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banner created by AJ Hofacre © March 10, 2008

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...part VIII...
.:how do you explain an invisible claim pain?:.

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Xander's mouth was still gaping about five minutes later.

"Did I... Did I step into the Twilight Zone or something? Did she really say that she trusted him?" Xander asked, his eyebrows raised, his face holding a look nothing short of confusion.

Willow nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, Xander. She did. A-And please don’t go all... um, Psycho on me, but... I think she likes him." She winced when Xander whirled to face her, and put her hands up protectively. "Hey, I said no Psycho! Believe me, I don’t understand it, but I think she likes him, and... and..." she paused before plunging in. "I think it's more than like on his part, too."

Xander snorted. "So, what are you saying, Will? That a chipless, soulless, evil vampire is in love with Buffy?"

Willow bit her lower lip. Xander’s eyes closed and he grabbed at his stomach, trying to avoid his sudden bout of nausea.

"Oh, god."

He ran for the door to the cellar, intent on crashing right into the bathroom. Willow waved her hand at his back apologetically.

"Sorry!" she called.

---

The door slammed open upstairs, echoing off the walls. Damn it; he had to get a secure bolt for that damn thing. As if it hadn’t been startling enough to finish the work on his shower and walk upstairs, then get scared out of his bloody wits when he found Dawn waiting for him that morning; he didn't want to chance his crypt being intruded on by all manner of beasties hell bent on being the next Big Bad.

He growled and put down the hammer he’d found at the dump, opting to carry his chisel with him. It wasn’t a railroad spike – that had stopped being his signature after his first quarter of a century as a vampire – but it would do for now. He sniffed, testing the air around him, but the must and stone dust had thickened the air so much, he couldn’t even tell which nostril was where. So, holding the chisel at his side, he climbed up the ladder.

Damn. The must had drifted all the way to the upper level. He looked around.

"Who’s here? Show yourself." There was absolutely no response. "I swear, if I find you, they’ll be diggin’ your body up for a millennia! You hear me, you fuckin' prick? Get your ass out here!"

Still no response.

Suddenly, there was a sharp sting in his torso and Spike dropped the chisel, letting out a small gasp and wincing in pain. He looked down slowly.

He didn't know that stakes could be that big.

It was protruding from his shoulder; just above his lung, and, thankfully, way off from his heart. The aroma he hadn't been able to identify earlier drifted toward him from the wood and the recognition flared instantly. He growled dangerously.

Well, well. If it wasn't Agent Shrink-a-Dick.

He turned slowly, being extra careful in case the ass aimed again and got a good shot this time. A feral smiletwisted his lips and he yanked the stake out, ignoring the pain as well as the gaping hole that was bleeding uncontrollably.

"Well. Look who got himself a pair of stones," he drawled, tilting his head.

The agent's fury flared, recalling the term that Buffy had used when she had broken it off with him. Riley took Spike’s words as his cue to step forward, and did so, armed with a crossbow.

"Wish I could say it was good to see you, Spike. But then, it never really is good to see you, is it?" the boy said, drawing himself up straight.

Spike raised his eyebrows, thoroughly unimpressed. "Oh, come now. Don’t be so harsh, boy." He jutted out his lower lip at the mortal. "You just might hurt my feelings with those witty barbs." Spike sighed and hooked his thumb in the front of his jeans. "So... what, now? You’re here to fight for Buffy’s honor or somethin’? Cuz I think you’re about ten or twelve centuries too late to apply for the chivalrous knight role."

Riley inched closer, grasping his taser with his free hand. He looked completely calm and determined, but Spike could hear the git’s heart beating off the charts. "Shut up, Spike. I’m not here for the small talk. I know you’ve done something to Buffy. Yeah, you claimed her – I know about it, the whole gang does. But you didn’t just claim her, did you? You put some sort of spell on her, a spell to cloud her judgment. You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Spike?"

Spike smiled proudly, straightening. "Glad you noticed, mate." He stretched (carefully; that stake wound hurt like a bitch right now), arching his lean, toned body. He glanced down, appraising himself. "I am pretty, aren’t I?"

Riley’s disgusted gaze never wavered. "Yeah, Spike. You’re pretty --"

Spike's eyebrows raised, and he chuckled, interrupting. "I knew you were a poofter."

