It's Not Enough

By:  Morrigan


A/N:  Thanks again to my parter in crime, Blacknblue2!  Bwahahaha!

Thanks, also, to you guys who have left me such cool reviews!  I hope you guys like this one.

Disclaimer:  All characters are property of Joss Whedon and ME.  As if we all didn't know that already.  *L*


"He's a man, brave and true.  The kind of man who's not afraid to get his hands dirty, knowing that it is up to him to get the job done...  It's time to take out the trash!"

Andrew walked around to the side of the house and tossed a couple of kitchen trash bags into the garbage can.

"Yes," he continued, "Those men in grey jumpsuits are gonna get what's theirs!"

He clapped his hands together, before grasping the handles of the trash can and pulling it down the driveway to rest on the curb.

It was a beautiful night. The warm breeze blew softly, the almost full moon was glowing brightly and the stars were out in full force, sparkling like glitter thrown out across the evening sky.  Andrew put his hands in his pockets and smiled up at the sight, taking in a deep breath of appreciation.  He wrinkled his nose as he realized that the air might have smelled much sweeter, had he stepped away from the garbage first!

Andrew didn't think it was really so bad, being here.  Sure, most of the people in the house ignored him.  Some of them even picked on him, but he was used to that.  And he was sure that if he kept on trying to help, someone would eventually take notice and see that he could really be one of them.

'I can do all sorts of helpful stuff,' He reasoned, 'I can read lots of demon languages; I can perform spells... well, some, anyway...  I'm not too good at catching pigs...'

Andrew got distracted easily.  Which was, most likely, why he didn't notice the shadowy figures, which were watching him from behind the bushes along the driveway.


*  *  *  *  *

Meanwhile, inside...


It doesn't matter, Ahn!"  Xander exclaimed, putting his cards face down on the table.  "My leaving you at the altar has nothing to do with the fact that I don't have any eights... now, go fish!"

Anya snapped her hand out into the center of the table and pulled a card out of the deck.  She sneered at Xander and hid her cards underneath the table before leaning closer to him to respond.

"That's just like you, Harris!  One minute you tell me to go fish, and the next you are trying to reel me in like I am one...  Then, the next minute, you are tossing me back in like I'm too small and un-edible!

Xander blinked a couple of times, his mouth hanging in slack jawed confusion.  It didn't matter how long he had known her.  He knew he was never going to figure out how she always managed to trip him up over the weirdest things.

"Anya...  You aren't too small."

"Oh, so now you're telling me it's because I'm fat!  That's just swell!"

"Ahn!  I didn't say that...  I never said you were fat!"

"Oh, so what?  I'm un-edible then?  There she is!  Boring, old, un-edible Anya!  I can't keep her!"

Anya squealed and threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, but still managed to keep her cards facing away from Xander, who stared at her dumbly, until she was finished.

After clearing his throat, Xander shook his head slowly and asked, "Is there any way I can answer that question that won't end in extreme badness?"

"Oh, you...  You evasive, confusing man!"  Anya put her hands back in her lap and slumped in her chair.  "What is so hard about answering a simple question?"

"And what question would that be, I wonder?"  Spike asked as he sauntered through the kitchen.  He pulled a bag of blood out of the fridge and began pouring it in a mug.  After popping it into the microwave and starting it, he turned to face the two people at the table, leaning back against the counter.

"Let's ask Spike what he thinks!"  Anya hissed, and turned quickly, not noticing the dark clouds that settled in Xander's eyes at her suggestion.

"Xander thinks that I am fat and un-edible!"  Anya stated, bluntly.  "Do you?"

If it were possible, one would think that Spike had suddenly turned a whiter shade of pale.  But, he stared into her eyes stoically, before turning his own to meet Xander's steely glare, which clearly had warning written all over it.

*Ping!*

"Well!"  Spike turned and pulled the mug out of the microwave.  As he turned back around, he held it up, already making his exit, and said, "Dinner's done!  I think I'll be goin' now!  Enjoy your fat... uh... chat!"


'Stupid bloody git!'  Spike cursed to himself, as he made his way into the living room.  'Enjoy your fat!...  Bloody hell!'  He sat down in one of the recliners and tried to tune out the still raging argument.  'Walked right into that one, mate.'  He thought.  He closed his eyes and drank down half of the warm blood from the mug.

