Chapter Three: What the Lady Wants


Spike had just opened his eyes and was stretching when the memory of finding Buffy last night hit him. He stifled a yawn and nearly jumped out of his skin when his eyes fell on her sleeping form beside him. He kept his eyes on her as he eased himself into his jeans, trying not to wake her. How did she get there? Why would she even want to be this close to me? He tied his bootlaces while looking over his shoulder at her.

His eyes jerked upwards when he heard the door above slam.

“Spike!” Clem called out.

Buffy had left the hole leading to the second floor half open. He glanced at the sleeping slayer and quickly concluded that if she didn't want her friends to know about her, she probably didn't want Clem to know either. Not that they ran in the same circles, but if Clem knew, it wouldn't be long before the rest of the demon population would know and it would somehow get back to the Scoobies.

He climbed to the top floor, dragging the cover over the hole behind him. The wrinkled demon move about the makeshift kitchen placing goods into the open fridge. “Hi Clem.”

“Hey, there you are. Listen, I can't stay right now, but I wanted to bring you some things. I've got pig's blood and I was able to get a pint of 'O' neg.” He waved the clear oblong bag at him. “You want it now?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” It had been a while since he'd fed and even longer since he'd tasted the good stuff.

“It's the least I could do after you let me crash here at your place. I got some scotch and some bourbon, too.” He closed the fridge door and leaned on it. “So did you find out anything about the Slayer?”

Spike stared at the flickering TV. “Yeah. She's dead.”

“I'm sorry, man. You knew this could happen. Slayers have a short life expectancy." He scratched behind his ear and glanced at Spike. "I wonder if the new slayer will come here?”

Spike just shrugged. “I appreciate what you've done for me here, mate; but I need some time alone. Do you mind if I take back the offer to crash here?”

“No problem, Spike. I understand. I still have my own place. I'll come by in a couple of days with more supplies for you.” He slapped Spike on the back on the way to the door. “I've got places to be, so I'll see you around.”

Spike tried to appear casual as he leaned against a sarcophagus and waved at the demon. When the door slammed shut, he pushed himself up, turned the TV off and then went back downstairs. He lit a few candles and took his time setting them around the room, settling himself before facing the slayer and the inevitable discussion. He turned and their eyes met. She was lying there with her hair fanned on the pillow.

“Welcome back,” he said. “I'm not sure how you ended up in my bed?”

Buffy sat up and played with her sleeve. “I couldn't sleep, so I came down here.” She attempted to smooth her shirt out, avoiding his eyes. “I could use a change of clothes.”

“What the lady wants, the lady gets,” he told her as he put his jacket on, trying for light-hearted banter, but failing.

“What the lady wants is for you to stop with the pity. I can't stand the way you look at me.”

“I'm sorry.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I get that okay, but right now I need your help, not your pity. I've got to warn Faith about the Council.”

“First, you need to feed, and then I'll see to the change of clothes. I'll go to your place and nick some of your stuff. You want anything in particular?”

~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Spike tossed the long, black duffel bag out the window and cringed when it hit the ledge with a loud thwack. Good going, Pink Panther, alert the whole house on your way out. He held the bag and slipped to the ground.

He could see Giles, through an open window on the ground floor, sitting in an easy chair with an ancient book opened on his lap. He took a drink from the glass in his hand and then let his arm rest on the edge of the chair with the glass swinging over the side. Giles leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He did not look well, with two days worth of stubble on his face and dark circles under his eyes. The watcher would feel even worse if he knew of his slayer's actual fate, Spike wagered.

A car pulled up at the curb. Spike shrank back further into the bushes as two men got out and gently shut their doors. They wore identical leather jackets and had dark hair. Spike watched way too much TV, and his first thought was that they were hit men for the Mafia. That idea was dispelled when the taller one spoke in an English accent.

“Remember, this is an information gathering mission only. No violence. Let me do the talking.”

“Right.” The shorter one waved him off and rolled his eyes.

“If she hasn't tried to contact him yet, he probably doesn't know she's a vampire. He'll be thinking she's just dead like Travers told him.” The man stopped in front of his friend. “I mean it, Carter, no violence.”

“Yeah, but if Buffy's there, let me have first crack at 'er.” Carter pulled out a strange gun the likes of which Spike had never seen. “I'm a better shot than you are.”

“Put that away!” The bigger guy covered the weapon with his hand and looked around anxiously. “What are you trying to do, tip them off?”

“They wouldn't have a clue what this thing is. Be careful,” Carter told the other one as he wrenched it away from him. “It's loaded with the wooden ones. I ain't taking no chances tonight.” He said the last in a whisper as they reached the door and knocked.