Riley's scowl deepened, and he continued, like Spike had never spoken. "A pretty big pain in the ass. Stay away from Buffy or I swear to God, I’ll use this," he ground out, holding the crossbow up.

Spike smiled coldly, his face shifting into his demon visage. "You do remember that your little metal tinker-toy isn’t in my head anymore, right? An’ that means I can kill you. Do you even know what you’re up against, mate? I’m not afraid of you." Spike advanced on the boy, his white, white teeth glistening. "Not in the least."

Without warning, his foot shot out and knocked the crossbow and the taser out of Riley’s grasp. Spike laughed at Riley's startled stare. "Anyone can use a sword or a gun, or a stake to get what they want. 'S not how real men fight, though. You think you’re a real man? Then fight me with your fists, pillock."

Riley stared at him stonily, then nodded, getting into a rather amateurish fighting position.

"Fine. Let’s fight."

Spike growled, an insane grin appearing on his face, and he launched himself at Farmboy.

This would be a piece of cake.

---

"Ungh!"

Left foot down, right foot in the air. Jump kick. Right foot down, left in the air, this time. Roundhouse. Right hook, left uppercut. Circle around, right jab, left jab, right, right, right, left, right, spin kick.

The punching bag flew off of its hook and hit the ground with a thud, the bag splitting open on its side. Buffy’s eyes widened and she winced.

"Oops. Sorry, Giles."

Giles sighed and stood up from his place in the corner, walking over to her. He put a warm, fatherly hand on her shoulder.

"It’s all right, Buffy. I’m sure Xander and I can manage to fix it." They looked down at the bag simultaneously. The sand inside had poured out of the split cloth, and it looked like someone had massacred the Sandman. Giles sighed again, then looked at Buffy. "Any unreleased aggression I should be warned about?"

Buffy grinned up at him. "Just a tiny bit," she said.

Giles nodded. "Care to explain why?"

She peered up at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Just a little annoyed with Xander."

A faint smile graced the Watcher’s face. "Ah, yes... I’m all too familiar with that feeling, unfortunately," he said.

Buffy laughed, pushing him playfully. "No, that’s different because he’s been annoying to you ever since you met him. This is new for me. Xander’s suddenly decided that Buffy needs psychiatric help all because I’ve decided to trust Spike."

Giles’ eyebrows rose in surprise. "I... er... you have?"

Buffy glanced at the baffled Watcher, then groaned at the look on his face. "Oh, no... Giles, please don’t get on my case about this. I have a century’s worth of criticism from Xander as it is!"

Giles shook his head quickly. "No, Buffy, I, uh... there is no ‘getting on your case.’ I-I’m just a tad surprised. What’s the reason for this?"

The Slayer shrugged. "I..." She sighed. "I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. Like you said, no Slayer had ever been claimed by a master vampire before. So the results are all up in the air. Well, I think this is one of those results. Something’s, like... nagging me, telling me that it’s safe with him. That he’d never hurt me, or... or Dawn, or any of us. Well, except maybe Xander. Xander and Spike just like pissing each other off. But... yeah. It’s something I can just... sense, y’know?"

Giles nodded, frowning. "I see..." He paused for a moment. "Buffy, I’d like to get you and Spike in the same room together. This is a unique opportunity, and I want to record the full extent of response on your part to Spike’s claim in my journal. But, er... Buffy?"

She looked up, a sudden queasy feeling pricking at her stomach. "Yes?" she asked.

Giles eyed her closely. "Have you reciprocated the claim?"

Buffy shook her head and hid a wince. The queasiness was intensifying rapidly, and now it was starting to hurt. Something was wrong.

Spike.

"At first, I-I didn’t realize that I had to... I didn’t know he’d done it when he bit me the first time. I figured it out when he bit me again. But no, I haven’t... um... traded bities with him." Giles frowned, and suddenly Buffy really didn’t like the expression on his face. "What?"

Giles drew a deep breath. "In order to see the effect of a claim on a Slayer and a master vampire, I... I believe you may have to..." He stopped when he looked at her and noticed the considerably pale look on her face. Her hands were clutched to her stomach, fingers digging into the material of her top. "Buffy?" he queried, alarmed.

At first, Buffy didn’t respond, her face contorting in pain from the pangs in her stomach. Then she scrutinized Giles. "Something’s wrong," she mumbled. Giles noticed that despite the immense look of pain on her face, her voice was still strong and clear. Abruptly, she turned and grabbed her skirt, pulling it up over the shorts and around her legs. She slid her feet into her boots and started for the door. "Something is really wrong, Giles."

