This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and Angelic Amy. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support and read throughs.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated.


Chapter 13

Ethan fell back against the drawing room wall, certain that more of this rough handling would damage more than his pride. He’d tried to be casual in his enquiry about Ripper, just wanting to know if the old sod was still in one piece, but the thugs the Initiative had sent for this evening’s debrief had taken to using their fists where a simple ‘piss off’ would have sufficed.

His masters were disappointed that he hadn’t yet provided the formula used by the Watchers Council to perform the Cruciamentum on their slayers. They were going to be in for a long wait. If they wanted it so much it was his infinite pleasure to deny them. He just wished they’d get over this annoying habit of bashing him; it hardly inspired his loyalty and made the glamour harder to work.

Tomorrow would see his last day of attendance at the Council. A fact he was very much keeping to himself. There’d barely be enough hours today to complete his various tasks; he still had to return to the office from his late morning ‘appointment’. If they had an inkling of how much work he’d actually put in at Rupe’s desk - not wholly for their purposes – they’d realise they were dealing with one tired and hacked off mage. What he wouldn’t give to be able to show them, right now, the error of their ways. But that sort of action had always caught him out in the past, something he’d had more than enough time to ponder during his years of captivity.

Still, the day did have its bright side. The dust he’d sprinkled in the coffee they’d insisted he make for them would activate in just under twenty four hours. Five of the eight Initiative keepers sent on this mission would then come down with a mystery virus. Such a shame they would be debilitated with diarrhoea and vomiting just as he made his way out of their loathsome clutches. The only element of chance was if their colleagues saw fit to search for him when they realised he was overdue instead of being distracted enough to allow him the time he needed to make good his flight – in all meanings of the word. And even if one of these dogs was watching him, well, the chances were slightly in his favour it would be one of the quintet currently making themselves overly comfortable on Rupe’s charming three piece suite. The thought amused him.

It was enough comfort for Ethan to smile over his pain and mouth platitudes in their ears. ‘We’ll see what a difference a day will make, old chums. He who has the last laugh…”

***

Whatever else they may have said to one another was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Willy.

It was with surprise Buffy noticed the change which had descended on the bar. Gone was the hum of conversation and chink of glasses, the usual hubbub of background noise from the diverse clientele. A sound she could only identify as peculiarly unique to Willy’s Bar, pierced as it was with squawks and shrieks which passed as language for some of the more exotic demons who regularly patronised the joint. It had been replaced with a dramatic fall in custom; at least half the place had cleared, and those who remained stood - or sat - in small groups murmuring quietly and soberly amongst themselves. She didn’t have to wait a moment longer to find out why.

“Slayer, we’re about to lock down,” Willy said quietly. “Got reports of a patrol coming underground near the campus and those that have other places to be are leaving now.” He nodded towards Spike. “Thought you might want to get the sun-challenged back where he belongs, what with it being only another hour until dawn.”

Mention of the campus opened the door of yet another dark place in Spike’s mind; his last moments of freedom had been spent there. The first moment in the forced suppression of his true nature. And what was his true nature? He wasn’t entirely sure any more.

Was it irony that his last taste of freedom had been spent looking at her? Did it mean something, anything, that the nearest he had come to tasting it again was in her presence? He didn’t know yet. All desire to kill the Slayer had disappeared; that much was certain. Replaced by…

“I’ll use the back door. Thanks, Willy.” Buffy smiled slightly before standing and exiting the booth. Willy, already clearing the table, gave a nod without pausing. And Spike was sliding from the booth ready to follow her. Which was a relief. She hadn’t wanted to drag him out, but there was no way she was letting him out of her sight with the Initiative grunts in the distance.

Crossing to the nearby door, Buffy pushed it inwards to reveal a dimly lit dank tunnel. With the confidence of familiarity, she made her way along it until they reached a dissection with another tunnel. They’d barely turned left and started moving away when a soft grating noise betrayed the movement of false brickwork which would keep unwelcome visitors away from Willy’s back passage. There was a small thunk as it settled perfectly in the portal.

“Neat.” Spike was impressed. Things were being run on a scale he’d never have thought to associate with Willy before. Not that he’d ever thought of Willy in any way other than as a sometime useful tool. But not someone he would trust, as Willy had proven when he’d sold him out to the Slayer. Slayers. Angel.

