“We're knights of the round table,
We dance when e're we're able,
We do routines and chorus scenes,
With footwork impecc-able,
We dine well here in Camelot,
We eat ham and jam and spam alot!
Spam-spam-spam-spam!”


Buffy sighed and sank into her seat in the balcony. It wasn’t the same. In the months after Spike’s death she had wanted anything and everything even remotely British. Deciding that Monty Python was the most Britishy thing in Toronto, off to Spamalot Buffy went. Most days she just read a lot. She had taken up carrying a book of Brit poetry with her everywhere, though she really never understood it. Spike would really have to…no, she chided herself…Spike couldn’t explain it to her.

Idiot.

Spike was gone and nothing could bring him back. Not the loneliness in her heart or the growing girth of her stomach. Nothing could bring back her Spike….

He was never “Your Spike.” You never let him be.

Buffy pouted and turned her attention back to King Arthur and his Knights, and the evil killer rabbit…oh, Anya would have hated this musical! Sitting, in a private balcony not far away from Buffy, was a tall and unbelievably handsome man. Buffy may not have noticed him…but The Immortal noticed her.

--

“Not the most comfortable traveling accommodations there, Poofter. Thought your law buddies could foot the bill for some nicer transports, eh?”

Angel sighed and smacked his head against the side of the large wooden crate he and Spike were sharing.

“Really not in the mood Spike.”

“Oi! I didn’t ask you to come along Poofter, you just followed us, right? You don’t get to complain.”

Angel scowled, “You think I’m going to let you of all people look for Buffy alone?”

“Wasn’t gonna be alone. Got the witch and the whelp,” Spike said, motioning upwards.

“I’m not even supposed to be trying to find her.”

“And why not?”

“It doesn’t really matter now, does it? Already on the way. Hope They aren’t too vengeful this time. At any rate, trains are still the safest way for us to travel, Spike. No X-ray machines to pass through.”

“Right,” Spike sighed. “Still doesn’t make me happy to be cooped up with you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

A sharp pain shot through Spike’s body, making him cringe.

“Oh God…Buffy!”

Angel crawled closer to Spike, “What? What is it? What’s the matter with her?”

“She’s in trouble…I can feel it…and I can feel her. We’re getting closer.”

--

Willow stared out of the window at the trees whipping past her eyes.

“What’s the matter, Will?”

She smiled at Xander.

“Nothing…just worried you know? About Buffy.”

“I know…me too.”

“She was really starting to get sick…I hope she’s okay, not dead in an alley or something…”

“Buffy? Naw, don’t really see her as the ‘dead in an alley’ type, do you? She’d fight anybody off, even with the flu.”

“She did that once.”

“I know.”

Xander put his arm around Willow, drawing her close into his chest.

“It’ll be okay you know? We’ll find her. Especially with Spike helping us. He could always find Buffy. At least he’s good for something.”

“That and saving the world.”

“Right. That too.”

--

Dusk slowly turned to night as the train pulled into Buffalo’s sole train station. Xander and Willow nonchalantly broke apart the crate holding Angel and Spike. Spike held his stomach as he crawled out of the crate.

“What’s wrong with Spike?” Xander asked.

Angel shrugged.

“Said he thinks Buffy’s in trouble. Says he can ‘feel her.’ I don’t buy it.”

Willow moved closer to the blonde vampire and rubbed his shoulder.

“You okay, Spike?”

He nodded, and tried to smile, but was obviously in a great deal of pain.

“Yeah. Just gotta find Buffy soon.”

Spike sniffed in the night air. Noticing his efforts, Angel mimicked Spike’s actions, but to no avail. After a moment, Spike pointed northward.

“She’s this way.”

Angel scoffed.

“Right, and we’re just supposed to trust your instincts? I can’t even pick up her scent, how can you?”

“Dunno Poofter, guess I’ve just had a lot more of her scent on me. I recognize it.”

Angel scowled and moved menacingly towards Spike, but Willow held him back.

“Okay, no more macho man fights…Buffy first, fighty later…”

Spike and Angel nodded, and the group followed Spike’s nose and gut, hoping it would lead them to their Slayer.

--

Buffy flipped through her British poetry book, coming to the sole well-worn page in it. There was no title, no author, but it was the one poem that Buffy could connect with. She often wondered why, but to her, it really didn’t matter. She just loved it.

