XXVI

Santa Lucia

The back door to his house was open and the lock was busted, but the man knew that might not mean much. It was River Street, after all. It wouldn’t be the first time a thug had tried to rob his place, or a bum had crawled in and passed out on the living room floor.

He shut the back door softly behind him and walked quietly around the room. He scanned the kitchen for clues of the intruder’s intent. Dirty dishes and garbage had been shifted about, and a smooth-soled shoe had clearly swept at the layer of rubbish that littered the white vinyl floor.

He managed to open the cabinets without a creak. The bottle of tequila was still there. So too the packets of duck sauce.

Not a bum then.

He strolled into the living room with a deceptive calm. The sofa showed no signs of overnight use by way of dents or depressions. The TV still sported a thick layer of dust. No fingerprints. It took only a matter of seconds for him to conclude that the room had been of little interest to his guest.

He spent even less time inspecting the closets and smaller rooms that remained, seeing as they held even less of value. He knew any answers at this point would be found in the bedroom.

As he pushed opened the bedroom door, the scene confirmed his suspicions. Piles of clothes that once blanketed the floor now formed a mountain on top of the bed. He turned sharply towards the closet – its door flung open, like a mouth gleefully mocking him.

Gripping the gun from the holster at his back, he pulled it out to rest flush against his thigh. He took the few steps to the trap door in the closet floor and found it open too.

He listened.

He’d been far too quiet on entering the house to have been heard from down below, so there’d be no reason for the intruder to remain so quiet if he was still there. Unless it was her, of course. He wasn’t sure if Slayers had superior hearing or not.

No. She’d be too cunning to let herself become trapped downstairs.

Closing the closet door behind him, he descended the stairs with less caution. The lights came on automatically, illuminating a space that looked largely undisturbed. In the solitude of his office he walked about freely, investigating every corner, file, and piece of equipment for signs of tampering. The computer remained passcode protected when he woke it, which gave him no small amount of relief. But the desk drawers were ajar.

He opened the first drawer and found his favorite disguise still there.

He opened the second drawer and searched through his passports. John Reynolds was missing. Perhaps she thought that was his real identity.

He opened the third drawer – the lock clearly broken. The drawer was empty.

Damn it.

Enough guesswork. “Time to show your face, sweetheart.”

He unlocked the computer mainframe and replayed the video feed for the past few hours at maximum speed. He slowed the speed when the petite blonde came into view.

“Hello, gorgeous.” And she was, he had to admit. He paused it at the vision of her slumped on the floor where he now stood, looking despondent. He stared at her face for several minutes while he considered his options.

Who was he kidding? Regardless of what she thought she’d found, he had no options. He made the call.

…

“She’s been here.”

Silence.

”Abort.”

“What?” He hadn’t expected that. “But–“

”You’re compromised.”

“But she doesn’t know anything. Not really.”

”She knows enough.”

“I don’t understand!” He paused to slowly exhale and compose himself. It wouldn’t do to speak to her so disrespectfully. “Ma’am, there’s nothing here that identifies us. I can change location, persona. I’ve got–”

”No. She’s on alert. That means she’ll be even more dangerous. And more concerning, evasive.”

“So, what? After all this time, I just pack up and go?”

“Not quite. You know the final mission.”

“You mean–?”

”Bag her.”


* * * * *

“Bloody hell. Is that–?”

“Yup.”

They were standing outside his flat, in front of the open doors of the bike trailer.

“Buffy. You–“

“I know,” she said smugly.

He stared at her briefly, before turning back to his bike. “Didn’t think I’d see her again.”

“Why? She was just at my place, Spike.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “Didn’t know if I’d be seeing your place again either.”

Silence.

Fuck. Smooth, Spike. Very smooth. Pathetic is more like it. He kept his eyes on his bike.

“Spike, I–“

“Thanks for this, pet. Thanks a lot. I’m happy to see her again.”

“Goodness grief. Is everything of yours female?”

He looked back, but said nothing.

She looked away. They were both pathetic, he decided. Hadn’t they spent the better part of the last night snogging?

“So uh… I reckon Queenie’s had a hell of a week, love, no?”