Spike followed closely as they made their way for the nearest exit to the world above, resolutely focussing on the sway of the Slayer’s hips in front of him; the way it made her jacket twitch out with each step, the hypnotic rhythm of her stride and the traces of her scent caught in the air. Those seemingly small things were enough to bring him equilibrium, keep the bogey man from messing with his head and bringing out snaps for him to peer inwardly at; all he wanted to see was right in front of him.

His Slayer.

***

Buffy’s head was aching. Not badly, just enough to make her long for a shower and her bed. Or maybe a soak with something nice in the water. ‘Nope. Not working. Damn. What to do about Angel? And what do I do if he insists on coming, if I can’t sort this out over the phone? No fair.’ And felt ashamed.

An aching head was small payment if it meant keeping Spike safe. It was useless to try and sort out every little thing that made her want to keep him safe…and around. Her initial reason for getting him seemed so shallow to her now. The merest thought of what could have been his fate, if he were not with her, was enough to make her head suffer a sharper jolt of pain.

Small voices tried to persuade her that the evil vampire wasn’t worth her efforts, didn’t deserve her compassion or empathy. They called out with cries of vengeance for his victims. They called out for his dust. Buffy listened to them, but didn’t have to turn around to know that she couldn’t put a stake to Spike’s chest now, not even in the name of righteous justice.

Not that having him with her, however it had started out, made her happy. Far from it. But the thought of being without him safely near her made her feel positively not happy. More would have to wait for later. They were home.

***

Tara half woke as she turned and reached for Willow. When her questing arm failed to connect with anything other than almost cool bedding, her other senses kicked in just enough to identify the faint tapping as ‘lover on computer’. She’d thought Willow had capitulated a little too easily on coming to bed last night; the redhead had been fired up with seeing Buffy, and Spike, again. Being accepted back into the fold, even the much reduced fold which now existed had meant so much to Willow…and to Tara.

Being given an opportunity to stand up and be counted was both scary and exhilarating in turns. Right now the exhilaration of purpose had taken hold of Willow and, to the faint sounds of high technology research, Tara contentedly buried her head deeper into her lover’s pillow before drifting off again.

***

The flashing red light couldn’t be ignored any longer. Buffy had sent Spike downstairs to shower and change, armed with a mug of warmed blood. She wanted another look at his wounds before he slept and had told him so. The weak smile she’d received in reply let her know that they were both feeling the effects of an eventful day. Whilst the new day was just about to begin for most people, Buffy’s was just coming to a close. Not one she would be sorry to see the back of, not at all.

She turned the sound down on the machine, checking at the basement door for sounds of the shower running before she replayed the message from Angel. It must have been the knowledge of what happened between him and Spike which lent her such a jaundiced ear, made his voice seem artificial and insincere. It was no surprise to her that Spike had left on hearing this, and it made her angrier that the first time Angel would think to invite her to dinner would be as part of a plot to remove Spike from her home. Would it have hurt him to have been so generous when they’d been seeing each other? A minor detail, but it still chafed.

Moving aside a takeaway menu pinned on the corkboard, Buffy looked down her seldom used list of useful numbers. Angel Investigations had non-pride of place at the very bottom of the two short columns, names and numbers side by side. Picking up the phone she tapped out the number and waited…and waited…and waited. It was ringing but nobody was picking up. Deciding to try again from her bedroom, once she’d reassured herself that Spike would rest comfortably, she replaced the handset and grabbed the bowl she’d used earlier.

After a brief knock on the basement door she called out, “You decent, Spike?” The muffled response made her smile.

“Decent as I’ll ever be, Slayer.”

Minutes later her smile had been replaced with a frown. “I don’t understand why these aren’t looking any better. Shouldn’t your vampire healing be getting rid of them better than this?” They looked cleaner than they had this morning – but that was about all. Still inflamed, still looking sore and uncomfortable.

Spike was already aware that, even with his less than recuperative diet, he should have healed by now. Hell, he should have healed weeks ago. For some reason most of his disfiguration had responded in the normal way, the agony receding with rest and food as bones knit together and skin returned to its normal state. These last few injuries had defied the normal course, for some reason. The bite, in particular, throbbed angrily and if he had a choice of getting rid of one thing it would be that. His mark.

“They’re better than they were, Slayer. Feel better.” He wanted to remove the frown from her pretty face. “But, yeah, should have been gone by now.”

She’d started putting new dressings on the worst wounds, quicker than she’d done earlier, her hands more deft now they were repeating a task learned. Warm fingers brushing and pressing against his skin sent welcome pleasure through his body. He wanted her to touch ever part of him, fill him - in small touches - with her warmth, and make him feel what only a woman could make a man feel. Even if the man were a cold vampire.