He hurried after her as she ran out, the bell above the door chiming loudly to signal her departure. He lunged for the door, ignoring the confused looks that Anya and the others gave him.

"Buffy!" he called.

Buffy kept running.

---

"That all you got, White Bread? Come on, now. Give it to me," Spike growled, motioning Riley closer. Bruised and bloody with a swollen eye, the boy complied, aiming a punch at Spike’s injured shoulder. Spike easily deflected it, but punched back with the same arm, forgetting himself. He made contact, capping Riley right in the jaw, but as a result, he’d pulled the torn muscle in his arm out too far. He’d already lost quite a bit of blood from the wound, but it had started to heal during the scuffle. Now, the skin had broken once again, and blood began pouring out, more copiously than before. He let out a weak cry and clasped his arm, closing his eyes in pain. He cursed at himself. Couldn’t have waited till it was healed, could I?

Riley saw Spike falter from the wound and took advantage, getting up and plowing his foot into Spike’s stomach. At the vampire’s gasping wheeze, Riley felt encouraged, and began kicking him repetitively.

Spike closed his eyes as the steel toe of Riley’s boot once again connected with his midsection. He felt himself being rolled over, and then he felt nothing but absolute agony as Riley’s foot slammed down on his shoulder wound, making the blood spurt out even more. A kick to his head – yet another injury turned bloody. He wrapped his arms around his waist and attempted tofold himself into a fetal position, but Riley shattered the effort.

Why wasn’t he fighting back? He could easily destroy the presumptuous little bastard in the blink of an eye, yet here he was, lying on the ground and just praying for the pain to stop.

But until now, it hadn't occurred to him exactly how bad the stake wound was, or how much blood he’d actually lost. It wouldn’t kill him, but he was now otherwise incapacitated.

And that was something that Finn would take full advantage of.

Oh, god, he was going to die.

---

Buffy raced along the streets, stumbling every so often on a dislodged piece of sidewalk or an ousted tree root. The pain in her stomach was getting stronger and more torturous with each step she took. She was about twenty feet away from the entrance to the cemetery, and another fifteen from Spike’s crypt.

Would the pain kill her before she made it?

Buffy let out a loud cry as a particularly sharp jolt occurred right below her ribs, just above her stomach. She stumbled against a tree, holding on tightly until the pain started to dissipate. What the hell was that? Was this part of the claim? And was it normal for a claim to go this deep?

Either way, she definitely knew something was wrong with Spike now.

Scrambling against the tree trunk, her head beginning to throb, she fairly shot towards the crypt, thanking the Powers for the preternatural speed given to Slayers.

She was gasping for breath from several more abdominal attacks when she got to the door of the crypt, and when she saw what was happening, she lost air altogether.

Spike was on the floor, his face bloody, his body coiled into itself. Riley was above him, tormenting him with his taser, kicking him everywhere with his steel-toed boots. From her vantage point behind them, Buffy could see that Spike easily had a dislocated shoulder from this attack, and --

Oh god.

Stake wound. Stake wound in the heart area. Left shoulder. Not good.

"Spike," she mumbled. She limped forward; god, it was horrifying to think that Riley, of all people, was capable of something like this. Why hadn’t Spike fought him back? From the look of Riley’s face, Spike had really laid into him, but she wasn’t used to seeing Spike down on the ground, getting the absolute hell beaten out of him. Well, unless it was her that was doing the beating. Her gaze narrowed on him again, and suddenly it clicked – he’d lost blood from his wounds. Her heart twisted painfully, and her eyes drifted down his face. His eyes were open, and he was squinting at her weakly; she deduced that he’d heard her whisper his name.

She looked up sharply when she saw Riley reach for a stake. Her eyes widened.

"Spike! No!" she yelled out, stumbling forward and grabbing Riley by the back of his shirt, then flinging him effortlessly into the wall. He groaned with pain at the impact, then let out a yell as Buffy grabbed him around the neck, slamming him into it again.

"You idiot. You stupid, sadistic bastard. Maybe you didn’t get it the first time I said it. I’m pretty sure I told you to stay the hell away from Spike. Now, why could you not understand that?" she asked, her grip squeezing around his neck. Riley wheezed and coughed, trying to answer, but nothing came out.