Buffy was out on patrol.  He had wanted to go along with her, but she had been doing her best to avoid him for a couple of weeks now.  He had considered tagging along behind her anyway, but since she had opted to take the witch along, he figured he was best off to just stay here.  It wasn't like he could get her to open up and talk to him in front of her friends, anyway.

Things had been different between several of them, since his showdown with Wood.  Since discovering Spike's trigger was still active, the potentials' general fear and unease of Spike had risen greatly.  He didn't mind that so much, because he felt that it was probably in their best interest to maintain that frame of mind around any vampire.  But, it did require him to keep a more watchful eye with them.  Especially around Kennedy.

Although no one had told Spike anything in particular, it was plain to see that she and Willow were no longer nesting, and her already overbearing nature had been set on overkill.  She may not be anything more than a normal girl, right now, but he wouldn't put it past her to pull a vigilante stunt and try to dust him in his sleep.

On the other hand, however, since discovering that their plan to kill Spike had actually de-activated Spike's trigger, Giles had fallen back into his begrudging acceptance of Spike's residence in the Summers' home.  An opinion that, at this point, no longer mattered either way to Spike.

Things had been strained, at best.  Which brought his thoughts back around to Buffy.  Not since before he had left, had things been so awkward between them.  It was as if she was trying to pretend he didn't exist.  'And, although he didn't think he would admit it to anyone, even if he thought anyone would care, it hurt.

'What does she think?'  He wondered.  'That I was trying to start something?  She came to me, not the other way around!  An' what?  She kisses me, thinkin' I didn't even know it, and then gives me the ol' spanish archer every time I enter the room, as if I'm not even worth a word?'

Spike drank down the remaining blood and was going to take it into the kitchen to rinse it out, but thought the better of it, as he remembered that Xander and Anya were still there, and he most certainly wouldn't escape as easily, his next time through.  He set it on the table beside him, for the moment, instead, and leaned back in the chair.

'I'll never understand women.'  He thought, and then something caught his eye outside.

A shadow passed in front of the window, and after its passing through the dim light of the street lamp, he could see something else, out farther, by the street.

Spike got up from his chair, and approached the window.  Upon looking out from behind the curtains he saw several bringers in the yard, and further away, Andrew.  He was dangling in the air, held by the throat, in the clutches of one of those blasted uber-vamps.

'Son of a bitch!'  Spike cursed, grabbing something out of the coat closet and heading outside.

That something happened to be a battle-axe.  'If nothing else can be said about living with a slayer,' he thought, 'at least weapons are never far away.'

The bringers sensed him, the moment he stepped out the door; two of them coming from either side, like they had been waiting for him.

Spike swung the axe in a large arc, severing an arm from the bringer at his right, and became embedded in the chest of the other on his left.  With a hard kick, Spike dislodged the axe, sending the already dead bringer to the ground,
and continued marching through the yard, cutting a swath through the dozen or so other bringers that seemed to leap out of nowhere, leaving a trail of corpses and blood in his wake as he made his way toward the street.

Andrew was holding on to the wrist of the monster that was holding him up, trying desperately to remain conscious.  His feet were instinctively kicking in a vain attempt to find some sort of leverage.  This thing was female, and it was playing with him.  The monstrous thing snarled, grinning up at him, its lips skinned back to reveal her darkened, jagged teeth, and sent a wave of its putrid breath through the space between them.

Andrew gagged, thinking that if her death grip on his neck didn't kill him, her breath certainly would.  It squeezed a little tighter now, sending sparks and black spots to float in front of his vision.  He was vaguely aware of some commotion coming from the yard, but couldn't have turned to look or call for help if he tried.  The creature peered closer into Andrew's face and curled its lips up into a jack-o-lantern's grin.  A low purring noise came up from its throat.

Its grip began to tighten again, slowly, and Andrew knew that this was it; this would be the way he would die.  Then he heard a voice call out from behind him.

'Lo, Bitch!'

Andrew dropped to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.  He struggled to get up, but couldn't get past his knees, so he just lay there, instead, turning to see who his rescuer was.

Spike was standing under the street light with the battle-axe slung casually over his left shoulder.  He was spattered from head to toe with the blood and gore of the bodies which were scattered in the yard behind him.  His trademark smirk was firmly in place, and his duster was floating out behind him in the breeze.  To Andrew, he looked like a dark, striking hero straight from one of his Hellsing comic books.

Spike extended his free arm, curving his hand up to wave his fingers in a come-hither motion, as he slid into game face.

"Come to Daddy!"