“Hmm… rescuing stinky victims from the Penis Lady… bursting through the wall of a burning house… knocking down Dragvloks like bowling pins.” She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

He grinned at her. “Let’s take the hog then.”

She smiled back.

“Keys?”

She fished them out of her jacket and threw them over. “Where to?”

“Well I reckon if you wanna get a little slaying done on this little outing, we should head to Venice Beach.”

She pursed her lips. “You just wanna go to Levi’s.”

“Well I wouldn’t turn down a drink, pet.” He gave her a wink.

“Okay. But sandy before seedy, alright?”

“Of course.”

Spike grabbed the bike out of the trailer with ease and mounted her, stroking her body lovingly. He extended his other hand to Buffy. “Your chariot, me lady.”

Taking his hand and sliding on, she didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him once she was seated. He took a moment to appreciate that, before starting the engine and speeding away.

As he tore through the streets of L.A. with Buffy at his back, Spike was struck by an overwhelming sense of gratitude. A man couldn’t ask for much more than what he had now.

On second thought, that wasn’t entirely accurate, he decided. He and Buffy had yet to kiss that day, and he wasn’t sure why. His lips almost ached from the absence, even more than his cock – left semi-hard since last night in a state of perpetual anticipation. His dick he could ignore though. But if he could just kiss her again...

But he wouldn’t dare.

She’d been the one to advance things last night, but she hadn’t shown any interest in that regard today. He knew why he was hesitant. He hadn’t pressed her for anything since that dreadful night in Sunnydale. It was a lifetime ago, he knew. She’d forgiven him almost as soon as he’d come back to town. And the scene of that heinous crime was now a pile of crumbled tile in a town long sucked into hell. But he never wanted to misread things so horribly again.

So he’d wait for her to ask.

The ride to the beach was spent in comfortable silence, the hum of the engine rhythmic and soothing. After thirty or so minutes, he slowed the bike into a lot a few meters from the beach.

“Gee, what da ya know? Levi’s.”

“Just the parking lot, love. We can walk to the beach from here.”

“Hm.” She climbed off the bike.

He grinned. “Shall we swim?”

“Huh?”

“You. Me. Dip in the surf. We are at the beach, Buffy.”

“In clothes?”

“Uh. No.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Spike. There are, like, people around. I’m not skinny dipping!”

He pouted. “But it’s dark, pet.”

“Yeah, and you’re as white as a sheet. You practically glow in the dark.”

“Speak for yourself, pale face. You look like a vamp.”

She scowled. “I do not look like a vampire.”

He bit back a chuckle. “Okay, we’ll get you a G-string at the shops.”

“Ew!”

“String bikini bottoms?”

She gave him a closed lip smile. “Possibly. Plus a top. And we’ll get you something too. Something blue, I think, to match your eyes.”

“Try again, Slayer. You’re not gettin’ me into those tight, little bathers.”

She giggled. “Bathers?”

“What?”

“Don’t mean to ruffle your cravat there, Sir Lancelot, but they’re swim trunks. Get with the 21st century already.”

He glowered. “I’m pretty sure you referred to at least three different centuries in that sentence, genius. And anyway, seeing as I’ll still be walking the world’s beaches long after the 21st century is a footnote in history, I could give a fuck what these wankers wear.”

She crossed her arms in front of her. “Fine. Board shorts then.” Turning on her heels, she yelled over her shoulder. “But you’re not going naked!”

He smiled unguardedly at her back. God he loved her.

As he watched her stomping off towards the shops, there was no getting over his continued astonishment at the situation. He’d gotten the girl. Forty years later, mind you, but he had her. He: Spike. And not ‘a’ girl, but ‘the’ girl. The bloody Chosen One. Stronger than a hundred men. Braver than a lioness. The only immortal human being in existence. Perpetually gorgeous. Forever Buffy.

How the hell had he gotten the bloody girl?

“Spike!”

Right. She was already disappearing into a tourist shop off the boardwalk. Slipping out of his trench, he threw it over his arm and raced to catch up.