A backhand from Buffy got at least one noise out of him.

"I’ve given you plenty of fucking chances to get out with your dick intact, Riley, but you don’t get it. You just don’t fucking understand it!" Her knee came up and delivered a painful kick directly between his legs. Riley’s eyes widened and he emitted an agonized groan, doubling over onto his knees.

"Buffy?" he choked out. Buffy glared down at him, then grabbed him up, dragging him out the door.

"I want nothing to do with you. Ever again. I don’t know you. If I ever find you even two inches outside of the city limits, I will rip your head off and shove it up your ass." She shoved him out into the graveyard. "Get out of my town."

Riley looked up, desperate to plead his case, but was faced with a closed door.

Buffy turned and strode quickly to Spike’s side, struggling to pull him up without jarring either of his arms. Wrapping her own arms around his waist, she stood him up and tugged him gently to the sarcophagus. Looking around for some sort of cushioning, she discovered a pillow stashed haphazardly into the corner. Grabbing it, she placed it on the stone, then gently laid Spike’s head down on it.

She sat down next to him and gazed at him as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Buffy reached out her hand, touching his face with her nimble little fingers. Spike gave a soft purr and leaned into her touch, his eyes shutting. Her hand moved up, stroking his soft, white-blondelocks.

"God, what did he do to you?" she whispered. Spike coughed softly, then turned his head to nuzzle her hand. Considering the pain that was ripping up and down his arms and chest, this felt really good.

"You know. You can see." Buffy frowned and he looked up at her. "I’m fine, pet. I’m not as off as I look. Quick healin’ an’ such, though I’m kinda surprised. That bastard did a number on me."

Buffy looked to his shoulder. "He tried to stake you," she murmured.

Spike yawned slightly. "Operative word bein’ ‘tried.’ As you can see, I’m still here."

She managed a tiny smile, then leaned down, resting her forehead against his. "I’m so sorry, Spike. I really am."

"An’ if I could move my arms, I’d show you that there’s nothin’ for you to be sorry about. It was my fault, I baited him an’ told him to fight without his toys. Don’t know why it actually sunk into that peanut brittle brain of his," he replied, nuzzling her cheek. This time, Buffy’s smile wasn’t forced. Especially with the way he was rubbing his face against her like a cat. It was cute.

"But other than the stake wound and the shoulder thing, you’re fine?"

He pulled away and cut off his happy sounds, smiling softly. "Peachy, pet. Just a little winded. Did that great ugly prat play rugby or something?"

She raised her eyebrows, ignoring his question. "And I suppose now you’ll tell me that since my ex did this to you, I should play nursemaid?"

The smile widened. And then it became a leer.

"Well... I wasn’t gonna say as such, but if you really feel the need to go struttin’ about in a nurse’s duds, and play servant girl to my every whim, then--" Buffy scrunched up her nose, swatting his chest. "Oi, watch it! Walkin’ wounded here!"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, Mr. Walking Wounded. I’m gonna close the door. Just lay back and relax. It’d be beyond bad if a demon walked by and found out that William the Bloody is temporarily down for the count," she said. Spike glared at her, emitting a warning growl low in his throat, before shifting from formidable master vampire to five-year-old child, sticking his tongue out at her. Buffy snorted, shaking her head, and stood, walking to the door of the crypt and pulling it closed. She looked back at him, biting her lower lip.

"Do you want some blood?" she asked tentatively, preparing to pull the shirt away from her neck.

Apparently, Spike didn't get what she meant to do.

"Get me the type O pack, it’s behind the jar and under the AB," he called, surprising her.

Wait, he didn’t want to drink from her? Okay, weird... Wouldn’t her blood help him heal faster?

And, hey, weirder. She wanted him to bite her. Again.

Shrugging it off, she ambled to the mini-fridge, getting out the abnormally large packet of blood. And, since the door to his fridge was open anyway, she did what any woman would do in her man's, um, bachelor pad. She snooped.

Not much to go on. Three water bottles in the back. The large jar of pig’s blood that Spike got at the butcher’s. The very rare bags of human blood Spike got as special treats for himself. A couple of bottles of beer, and finally, a half-full plate of buffalo wings, spicy barbecue sauce congealed on top, that he’d most likely taken from the Bronze, the thief.