“I couldn’t get hold of him.” Buffy watched as his face tensed, eyes finding hers in question. “I’ll try again later, but just in case I can’t reach him I think it would be best if I made arrangements for Tara and Willow to be here with you tonight. He won’t be allowed in the house, Spike. Disinvite was done years ago and I have no intention of letting him come into our home.”

Her words gave both anxiety and a kind of balm. Angel within miles of him was too near. Hearing the Slayer refer to the house as being their home… Spike knew it was only a turn of phrase, and she probably didn’t know she’d said it, but even so it calmed some of his inner agitation that she had thought enough about him to come up with a fallback plan – should the worst happen and his hulking grandsire were to turn up on their doorstep. There was nothing else he could do but get some rest and hope tomorrow would not bring confrontation to upset his slayer, or himself.

Forcing a smile, he said, “Right good of you, Slayer, fixing me up with two charming ladies while you rough it.” He was content when his poor attempt at humour was rewarded by a smile.

“I’ll let you know what’s the what when we get up.” Collecting together the small pile of first aid bits and pieces, Buffy tidied them away in the bathroom before turning to bid Spike goodnight. An impulse to tuck him into bed and drop a kiss on his brow took her by surprise. She waited for some sense of wrongness to wash over her…and waited in vain. In fact, she quite liked the idea but didn’t think Spike would appreciate being treated in the same way as Dawn had been when she had felt under the weather. Buffy didn’t quite see Spike as brother material either, he was too… She couldn’t put her finger on the right word, but she definitely did not feel sisterly towards him.

She knew they were both tired, and she had more to do before falling into bed and a hopefully uninterrupted day’s sleep. Spike had changed into a soft pair of dark blue jogging bottoms after his shower and was slipping the top over his head now, the stretch showing how thin he still was and how far they had to go before he was in tip top condition again – physically and mentally.

“You ready to turn in? Shall I turn off the light on my way out?” Buffy moved slowly towards the stairs as his head thrust through the opening of the sweatshirt. He fixed her with such a sad expression she had to fight again not to touch him, to comfort him as she would a wounded animal. Spike was not a pet.

Despite his weariness, Spike was reluctant to part company with his Slayer. The need for rest was balanced with his fear of sleeping – and the memories, nightmares, he had no doubt lay in wait for him. Dragging them forward today had returned to them a foothold, all his efforts to quash them completely undone, his only distraction his slayer. And now she was going to leave him alone.

The bed that had been the symbol of a boon before now became a symbol of aloneness; only meant for one and that’s how he would stay. One. Alone. His only defence against tormented slumber…her scent on his pillows. The sweet, sweet smell of home.

He rose from his perch on the side of his bed, picking up his empty mug with the intention of taking it to the kitchen and rinsing it out. As he stepped towards the Slayer she held out her hand to take it from him. This time the accidental touch of their fingers sent a jolt through him, a sensation he hadn’t felt since his human days when even the slightest meeting of flesh between a man and a woman could cause both sexual and emotional reactions. Where intimacy was taken in small steps and courting was the name of the game if you wanted a good, decent woman to warm your body at night. Of course, William hadn’t got close to attaining anything more than the most formal of touches upon a female not of his family. But this, this molten mixture of desire and love, recalled sharply the romantic dreams of a more innocent self, a self who hadn’t needed blood to survive and a battle to revel in. It was a dream come true.

She was a dream come true.

And if he didn’t watch himself he’d bollocks what was lining up to be a beautiful friendship. Seeing as his position didn’t lend itself to any of the chat up lines which had worked so beautifully for him in the past – when he’d had a fancy for something fresh and female – and her being the Slayer meant he couldn’t exactly gloss over anything he’d done in the past. To hope for more than to one day become her friend was the most he could reasonably aspire to. If a part of him was unreasonable and wanted more, well, it could want all it liked – didn’t mean it was going to get. Though hope was a fine thing, and to feel it again made anything seem possible, however improbable. ‘Stranger things have happened at sea, mate. Just to be with her, that’s enough. So best I don’t screw it up, don’t start acting like a bigger nancy than I am. Give the girl what she needs, not what I want. Hell, she’s already given me hope. What else is there?’