The shop was a bloody disaster zone of fluorescent light and neon prints. Spike stopped in front of a particularly heinous pair of shorts with pink and yellow flames shooting from the crotch.

“Hate to break it to you, kitten, but you’re never gettin’ my beautiful arse into anything this ugly.

She rolled her eyes before grabbing a different pair and holding them up for his inspection. “How about these?”

He scoffed. “Too short, and too bloody blue.”

She hung it back up with a grumble and disappeared amongst the racks.

He had to admit he was already enjoying himself, playing the young couple arguing about inanities. Only vaguely browsing at the items on the racks, he stopped when his eye caught a shiny string bikini in black.

Fingering the fabric, almost leather like in texture, his mouth watered at the thought of it against her skin. He licked his lips unconsciously, and grabbed the set in the smallest size.

“Pet, I’ve found your–“

“Like ‘em?” She was holding up a pair of simple black shorts, long and slim.

He grinned. “Perfect.”

“You’re so predictable.”

“Ya think?” He held up his find.

She blinked. “Which doesn’t mean you don’t also have good taste. Give ‘em here.”

He threw her the bikini and she headed straight to the register.

“Hi. Just these two.”

“Cool.” The checkout guy was a shirtless cliché with blond highlights and bleached teeth. “Cash or credit?”

“Oh wait.” She grabbed two beach towels from a nearby shelf.

“Credit, thanks.”

“Make that cash, mate.” Spike pulled out a roll of bills and gave the salesman three fifty-dollar notes. Buffy looked at him warily.

“Who are you, and what have you done with the thieving, penniless va– … uh, vanity project that was Spike?”

He smirked. “I taught him a few things about long-term investments, pet. Why, you want him back?”

“Nope. I like the Sugar Daddy Spike better.”

He chuckled. He wanted to remind her that sugar daddies didn’t do anything for free, but he was determined not to force the issue. So he just looked at her.

“Your change, sir?”

He extended his hand for the change, without taking his eyes off his girl. “Cheers, mate.” After Buffy grabbed the bags, he led her out of the shop back to the boardwalk.

“There’s some bathrooms over there, Spike. Let’s duck in and get changed now while we’re here.”

Nodding, Spike grabbed his board shorts – his first set of bathers since he was human – and headed for the men’s bathroom.

Once back out on the boardwalk, standing barefoot and shirtless, Spike felt silly holding his clothing and boots. The shorts were a snug fit, hung low at the waist and stopping just below his knees. They weren’t bad, he had to admit, and he knew he looked good. He took to pacing a short stretch of boardwalk as he waited for Buffy to re-emerge.

The beach was crowded with people in various states of undress – teenagers sharing smokes and sipping poorly hidden bottles of beer, poofters on roller blades and scooters, oldies with sweaters around their necks holding tightly to each other against the breeze. But mainly there were lone weirdoes with piercings and tats, washed up bikers and your run-of-the-mill cornucopia of beach bums.

“Ready?”

Spike turned back towards the bathrooms and stopped abruptly.

Bloody hell.

His fangs descended unexpectedly as a low growl erupted from his chest, thankfully too soft for human hearing amidst the noise. He fisted both his hands to keep them still, and struggled to ignore the growing throb down the length of his cock.

The bikini fit perfectly, which is to say it was probably one size too small. Shiny black fabric was stretched taut over small but perfect breasts, and a triangle of fabric failed to hide a few dark curls from peeking out at him. In the dark of night and against the black of her bikini, her skin was luminescent in its paleness. And her golden hair was already blowing about her shoulders on the wind.

A dozen instincts were warring in his head at that moment. Drain her. Taste her. Fuck her into the sand. Gather her into your arms and rub your skin against hers. Kneel before this goddess and pledge your undying devotion. Tell her you love her. You adore you. You’ll do anything if she lets you have her.

He took a settling breath.

“Took you long enough.” He’d even managed to will away his fangs.

She was staring at him – no doubt at the picture he made holding his duster and boots like a dill.

“Let’s get rid of this stuff, pet. We’ll take it back to the bike. No one’ll nick it if they wanna live.”

She rolled her eyes as they started the walk back to the bike.