Hesitating, she reached in and grabbed a bottle of water, then took it and the blood baggie over to the sarcophagus. Sitting down again, Buffy gently helped him up and handed him the packet.

"Drink up. I’ll have to clean up that stake wound..." she bent her head to look at his other arm and tugged on it gently, wincing when Spike roared in pain. "Sorry, sorry... Okay, relocation is necessary." Spike shot her a glare that basically emphasized any British curse words he could throw at her before his face shifted. Raising his eyes to look at her (which was a bit difficult with his brow ridges dipping over them), he bit into the baggie with relish, happily milking the blood inside for all it was worth.

"This ‘nursemaid’ stint's already goin’ to your head, innit?" he asked in amusement. Buffy glared at him and shoved him on to his back, grabbing the bag away and tossing it on the floor. Grasping his shirt at the collar, she jerked, tearing it right down the center and making him jump. He looked up at her with a truly gleeful grin on his face.

"Now, Slayer, if you wanted to see me shirtless—"

She gave him a warning glare, her hand hovering dangerously over the big hole in his shoulder. "Shut up, Spike. All I’m doing is cleaning this up. That’s it."

He sighed, looking at her. "Get the whiskey, then. It’ll clean it up better than the water would." She nodded, then slipped off the tomb to find it, digging around Spike’s various Piles O' Crap – all of which had been found at the junkyard or dump, no doubt.

When she finally figured out which of the musty old bottles was the whiskey bottle Spike wanted (after he'd yelled at her twice for attempting to use "the good stuff" - like there was a difference, anyway), she strode back over to him and tore a bit off of his T-shirt, dousing it with the cool liquid.

"Hold on to my arm or something -- this is going to hurt like hell," she murmured, lowering the cloth to the raw, bleeding injury.

Spike grunted in response, but grabbed onto her with the arm anyway. "Ya think I don’t know that?"

Buffy grimaced slightly as the scent of the liquor wafted up, permeating her senses. She tried to ignore it, instead trying to focus on cleaning him up. "Shut up, Spike."

She pulled him toward her in a half-hug, barely noticing Spike’s wince when the cloth and the fiery liquid came in contact with his skin. Gritting his teeth, he lowered his head onto her shoulder, jerking slightly as the drops of liquor seeped into the gash. When Buffy pulled the rag away and squirted some water on it, then replaced it on his shoulder, he sighed with relief. The sting of the whiskey wasn't entirely gone, but the coolness of the water helped relieve it a little.

Buffy gently pulled away from him, then ripped off another piece, using it as a gauze for the wound. Behold. The Black T-Shirt of Versatility. She squirmed over him until she sat on his other side, then handed him the whiskey bottle. "Drink," was all she said and Spike, though curious, obediently lifted the bottle and gulped down the burning liquid. She lifted her head to look at him. "Do you have anything here, something to use, some wood?"

Spike grinned.

Buffy instantly scowled and rolled her eyes, despite the fact that her momentary lapse of open-mouth, insert foot had caused a bright blush on her cheeks. "You know what I mean! Is there something here to bite down on? You know, so you don’t bust your teeth when I pop your shoulder back in? Something to distract you?"

Spike pondered it, then observed her. "What about you?" he asked, trailing a hand down her arm. "I’m sure you could... easily provide somethin’ to..." he quirked his lips, adding a mischievous wiggle of his eyebrows, "occupy my interest."

Against her better judgment, a smile cracked her lips. "And what am I supposed to do exactly?"

Spike regarded her innocently. "I'm sure you can think of somethin’."

Buffy smirked at him and got up, pulling the rest of his shirt off and shoving it in his mouth. The vampire grunted, scowling at her -- this wasn't the sort of distraction he'd had in mind -- but nonetheless placed a hand on her shoulder. Buffy braced her hand on his chest and grabbed his injured arm with her other hand. She peered at him.

"On three?" she asked. Spike nodded curtly and inhaled deeply through his nose before exhaling. Buffy nodded back. "Okay. Ready? One --" Before he could brace himself, she jerked his arm, hearing the bones grind and shift before a loud pop signaled that the joint was back in place. Spike’s howl of displeasure resonated through the crypt, and he ripped the shirt out of his mouth with his free hand, seething.

"You bloody great bitch! That fuckin’ hurt!" he yowled.

