, Bitty Buffy - BB for short. Like B.B. King. Only all cars are birds, so Queen. But she's still not THE queen, is she? That'd be you, ducks. ”He winked. “So, Queenie."
 
Buffy furrowed her brow at his explanation, then pushed out her bottom lip. "I like 'Joan'."
 
"Yeah, well, you're not the sharpest knife in the drawer." That earned him a gentle back-handed smack on the shoulder. “And anyway, that’s your name, too,” he added with a knowing smile. "Come on. Let's just roll down all the windows, take the top down and leave it until tomorrow night."
 
Buffy shifted her eyes from Spike to the Mini and back. "Yeah, okay. Good plan."
 
As Spike moved to get off the bike and see to the windows, she put a hand to his chest. It was gentle, but enough to make him freeze.
 
"No. I'll do it," she said simply.
 
But there was nothing simple about the way it made him feel.
 
Obliging her, Spike restarted the bike and rolled it in reverse to get clear of the Mini while she let it breathe.
 
Holding her breath, Buffy ducked her head in the car to turn the ignition - avoiding the soiled driver's seat.  With the press of a few buttons, she lowered the windows and roof, and was quick to escape the car and get back to the bike.
 
"You drive, pet."
 
"Again?"
 
"You know the way," he shrugged.
 
"Oh, right. Okay." Buffy remounted the bike in front of him as he scooted back just enough to give her room. "Hold on."
 
Like taking candy from a baby.
 
Spike did as he was told. He just hoped her house was at the farthest reach of town.
 
 
*  *  *
 
The ride took five minutes.
 
Buffy eased the bike into the driveway of a small, one-storey cottage and cut the engine.
 
"Don't see why you need a car in a two-bit town like this Slayer. You never used to mind walking."
 
"The Mini is for trips out of town, Spike - L.A. mainly, but wherever I'm needed that I can drive to." Dismounting, she continued. "It's also handy for search and rescue, like tonight."
 
Spike dismounted too. "Go to L.A. often then?" He wasn't fishing. Really, he wasn't.
 
"Once a month, to help the Slayers there, and... whenever I feel like seeing Dawn."
 
He inhaled sharply. "Niblet?"
 
"I'm not sure that nickname qualifies anymore, Spike. She's taller than you, and looks a lot older than you, too."
 
"Right." He paused to consider Dawn with some seriousness. "You know, there's a reason vamps don't have relationships with humans."
 
"Yeah. The same reason I don't have relationships with my Diet Coke."
 
"Funny," but Spike wasn't smiling. "It's because they grow old. Change when you don't.” He paused. “Die." In a lighter tone, he added, "Also, what you said."
 
Caught it.
 
He was sure he'd just made the left corner of her mouth go up a little.
 
The two walked up the path to the front door. Buffy unlocked it and eased it open, but didn't step through. She turned to him instead. This time, she let both corners of her mouth lift a little.
 
"Heroes first."
 
Spike tensed his jaw.
 
He wished she couldn’t do that – dig into his chest and fondle his heart with two little words like fingers. She was also confusing the hell out of him.
 
Slowly, he walked over the threshold, avoiding her eyes, and stopped in the foyer.  He tried to take everything in as if it were his only chance to do so. As if it would give him the answers to the million and one questions he had about her. 
 
He heard her lock the door behind them. “No need to loiter in the foyer, Spike. There are actually other rooms.”
 
He turned to look at her in the dark. “Right.”
 
“Do you want a drink? Sorry, I don’t have blood - or whiskey for that matter. I don’t have many guests. And the one’s I get prefer beer or wine.”
 
“I’d never say no to either of those, love. Well - except when there’s blood or whiskey.”
 
“Okay. Um, well… let’s go to the kitchen then. Oh. Um… maybe you want a tour first?”
 
“Huh?”
 
“Yeah! Let’s do a tour!” Buffy had taken to rubbing her injured wrist since she’d entered the house and hadn’t met his eyes for more than a second at a time. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was nervous.  But he knew better.
 
He walked into the main living area while Buffy fiddled with what looked like an old C.H.E.S.S. keypad on the wall. All the lights came on suddenly, and Spike squinted to adjust.
 
“So this is the living room and dining room,” she said, as she walked into the room to stand beside him.
 
“Uh huh.” Not one minute ago he’d wanted to absorb his surroundings. Now all he could do was look at her. It was the first time he’d seen her in anything but moonlight. He’d thought she looked gorgeous before - a light in the dark. He wasn’t prepared for what she looked like now, in the light.
 
Her hair was longer than he’d ever seen it. Dirty blond - like his - falling in waves almost to her waist. After the ride on the bike, it had a windswept wildness about it that made him want to tousle it further.
 
She wasn’t sun-kissed anymore. Her skin was pale, but smooth, giving her a more ethereal look. And it was blemished only by the burgeoning bruises he‘d put there.
 
He suddenly felt like a monster for having bruised her face.
 
Buffy caught him staring and started moving. “Uh, this way is the basement. You’ll like this.”
 
Spike followed her at some distance to the basement door. The leather left little to the imagination, and he had to force his eyes away from her ass to appreciate the rest. She’d always been fit, but she’d filled out beautifully.
 
As they descended the stairs, the lights came on to reveal a pretty impressive weapons collection against the far wall.
 
“Very nice, love. Beats the sorry trunk of weapons I’ve got in L.A.” 
 
Buffy whipped her head around to him.
 
“You live in L.A.?”
 
“No,” he said quickly. He wasn’t sure why he’d felt cornered. “I mean… yeah.”
 
“Which is it?” She looked angry suddenly.
 
He exhaled just to settle himself. “Yeah. I guess I do now. But I haven’t really lived anywhere for years, pet. Been movin’ around a lot… But that’s where I’ve been the last week or so. So, I rented a place. You’d like it.”
 
“Let me guess, ‘quite posh’?”
 
“Got it in one.”
 
She nodded, before looking up suddenly. “Oh my god. Angel!”
 
He couldn’t help but flinch at her mentioning his name. Now he was angry.
 
“We should tell him – oh, unless you’ve already done it. Does he know you’re alive yet?”
 
Spike’s face turned cold.
 
“Of course, pet. He’s always known.”