“How’s the suit fit?” he asked casually.

“A little snug, but good. Yours?”

“Same.”

She cast her eyes on him briefly before looking ahead again. “I’ve never seen you in swim trunks, Spike.”

“Ditto.” He kept his eyes on the passersby.

“You look almost normal.”

“You don’t.”

Silence.

Shit. That may have come out wrong.

Once back in the parking lot, they threw their clothes into the shopping bag and secured the bag on to the back of the bike. They stood facing each other for some moments, neither seeming to know what to do next.

“Race you to the s–“

But she was already on the move before she finished.

Spike grinned. She was gorgeous and strong his girl, but she had her blond moments. She could never outrun him, no mater how much her power grew. He was waist-deep in the ocean before her feet touched water.

“I think your age is catching up with you, Slayer. The Penis Lady was faster than you.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Yeah, with you egging her on.”

He laughed. “No pun intended.”

She smiled. “Right.”

Strutting out of the water, he met her in the sand.

“How’s the water?”

“I don’t know. Cold, I guess. Not like it bothers me one way or the other.”

“Hmm. Let’s walk a bit more to get me hotter.”

He cast his eyes down her body and kept his mouth shut. They started walking along the coast away from the shops.

“So when do you reckon you’re going back to Santa Lucia?”

“A while yet. There’s a lot of work to do on the cottage. It’ll take a couple of months. I may need to check up on things once a week or so. Dawn and Xander are happy to have me for longer, but I’m already desperate to have my own place again.”

His stomach clenched as he hurried his reply. “Stay with me, then.”

Bugger. He was pretty sure his voice had gone up a notch. It was only after a few more steps that he realized she’d stopped. He turned back to find her staring at him.

“Or not, pet. Whatever,” he rushed. He shrugged. “You’re welcome to, is all.” God he hoped that hadn’t sounded eager.

She smiled slightly. ”Thanks. I… I think I will then.”

He turned back around and hid a happy sigh of relief, then started walking again, as she caught up.

“You sure you–“

“Positive. We’ll go get Queenie and pick your stuff up from Dawnie’s later tonight then, yeah?”

She looked ahead of her. “Okay.”

They walked for some time in companionable silence.

“Have a look at the moon, love.”

Buffy followed his gaze. “Wow.”

“Red moon.”

“So it is. How come?”

“Lunar eclipse.”

“It’s gorgeous. Please tell me it’s not a sign of an impending apocalypse.”

“It is. Sorry, Slayer. Eclipses always are. But red moons are common, so it’s not like every one of ‘em is a forewarning of impending doom.

“Good. I’ve had enough gloom and doom for the month, and I haven’t even had my period yet.”

He chuckled lightly, then licked his lips unconsciously.

“Speaking of impending doom…” She sighed wearily. “I really hope this Shaggy guy is just some Warren-type with a Slayer obsession or something. Or better yet, a Jonathan-type.”

Spike was certain he was much more than that. “Whatever he is, Slayer, he’s no match for you.”

She gently elbowed him in the side. “For us, you mean.”

He looked at her. “Yeah.”

“Okay, I’m hot.”

He blinked.

“Let’s swim.”

She stopped in her tracks and started to back into the surf, grabbing his hand on the way.

He followed blindly, releasing her hand as she stumbled further into the water.

“Uh… Buffy, watch out for that–“

“Agghh!”

She was swallowed by a wave the next moment, then dragged several meters down the coast and spit out on to the sand.

Spike laughed out loud at the mess of a girl that re-emerged.

Seized by a fit of coughing, Buffy tried desperately to clear her lungs.

“You alright, pet?”

She nodded absently and kept coughing. With the last of her coughs, she pulled the wet strands of hair from her face and looked up him, still looking amused. Bending a finger towards him, she signaled for him to join her.

“Yeah? Why?”

“I want to swim with you.”

He gazed at her suspiciously, then let his eyes travel south. Even from his distance, he could see her nipples were hard, and rivulets of seawater were leaving glistening trails between her breasts. She looked far too delectable not to go to, but way too innocent just now to trust.

Fuck it. It wasn’t like he could drown.