She bit her lip, crawling over to him and touching his cheek gently. "I’m sorry. I had to do that. But hey, at least it’s back in place now. You aren’t walking around, waving a ripped off arm in your other hand are ya?"

Spike narrowed his eyes at her words. "Yeah, because it wasn't the Slayer with the extra strength or anythin' that was tryin' to relocate my arm! You'd better watch yourself, you wench -- my arms may be gimp right now, but I can still knock you down to your knees!"

Buffy grinned and said her next words before she could stop herself. "Don’t have to knock me down to get me on my knees," she said mischievously. When she realized the words that had fallen from her lips, her hand flew up and clapped down over her mouth, her face turning bright red in anguish. Spike’s eyebrows went up in surprise and he snorted with laughter. Reaching out his arm, he tugged the girl into his lap, wrapping his left arm around her waist and pulling her close.

"That so, pet?" He tilted his head down and began kissing her neck. She whimpered and attempted to pull away, thoroughly embarrassed by her big fat mouth. "Care to show me?" he asked, then lunged for her, his lips suctioned firmly over his bite marks. Teasingly, he began to suck slowly and sensually as he slid his hand over her thigh, across her ass (she let out a yelp when he squeezed), up her back. Buffy moaned softly at the sensation and quickly stopped fighting, turning in Spike’s arms and straddling his lap. Moving both hands to her ass, he guided her hips in a gentle rock against his. Pulling his mouth away, he lifted his hand to touch her cheek, rubbing his thumb against her lower lip when she looked at him.

Buffy automatically stopped her movements, tilting her head as she gazed at him. Well, damn. She’d just looked in his eyes again. She had to stop doing that. Spike’s eyes had equal power to a thrall, without actually having a thrall, and all he had to do was look at someone.

Not that he didn’t already have her under his little spell. Smug, gorgeous bastard.

Why couldn’t she do the hypno-thingy with him? He seemed to be just as enthralled with her as she was with him, so how come HypnoEye didn’t work for her?

Oh, well.

A tiny smile crossed her face and she leaned in, pressing her lips gently to his. She couldn’t resist. His soft pink mouth, with the full, pouty lower lip looked way too yummy to ignore. He drove her crazy when he pouted at her – half the time she was trying to resist from pouncing on him right in the middle of a conversation [read: argument], just to make out with him.

Soft, pink, pouty lower lips on tall, pale, yet incredibly hot vampires were a dangerous combination.

Spike smiled under her mouth and tugged her closer, kissing her back feverishly. Such a little vixen. Truth to tell, he hadn’t expected that kiss. He’d figured she was still a little embarrassed about her little ‘down on my knees’ slip. The genuine affection he’d seen in her eyes and on her face when she’d smiled at him had startled him in the best way. Was she falling for him?

"Oh, luv," he murmured softly, his fist running through her hair and convulsively clutching at the blonde locks, his lips nibbling and seeking something from hers with soft, sweet, chaste kisses. Her hands moved up and cupped either side of his face, drawing him closer to her, to feel his lips against hers even more. And finally, when she had to breathe, she pulled away and rested her head in the crook of his neck, her nose nuzzling the strong muscles in his throat.

His eyes closed and he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the sweet lavender scent decorating the tresses. Actually, it’d be better to stop doing that. The scent was having a positive effect on him in the most physical sense, and this was a bit of a tender moment. He was not going to ruin it.

His arms closed tightly around her, hugging her close. Buffy breathed softly, running her fingers up and down the hard, corded muscles in his back. "Spike," she sighed, snuggling contentedly against him.

She was happy. She was actually happy. How many times had that not happened to her in the past five years?

Spike looked down at the tiny woman in his arms in surprise. If she'd been anymore relaxed, she’d be purring in pleasure. Which wasn’t that bad of a thought... The Slayer purring for him was a really good thought that could lead to the beginning of one hell of a fun night... Stop thinking with your dick, you git. Romantic moment an’ all that, don’t you fuckin’ ruin it! The Slayer’s havin’ a snuggle with you. Not Finn, not Peaches, not the whelp -- you. Get your brain out from between your legs!

Strangely enough, talking to himself seemed to do the trick sometimes. As weird as it seemed.

"I don’t want to move," he heard the Slayer whisper, and pulled her more protectively into his embrace.

"I don’t want you to, either. I like you here," he murmured. Buffy pulled her head up and smiled brilliantly at him, and he could swear his heart gave a beat.

