Banner by the wonderful always_jbj

My cell phone trills ridiculously early the next morning and I fumble for it, my reach confirming that he’s gone.

“Hello?”

“Miss Summers, Roland Hart here. If you have a minute?”

I glance at the clock. 10 a.m. Not even remotely early. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news. Apparently, the owner of the property has reconsidered his decision to list.”

“Does he want more money? I did kinda lowball.”

“I’m afraid that’s not the case. He’s informed us he won’t be selling at all.”

“Oh.”

“But I do have some other places you really ought to see. There’s a lovely …”

I tune out.

He jaws on for another five minutes, before I interrupt. “They sound nice. I just, I have some work to get done this week, and so I really should focus. I’ll call you.”

“I’m sure I could arrange-”

“Thanks, Roland. We’ll catch up real soon. Bye.”

***

It’s a rare sunny day in Londontown, so I’m lurking towards the back of the shop. Harris is polluting my workspace, and I’m not in the mood for two scoops of chipper American with a side of slacker.

He’s spinning an old Madness track, all upbeat trumpets and such, and he’s singing along, reasonably on key.

“Bless you and bless me, bless the bees. And the birds,” he croons.

I arch an eyebrow.

“I don’t usually poke tigers with sticks, but any chance you want to talk about it?”

I snort.

“What?”

“Bloody emoting Americans.”

“Don’t knock it. Made Oprah a billionaire.”

“Not worth talking about anyway.”

“Try me.”

“It’s a problem without a solution. Get to my age and you can be pretty zen about that.”

“Right. You’re real zen, Spike.”

I turn my back, and he does the same. There’s no use dredging it up.

“If you ever want to talk, man,” he adds, without turning around.

“Thanks.”

***

“Willow, it’s me. I – I’m sorry. About before. It’s just that, well, I found him.”

“Gee, I figured. Nice of you to call.”

“Wil, don’t be like that.”

“Like what? Honest? You dodge my calls for months, Buffy, and now I’m supposed to ask about the weather?”

I pause. “It’s raining.”

“Buffy, are you in trouble?”

I laugh.

“Buffy?”

Maybe it’s more of a cackle.

“I’m great, Wil. Really. It doesn’t hurt any more. Or it does, but it’s like – it’s like I can deal with it. Not just … Hugo. But all of it. My rotten marriage and not being able to, you know. I’m getting beyond.”

“Because of him?”

“Maybe. Maybe because I’ve got the courage to find him. To figure this out.”

Willow pauses, and I’m not sure what to say. “Tara told me that the heart wants what it wants.”

“That’s true,” I nod into my cell phone.

“She also told me that you can’t go just on your heart.”

“I know that, too.”

“We’ve known each other since we both had Wonder Woman UnderRoos, right?”

“Yeah,” I smile. “And you really wanted Josie and the Pussycats instead.”

“Well yeah, ‘cause Melody was a fox.”

“Wil!”

“And I don’t want to lose you.”

“Me neither.”

“But honey, this isn’t me not liking your guy. This is me fearing for your life.”

“He’s good to me, Wil. He’d never hurt me.”

“Maybe. But what if there’s someone else, someone in your orbit that maybe, yeah, you don’t know that well, but you know. And he … you know.”

“Yeah, Wil. I know.”

***

I’m out for a bite, and instead of sticking to the seedy familiar, I’m cruising a block of office towers, eager to fill up before I meet Buffy at the Indian place we just call “the Indian place.”

I’ve had my shoes longer than she’s been in my life, and yet, she’s as necessary as blood.

Speaking of which, I’m tailing a tall, broad-shouldered fellow with short, dark hair and the neatly tailored suit of a City banker.

I can make it look like a mugging, I think, and follow him until we’re near an alley.

With a rough shove, my dinner is out of sight, clattering against the rubbish bins. I spy a dumpster. Body’ll be found in the morning, most likely, but I like my odds for tonight.

“Please,” he says, as confusion passes and he realizes he’s in a world of trouble.

They always beg.

He’s taking out his wallet, and as I haven’t been to the cashpoint, I wonder if he’ll have enough to cover tonight’s tab.

I vamp out, eager to make it quick.

But he’s not taking out money.

“Please,” he repeats. “I have a wife, a daughter. And this is my little boy. He’s just a few weeks old. We don’t know-” his voice cracks, and I find myself looking at the picture. “He needs an operation. They aren’t sure if he’ll – I need to be there for him. Please. Take my money, my cards, I don’t care. But let me go.”

Wrong gender, wrong voice, but all of a sudden he’s Buffy, with me in that alley, about to die.

I shake off the fang face and leave without another word.

***

She’s on her cell phone, in front of the restaurant, when I roll up. I check my breath, wondering if she’ll smell the rat on me. The critters taste a little gamey, and they’re a bitch to catch.

I tell myself it’s just this once and head towards her.

She snaps her phone shut and we go inside, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

“When did you decide?” she asks, as soon as we’ve taken our seats.

“Sorry?”

“That you weren’t going to kill me. That night, back in LA. You said you hadn’t decided yet.”

“Ah.”

“Well?”

I shrug. “Always have something of a Do Not Eat list. Got to if you want to make your way in the world without summoning the villagers, right?”

She’s not buying my casual unapologetic stance tonight. And after the alley, it even takes me some effort.

“When Spike?”

“Does it matter?”

She nods her head.

“Fine. Probably when you showed up the next night. After finding out the truth about yours truly. I admired your gumption.”

“Gumption?”

“Fearlessness, curiosity. Dunno. Liked you.”

“And Willow? Would you eat her?”

“Your bartender friend?”

“Yeah.”

“If I recognized her, I’d give her a pass.”

“She has kids.”

“How nice. Sorry I didn’t send a gift.”

“Do you …”

“Do I kill children?” Damn. She’s gunning for me, looking for a reason to walk away. I wonder what’s changed.

“You do,” she presses.

“I have.”

Buffy pushes back from the table, but I grab her wrist before she can flee.

“Not for years, Buffy. And I wouldn’t now.”

“But their parents? You kill grown-ups, and leave their kids orphaned,” she hisses.

This hits a little too close to tonight’s events, and I feel the rat’s blood draining from my face.

I let her wrist go, and she’s off into the night without another word.

***

Three hours later, I’m back in my favorite corners of this ancient town, looking for someone vulnerable. Preferably blonde. There’s a light, chill rain falling.

I find her huddled in a doorway, selling herself, but not very well. I put on my indifferent but interested face, and she makes a little effort, too, asks me if I’m looking for some company.

This is usually when I vamp out and go to town, even though a skinny thing like her isn’t much to savor.

Then she lifts her eyes to mine, and they’re green. Buffy green.

Instead of vamping, I find myself saying, gently, “You shouldn’t be on the streets. Dangerous out here at night.” From my back pocket I pull the rest of my cash, and hand it to her, a messy crumple of bills and coins.

And I head off to try to catch me some rat.

***

“It isn’t like he’s the wrong guy, Buffy. I wouldn’t judge you for that. I’d believe that you see something in him.”

“I do, Wil.”

“Buffy, he’s the whole wrong species. He’s not even supposed to exist.”

“Yeah.”

“Is he killing?”

“Yeah. But if he weren’t a vampire-”

“Let me stop you there. It’s not like he’s Episcopalian. He can’t convert. Or stop being it.”

“That’s what he said.”

“He knows he’s no good for you, sweetie.”