He followed her in to where the water was thigh high.

She smiled into his eyes and placed her hands upon his chest; then dragged her fingertips across his own nipples, hardening them instantly. Clenching his jaw, he kept his hands glued to his sides and his eyes on her face, as she slid her hands over his stomach and down to the waistband of his shorts.

He swallowed. “Buffy.”

Her eyes still in his, she laid her palms against his stomach and pressed down. He could feel his cock thicken and twitch with heat and pressure of her touch and mustered all his will power to stay calm. Slowly, she tucked her fingertips just under his waistband to tickle his pubic hair.

He growled low.

She bit her lip in reply, then slid her palms towards his hips, as if to drag down his shorts.

He exhaled slowly to contain himself, determined not to lose control.

“Spike?” It was a whisper, seductive and sweet.

He opened his mouth in reply.

She gripped his hips painfully. “Can you fly?”

He blinked. “Wha –?”

He was flying the next moment.

“Bloody hell!”

She’d hurled him straight over her head, sending him headlong into the ocean well past the shore.

He could hear her cackling as he flew.

He tried to soften his landing by diving in, but he still hit the surface roughly, and sank some distance into the water before he stopped. Underwater, he couldn’t contain his own laughter. He was having the time of his life.

“Spike?”

He could hear her from underwater but couldn’t get a sense of her tone. Grinning to himself, he decided to turn the tables and dived deeper. It had been years since he’d explored the ocean, and it suddenly occurred to him how silly that was. Vampires were uniquely equipped to explore a world barely known by non-aquatic species. As he swam underwater, he inspected the variety of sea life that passed him by.

“Spike?” Her voice again. Fainter. He’d let her wait a bit longer.

Eyeing a school of fish a bit further from the shore, he swam towards the school to better appreciate their beauty.

“Spike!” Faint, but undeniable.

He was cautious not to frighten the school. No fun in that. He wasn’t that kind of monster. So he swam alongside them until they broke away sharply into deeper water.

“Oh my god! Spike!”

He laughed underwater and turned back towards the shore, his eyes on the lookout for gorgeous legs under the surface.

Looking up, he could see her wading some distance away, so he sped to the water just beneath her. Once close enough to see her painted toes, he made his move.

“Spike!”

And yanked her vertically underwater by her feet.

He was laughing at her swipes and kicks until he saw the terror on her face, hidden in part by a tangle of hair.

Fuck.

Grabbing her by the waist, he hastily dragged her to the surface.

Like a squid with its prey, she wrapped her limbs tightly around his body, arms around his neck and both legs around his waist. Once her head had cleared the water, she was spitting up water over his shoulder.

“Baby, are you alright?”

“You bastard!” She was coughing and crying simultaneously, but still holding on tightly.

“Buffy, I’m sorry, love. It was just a joke. I thought we were playing.”

She pounded on his back ineffectually, as if she’d forgotten that her fists could hurt so much more. And while her sobs and coughs became less frequent, she kept her head tucked over his shoulder.

“Don’t ever do that again!”

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice was soft, and his touch equally so, as he rubbed small circles into her back. Not wanting to wade in the water any further, he moved them to more shallow water where he could stand.

“I couldn’t find you!”

He grabbed her by her head and made her face him, though she wouldn’t loosen her grip around his body. “Buffy, I don’t need to breathe, pet. You know that.”

“So what! There are other things that could have happened! You could have been snatched by a squid or something!”

He gave her a look of amused disbelief, as he thought of the picture she now made wrapped so tightly around his torso.

“Well, who knows what’s under the water, Spike. For all we know there’s a whole alien world under the water. Don’t you watch movies?”

He just smiled at her, as he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“And you can’t just pull humans down into the water like that.” She was pouting a bit, her lips wet and trembling.

“You’re immortal, pet. And I wasn’t gonna keep you down there long, anyway.”

She frowned. “I can still drown, Spike. I just won’t stay dead. It wouldn’t be the first time a vampire drowned me.”

He stopped smiling. “What?”

“The Master. That’s how he killed me.”

“The Master killed you?”