"I have to, though," she said, attempting to squirm off of his lap. Spike let out a little petulant growl, pulling her back down. Buffy paused and stared at him, then grinned. "We need to leave, Spike. Giles wants to do a study on us. He’ll be pretty renowned for being the only Watcher that has a complete account on the claiming rites between a Slayer and a vampire."

Spike snorted, completely uncaring. "And?" The normally not-there end to the word came out hard and annoyed. "I’m supposed to be dazzled by this? Rupert wants to write out a review of me for those Council wankers just because I’ve claimed his Slayer?"

Buffy frowned at him. "No. Well... yes, I guess. I mean, according to him, you're the only vampire in history that's gotten away with claiming a Slayer, so it's got to be a little about us, at least. But it’s not going to be about you and me altogether. He just wants to observe us and figure out the effects of a vampire’s claim on a Slayer. It’ll have nothing about either of us mentioned. What, you think Giles likes those bastards in England? He hates them almost as much as I do."

Spike rolled his eyes and Buffy sighed. "Spike, on my eighteenth birthday, the Council attempted the Cruciamentum on me. They basically wanted to lock me in a room with a psycho vamp, with none of my powers, and they expected me to survive. Obviously I did, because, hey," she gestured. "Standing right here. But what that bastard Travers didn't tell us was that it was a test more for Giles, not me. Giles told me about the Cruciamentum, so it would nullify the test, but because he did that, he failed his own test." Spike glanced up at her, frowning. She nodded slowly. "Spike, they fired Giles because he didn't act in the vein of a Watcher -- he acted in the vein of my father. They fired him because he cared for me like a father does."

Spike growled. "Those soddin' bastards. I oughta --"

Buffy laughed. "Is the protective stream coming out for Giles because the Council fired him, or for me because of the not-so-fun test I still had to take?"

He stopped, furrowing his brows. "Both. Maybe. Wait, you still had to take it?"

She nodded. "Yup," she said, popping the 'p'. "The vamp they set me up against, Kralik? Apparently he had a thing for moms. And he escaped... and came for my mom. I had to get back into that warehouse to stop him and save her. Tricked him into swallowing a glass of Holy Water. This happened after you came back the second time. You know, when Dru dumped you for the --"

"Hey!"

Buffy grinned and shook her head. "Anyway. Do you get where I'm coming from now, though? Giles won't give you away to the Council. I think he’s figured out that there won’t be any co-op from you if he mentions anything about your life anyway." She tilted her head. "Why do you hate talking about Pre-Vamp Post-Vamp so much?"

Spike shrugged. "Most of what I’ve done after Dru Sired me... It’s already been written down somewhere in those bloody journals. An’ the only person allowed to know ‘bout me before I was Sired is me. It’s private, an’ it’s the past. I want to leave it behind. That good ‘nough for you?"

Buffy sighed. "I guess. Anyway, get up. I need to make a sling for you till your arm heals. Then we’ll leave."

Spike smirked as she turned away, saluting her in the most unconventional way, accompanied with a leer as he stood up. "Yes, ma’am!"

She turned and grinned at him. "Shut up, Spike."

---

"That’s all you've got?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, Xander, yes, that is all I have, considering she ran out of here like a hellion was after her without stopping for one second longer to tell me what was going on."

Xander didn’t look convinced. "Giles, Buffy wouldn’t run from a hellion."

Giles sighed, rubbing his eyes. God, he was ready to strangle the boy. "Yes, that is true, Xander. However, I still don’t know why she ran out. Now kindly back off?" Xander sheepishly moved out of the Watcher’s way, sitting down at the table. As Anya walked by, Giles began reshelving the Menkhari root water, setting them down next to the Abrigan baboon’s feet. Anya paused momentarily to observe him, and her eyes widened when it registered what two things he was putting together. When he turned away, she ran for the products, looking around wildly and pushing the water away. However, she accidentally knocked one of the glass bottles over, spilling the root water that was inside of it. She winced as a loud pop permeated the air, and a baboon’s foot shattered, pieces flying onto the meeting table. Giles spun around in alarm, looking questioningly at his employee.

"What on earth was that?" he queried, his brow creasing. Anya shrugged and pointed at him.

"You put the root water and the baboon’s feet together like a complete idiot. Don’t look at me," she said, then turned back toward the cash register, grabbing a few sales slips.