He so wanted to kiss her. That’s what else there was. Passion and fire, heat and desire. Spike was just discovering that he had more of that left in him than he would have believed possible a few days ago. Feelings which needed to be hidden. Staring into her eyes, shocked and wide, didn’t make the best sense right now. He’d never been good at hiding his feelings and he feared they were showing as clearly as a neon sign. His only hope was that the Slayer couldn’t read the message.

***

Angel entered his office after an early meeting with one of the Senior Partners. It had gone smoothly. But then, they always did.

He’d do a couple more hours work before catching a nap prior to his trip to Sunnydale. The best minds in Wolfram & Hart had developed a cover story to deal with any delusional tales Spike may have revealed to Buffy. By the time he finished with her, Angel fully expected the Slayer to throw Spike into his waiting arms. In one strike he would achieve two aims; Buffy would look at him with interest once more, and Spike would be his.

Choosing which thought pleased him more was still up for debate. It would take seeing them in the flesh to make it any easier. Angel sighed. The choices he had to make were truly difficult, but he knew he’d make the right decision when the time came. If he couldn’t believe in himself, who could he believe in?

***

Buffy sat cross legged on her bed, phone next to her, two books and a notepad and pen keeping it company. She was tired to her bones and frustrated the one thing she had to cross off her list just happened to be the most important one: call Angel.

Tara and Willow had agreed to Spike-sit should she not be able to deflect Angel from visiting. She’d caught them just before they left to open the Magic Box.

Willow had news. She’d share tonight when they got together – time being dependent on the Angel situation. Buffy felt a little relieved when Willow didn’t try to babble it all out as she had so often in the past. Tired slayer did so not equal information absorbing slayer. Yet here she was doing actual research. And if it kept her thoughts away from her reaction to Spike’s touch… Later, she’d think about it later. Research, now.

Both books had been given to her as a parting gift from Anya when she and Xander moved from Sunnydale to Cleveland. At the time Buffy had not shown the gratitude the gift deserved, being so taken aback at Anya giving something away without good reason that she’d thought the ex-demon was being sarcastic. The titles of the books didn’t exactly make them appear anything but frivolous: ‘Everything You Always Wanted to Know About the Vampyre - But Were Too Afraid to Ask’ and ‘Vampires: The Truth About Relationships Established With Humans’.

She’d never picked them up until tonight. They’d been on her small bookshelf alongside the six books on demon identification which Giles had insisted she needed; those had proved invaluable with helping her identify non-human threatening demons. The second of the books from Anya had proved interesting, but not directly related to her current research. In all honesty it had been distracting and she’d had to force herself to put the book down. She wished she’d looked at it before. It was…disturbing.

The first book had revealed what she sought – information on domination rituals. They weren’t pretty. Before reading that damned manual she would have been heaving. Now strong swallowing was keeping the contents of her stomach where it belonged. From the marks and bite on Spike’s pale body, Angel had crossed a very clear line of vampiric lore in his treatment of her vampire. It was stated over and over again the level of punishment meted out to a vampire, and the effects of status on it. As master vampires it was unthinkable for them not to have met as equals – fist, fang and natural talents deciding the outcome. Angel had behaved as if his grandchild had been no more than a lowlier fledgling than she could find described in the book. As if he had no worth. As if his status as a chipped vampire made him less than the meanest minion, less than a vampire, and not even within hailing distance of being given the dues of a master.

According to the book, Angel would have been well within his rights to punish Spike in a fitting manner. Totally separate issue, and nothing to do with dominance. For that to happen they should have met in a fair - to vampires - fight. Angel’s actions were not clearly covered by anything in this book, not exactly. The nearest mix would be a combination of humiliation with domination. Buffy had swallowed particularly hard when absorbing the almost casual descriptions given to the myriad of ways a vampire could be humiliated.

How could Angel be doing this when he had a soul? Had he turned so far from the accepted lore of his kind that he now thought as a human? What was he getting out of all this? She wondered if she’d ever really known Angel at all. She wondered why it was so much easier to feel a connection with the vampire in the basement than to her grand passion. ‘Maybe it’s because one of them…I actually like.’

Buffy picked up the phone to try one last time before sleep claimed her. No answer.

In a gut clenching way she was almost glad. Hearing what Angel had to say, watching him say it, should be an education – and maybe what was needed to pull the last splinter from her heart and let it heal.

She’d barely cleared the bed and fallen back on her pillows when Spike’s screams had her leaping up, desperate to reach his side.

***

A/N: Hope this entertained. I made several additions once this was returned from my darling betas, so if you notice any of my typos – or any other glitches – please feel free to point me in the right direction. BFN