She nodded. “Xander brought me back, with mouth-to-mouth. Apparently Angel wouldn’t do it. He said he had no breath, or something stupid like that.”

He grimaced. “That is stupid, Buffy. He doesn’t need the oxygen himself, but he’s more than capable of blowing hot air it in and out.” He shook his head. “Ninny.” He looked back at her face, still strained. “Pet, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She just nodded.

A silence stretched between them.

“So uh… Xander gave you mouth-to-mouth, and you were better?”

She looked up at him again, her eyes questioning.

He dragged his thumb down to her mouth, and unconsciously opened his own. When he realized what he was doing, he stilled his thumb and looked up, apprehensive.

“Spike, I swear to God, if you don’t kiss me already, I’ll–“

He attacked her mouth the next instant.

They both moaned their relief in the kiss, first rough and urgent. The kiss grew softer as she opened her mouth to him, but no less insistent. Desperate to have her closer, Spike tightened his grip around her back, before boldly shifting his hands lower to grip her ass possessively. His cock was rock hard despite the temperature, and he forcibly dragged her pussy along his shaft.

“Uhn!” She broke away from the kiss to moan a breath. “More!”

He invaded her mouth again, stroking every surface with his tongue. Eager to feel her breasts, he moved his hands to her top, and was relieved when she took over grinding her pussy against him. Covering her breasts with his hand, he caressed her nipples with the heel of his palms, making her whimper with pleasure.

He mumbled through the kiss. “Oh, Buffy.”

“Spike, I–”

“You, there!”

He searched the front of her top in vain for a clasp or tie, refusing to break the kiss.

“I said, you, there!”

He moved to the back of her top and found the knot, but found his fingers useless to the task. “Buffy, love, help–“

“I said, you there, Casper!”

Breaking the kiss, Spike turned golden eyes towards the shore, where a beach patroller was yelling angrily. He growled audibly.

“Spike! Your eyes. Quick. He’s coming.”

Turning away, he exhaled slowly, until his eyes turned blue once more.

“Out of the water, you perverts! This isn’t a highway motel! It’s a public beach for goodness sake! We’ve got families here!”

Spike didn’t hide his contempt. “It’s the middle of the night, you wanker. You see any toddlers in the water?”

“Spike.”

He sighed in defeat. Letting go of her, wet and pliant, would hurt like hell to do. His whole body seemed to revolt at the thought. But he grabbed her ankles, nonetheless, and slowly pulled her free, then followed her reluctantly out of the water.

“You’re lucky we don’t kick you off the beach, fella, or fine you for indecency!”

Spike walked past the beach patroller without deigning him with a look. “Thanks ever so.”

Shaking his head, the beach patroller stalked away from the two, muttering about ‘kids today’ as he went.

Wet and chastened, the blonds could only stare at each other, hungrily.

“So…”

He waited eagerly for her to continue.

“Should we go ho–?”

“Yes.”

That made them both look away and chuckle.

“I’ll just go rinse out my hair at the shower,” she said shyly. “We can throw our clothes on over the suits.”

He nodded. “I’ll meet you at the bike, love.” He refused to watch her walk away, deciding to head back towards the water’s edge instead. He was impatient enough to have her in his arms again. He didn’t need to torture himself further by the look of her, half naked and wet.

Looking out at the sea, he eyed a cargo ship on the horizon and shook his head. It was almost unbelievable that he’d been in the hold of such a ship not so long ago – he, believing her old and retired in Europe, and she believing him dead. After decades of monotony, so much had changed, in so short a time.

And now… the world was literally theirs for the taking. Together. They would never grow old. And – assuming he didn’t do something stupid – they would never die. The idea was dizzying. But glorious. There was no corner of the world that they wouldn’t discover; and every new invention or discovery that man made would be theirs to marvel at together.

And they’d even have family. Dawn’s children, and her children’s children, and on and on.

And they’d train Slayers together, all over the world.

And they’d shag. And they’d fight evil, and stop apocalypses, and shag some more. And they’d fight and spar and laugh and cry in each other’s arms, then shag more still. It’d be heaven on earth for him – better than any heaven the world’s religions could fashion.