Giles opened the door slowly. “What are you two doing here?” He questioned, in a tired voice.

“Travers asked us to stop by on our way to the prison to do that job.”

“You mean before you murder an innocent girl?”

“I don't think she's so innocent. She's in jail isn't she?” Carter snarked. The taller one thumped him on the head. “Ow, what was that for?”

Spike slipped away and ran at full speed back to his place. He'd heard enough.

He burst into the crypt, tossed the duffel bag down, and leaned on the door to shut it with a loud thunk. He scanned the room; No Buffy. There was no way he was going to let those wankers get near her. “Buffy!”

“Down here.”

He grabbed the bag and tossed it down the opening. “Look out below.”

“Clean clothes,” she said with a grateful sigh.

She had the bag on the bed by the time he got down. The sound of the zipper echoed in the room as she opened it. Buffy held up the stuffed pig and clutched it to her chest. “You got Mr. Gordo.” Her voice was soft and tender; her eyes filling with tears. She reached down and grabbed the framed photo. “And my favorite picture.” It was his favorite picture of Buffy with her mum and sis, too.

All the times he tried to impress her or tried to do anything to get her to look at him that way and all it took was to bring her a stuffed pig and a photo. Females were strange creatures. She put her treasures down on the bedside table, pulled out a t-shirt, and raised it to her face. She inhaled deeply and sighed. “It smells like home.” Buffy stared at Spike as if she just realized he was there and stood up straighter.

Spike could see her visibly closing herself off again. The mask of indifference was back and she would not meet his eyes. He looked around the room and noticed that it was much cleaner. There was a pile of debris against the far wall with a couple of full black trash bags and the rug under his feet was clean and flat.

“You've been busy while I was gone.” She shrugged and searched through the bag, avoiding his eyes again. “I'll let you get freshened up then. I've got some news for you when you're done.” It frustrated him when she wouldn't even look at him.

~*~*~*~

Spike was sitting in his chair holding a bottle of bourbon staring mindlessly at the television. Buffy was taking forever and it gave him way too much time to think. She hadn't changed all that much, he thought bitterly and took a drink. She was still sending off mixed signals and making his unlife miserable; yet he was powerless to curb his emotions. He loved her and he would do anything for her. Even if it meant adding to the body count that was already massive and adding more pain and anguish to his soul. He would find a way to eliminate the threat of those two wankers, even if he had to do it himself and suffer massive head trauma.

He watched her walk up and hesitate by the opening. She looked much better in a clean pair of black slacks and a mint green top. Her hair was brushed back into a neat ponytail and she'd put on a little make-up. He looked back at the TV and took a drink, grateful for the opportunity to busy himself while he ordered his emotions. Dead or alive, she was gorgeous, but she didn't need a love sick Spike right now. Buffy needed him to be a man and help her, not cause more problems.

"Did you eat yet?"

"Yes. While you were gone." Buffy brushed past him, turned off the TV and sat on the couch. “So, what news?”

“I over heard these two bruisers talking about you when they were walking to your door. They work for the Council, but they definitely weren't watchers. Thugs more like.”

“Leather jackets? Coarse language?” When he nodded, she said, “I met those guys or guys like them a couple of years ago. They're the clean up crew, here to take care of Faith.”

“Yeah, but they know you're a vampire and they're also here to get rid of you.” He couldn't hide the anger in his voice, and Buffy couldn't hide the shock in hers.

“And Giles let them in?”

“I didn't stick around to find out. I came back here as soon as I could slip out of my hiding place. One thing, though, I heard them say that Giles doesn't know about you. They were there to find out if you'd contacted him yet.”

She relaxed and then tensed up again. “If they're here already, we need to warn Faith right away. I need to get to a pay phone.” She stood and checked her pockets. “Do you have change? I'm going to need a few dollars' worth.”

He got up, put his bottle away, and found his change jar. Surprisingly, it was still full. Spike stuffed his jacket pockets with more than enough change. “Got it,” he said. “But do you even know where she is or the number?”

“I know it by heart. We've talked a few times since she went in.”

~*~*

He waited by the bike some distance away while she used the pay phone across from the park. It was too quick and she did not look happy as she marched back to him. “They won't let me talk to her. She's already had one call today.”

“Where is this prison?”

“In the high desert about two hours from here.”

“Road trip?”

“Road trip,” she agreed. “We'll need to get a set of wheels. There's no way we can make it there and back on your bike before sunup.”