“My soul is racked in harsh repose
Midnight descends in raven colored clothes
But soft, behold!
A sunlight beam
Cutting a swath of glimmering gleam
My heart expands, 'tis grown a bulge in't,
Inspired by your beauty effulgent”

She sighed and smiled slightly, before shutting the book and standing up as the grungy bus pulled up to her stop. As she stepped out of the bus, Buffy sensed a strange presence behind her, and pulled Spike’s leather duster around her, subconsciously trying to protect herself. She turned to look, and was greeted by a tall man stepping out of a long, black limousine.

"How did you enjoy the show Miss…?”

Buffy raised an eyebrow warily, “Buffy.”

“Miss Buffy?”

“No…just Buffy.”

"Would you mind speaking with me for a moment?"

"I'm really not in the mood. Sorry."

"It will only take a second, please, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Listen, buddy, no means no. Beat it."

“Ah. Yes, well then, Buffy...I'll just return this to you. You seemed to have left it at the theatre, I picked it up from your seat. You see, I went to speak with you there, but you were gone. I saw you leaving, and I tried to return it as you left, but alas, you didn’t hear me.”

The man held out a small white glove, which Buffy took and inspected; a light powder fell off of it onto Buffy’s hands, and absorbed almost instantly.

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s not mine,” she said holding the glove out to him.

The man smiled, but didn’t take the glove back.

"Ah. Then I wonder whom it belongs to. Very strange indeed. Well, at the very least it allowed me the pleasure of your company, if only for a moment. Well, I feel rather silly asking a favor after my heroics are dashed so easily."

Buffy’s interest was piqued.

“What was the favor,” she asked a little woozily.

“Well, I simply saw a beautiful woman in the theatre and I thought perhaps she may be a bit peckish.”

Buffy’s head felt like it was spinning round and round. She blinked as a second image of the man appeared, and lost her grip on her book. As she began to sway, he made his move.

“Oh dear! Let me help you!”

Losing consciousness quickly, Buffy tried to struggle against his firm grip as he loaded her into the limousine.

“My...book…” she whimpered as she blacked out.

The Immortal smiled. “Back home then.”

--

Because of Willow’s dedication to her friends, she always kept a wallet-sized photo of each of them with her…at least those whose images could be captured on film. Spike had taken Buffy’s picture out and flashed it around to the various cabbies and bus drivers around the train station. A small Korean man had recognized Buffy’s picture and told him he had dropped her off in Toronto the previous month.

“It cost her a pretty penny too,” he offered.

“Did she mention where she was going?”

“Well I’m not sure…” he trailed off.

Spike reached into his coat pocket and grabbed a wallet, pulling out a fifty and waved it in front of the cabbie. "I’ll have to thank whoever’s coat this is later,” he thought.

“You sure you don’t remember, mate?”

The cabbie smiled and grabbed at the bill.

“Well, she did ask for a cheap hotel’s name, and since she spend so much, I drove her the extra 5 miles for free. I took her to the Apple Cove motel. I not just in it for money, you know…she was hot…a little chubby, but hot.”

“And where is that, mate?”

The cabbie pulled out a dirty napkin and a pen, and scribbled a simplistic map, marking the hotel’s location, and handed it to the blonde vamp.

“Thanks mate.”

“Sure. Well good luck finding her. She your wife or something?”

“Or something. How’d you guess?”

The cabbie smiled.

“Well, only thing she said while we were driving was about you I guess. She had this big book of British poetry with her and I asked if she married to a British guy or in love or something. She said same thing you did, ‘Or something.’ Then she clam up. Three hours of silence not pass so quickly.”

Angel crossed his arms and huffed.

“Can we just go now, Spike? I don’t think he knows anything else.”

Spike smiled.

“Sure thing Poofter. Thanks again mate.”

"One thing though, guys. How are you gonna get there? We can’t all fit in a cab, and it’s not like we can walk,” Xander said.

Angel took his cell phone from his pocket and called his Wolfram and Hart office.

“Harmony? Yeah, it’s me. I need you to get me a car…Buffalo…No, no I haven’t found her yet…Can you…uh…Can you just…okay. Yeah, thanks.”

Angel closed his cell phone and sighed. Whenever Spike was around, he seemed to sigh even more than usual.

“Well, they said a car should be here within the hour.”

Spike shook his head. “We can’t wait that long, Poofter. She’s in trouble.”

“Well, I’d like to see you come up with a better plan Spike. It’s not like we can walk to Toronto.”


About an hour later, Angel pulled over to pick up the stubborn Spike who had started walking, Willow had noted, probably just to spite Angel.