What kind of a world would give him so much?

Only an unjust world, he decided.

Burning in the Hellmouth hardly seemed very heroic to him in hindsight. He’d done gutsier stuff than that since. And he’d been prepared to die in any number of petty fights over the years of much less importance than saving the bloody world.

No. There was no justice in the world. Just luck. And for the first time since the miserable birth of a sorry sod named William Pratt, Lady Luck was fighting on his side.

“You, there!”

Bloody hell. Spike looked down the beach towards the sound of his least favorite beach patroller, thinking he might have to kill the bastard after all on general principle. He was pointing at another bloke… in a mask… carrying a limp body over one shoulder–

“Buffy!”

Spike was on the move – as fast as his legs would take him with bare feet on wet sand, leaping in long strides to make ground.

The stranger ran towards the parking lot, pointing his gun at any passerby that protested. At the speed Spike was running, he was certain he could get to her before the bastard tried to escape.

The stranger must have seen him coming, because he stopped briefly to look in Spike’s direction, before picking up speed and firing a warning shot into the air.

Fuck! Spike forced his legs to move faster, turning to the boardwalk the moment the wooden planks were in reach. The stranger had just made it to the parking lot, when Spike was a mere ten seconds away.

I’m coming, Buffy. I’m coming.

He hadn’t expected the armored truck.

Startled by the sudden appearance of the vehicle, his pace must have slackened, because the world seemed to shift into slow motion. The truck slowed just enough for captor and prey to be pulled efficiently into the back before it sped away.

With a screech of its tires, the truck was gone before Spike’s bare foot hit gravel.

“Buffy!”

But Spike didn’t stop. Ignoring the cuts of pebbles and broken glass under his feet, he picked up his pace, eyes fixed on the back of the truck. From gravel, the road soon turned to asphalt, and his pace quickened still.

But so did the truck’s.

At the speed the driver was reaching, Spike was never going to catch them, but that didn’t stop him from running. He decided he could maintain a close distance for as long as was needed until it stopped.

So he ran…

The truck had taken a back road, so there were no cars that he could sense behind him, and only a few in front of Buffy’s captors, but a good quarter mile ahead.

And so he ran…

For miles the road seemed to belong to just one truck and a determined man…

But his legs were starting to fatigue. It would take will and heart and mind to fuel him when his energy failed him, so Spike kept his eyes on the back of the truck and his mind focused solely on one simple thought: Don’t lose her, Spike. Don’t lose her.

Scanning the back of the truck as he ran, he looked for anything that suggested who her captors might be. There was nothing. The truck was black and nondescript – a license plate number, the only identifying feature: 7BVS199.

Meaningless.

Spike’s vision began to blur as he read, and it wasn’t until he rubbed at his eyes that he realized he’d been crying.

But he ran still.

“Fuck!”

He must have run over something sharp, because he could smell his own blood after the pain began to subside.

But he ran still.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running when he spotted an intersection up ahead. That meant traffic that would force the assholes to slow, or better yet, a stoplight.

Thank you, God.

Spike had never slowed his pace, but the truck was growing closer, which meant that he was speeding up, or the truck was slowing down.

“Fuck yeah!”

It looked to be a red light up ahead, and since there were cars driving across the intersection, the truck was forced to slow to a stop.

Spike ran like her life depended on it, though he knew that it didn’t. They could take her away from him forever, hurt her, terrorize her, but they couldn’t kill her.

He wasn’t more than ten seconds away from her when the truck started to move again.

“Damn it!”

But the truck still needed to time to gain speed, so Spike was certain he could catch it before it outpaced him again. Reaching out towards the truck, he was only two arm-lengths away from her. He was about to clear the intersection and make a dive for it–

THUMP

But went flying through the air again…

DUMPH

… and landed with a thud.

The second armored truck stopped in the middle of the intersection after it had hit its target, its driver pleased that the runner remained flat on his back and motionless.

“Nice hit,” came a disembodied voice from the second truck’s radio.

The driver smiled, before restarting his engine and turning left down the road the first truck had taken.

“Like knocking down bowling pins.”