Giles frowned as he stared after her, then shook his head, walking back to the table. Willow and Tara, clearing off the remnants of the baboon's foot and discussing one of their classes (and Buffy’s newest foe when Giles was watching), looked up when the Watcher approached.

Willow grinned slightly as she looked at his face - a rain cloud must have lost its way and settled on his brow. She cocked her head. "What is it, Giles?"

The Watcher shook his head, frowning. "What? Oh... oh, it’s nothing. It’s just..." He turned to look at the witches. "Buffy’s been gone an awful long while now. I suppose I’m just a bit worried about her, that’s all. I shouldn’t be, I know. She can take care of herself. But she seemed... so unsettled earlier, before she left."

Willow grinned. "Awww, Giles is being the Worried Daddy. How sweet!"

Giles managed a wry smile. "Yes, I am. I can’t help it," he said, turning away and tinkered with the Tibetan lobeman reeds. "She does that to me."

Willow looked on sympathetically, then jumped nearly fifty feet as the Slayer crashed right through the door, a dark-haired vampire attacking her. The blonde kicked at the fledgling’s stomach, shoving him up off of her and tossing him in the air.

Anya was freaking out. "Not in the store, not in the store! You’re gonna wish I was still a vengeance demon from what I’d do to you if you break anything!"

Both Slayer and vampire ignored the frenzied ex-demon, continuing on with the fight. A few quick kicks to the midsection, then a kick between the legs, and Stinky was ready for dusting. However...

"Damn it, someone throw me a stake!" the Slayer hollered. Xander jumped to attention and flung a stake toward her. Almost like magic, the stake glided right to Buffy’s hand, and her arm swung down, embedding the wood into the vampire’s back. A puff of dust, and the mini-war was over.

Buffy didn’t stay for long, though, running back outside and cutting off everyone’s congratulatory praises. She rounded the corner of the Magic Box and ducked into the alley, dropping to her knees to haul up a blonde head that was resting on the ground.

"Spike," she murmured, pulling his head into her lap and looking over him. "God, are you okay?" she asked, tenderly rubbing the gash in his left shoulder through his new shirt and duster. Spike grunted at the words and made an attempt to sit up by himself. His arm flailed and he grabbed a hold of Buffy, pulling her head down. She looked down, mildly amused.

"Was that accidental or on purpose? Or perhaps accidentally-on-purpose?"

Spike grinned. "Depends, luv."

"On what?"

Spike lifted his head up to peer into her eyes. "Oh. Just this." He pressed his lips gently to hers, his silky, cool tongue slipping out and lapping at her lower lip. Buffy giggled and pulled away. She stood and gently tugged him up, slipping an arm around his waist. Thank God he was injured. If she walked into the shop like this with him any other day, the Magic Box would have transformed into a zoo from all the noises and the ‘what-the-hell-are-you-doings’ that would be thrown at her. Slowly, they made their way into the shop.

Surprisingly, Giles was the first to comment. "Good lord, what happened?"

Then Tara, Anya, Willow and Dawn rushed her. Willow and Tara each grabbed one of Spike's arms to relieve Buffy of his load and helped him to the table while Anya and Dawn followed behind quickly, both girls entirely too intrigued in his injuries. "Oh my god, Spike? Are you okay?" the youngest Summers gasped, wide-eyed.

"Was it demons?" Willow questioned, biting her lower lip. "Was it that demon lady that Buffy’s been fighting, Glory?"

Spike’s blue-eyed gaze rested on the Slayer’s little family in disbelief. He shook his head, nearly laughing. He really had to find whatever it was that these gits were on and take a hit of it himself. It still wasn't registering with them that he wasn't chipped - or that they never gave a shit before.

Why was it that when he was harmless, he was still the big evil, not to be trusted, but as soon as he was chipless, everyone was rushing over to him, eager to help? Did these people have a lick of sense in their heads? At all?

"Riley attacked him," Buffy stated quietly, causing all eyes to turn to her. She folded her arms and sighed. "When I ran out, I went to his crypt, and there was Riley. Torturing him." She said the words with an air of utter disgust. "From what I saw, Riley dislocated his shoulder, and tried to stake him, twice. He missed the first time, but if I hadn't been there the second time..."

"And you stopped him?" Xander scoffed quietly (but not quietly enough for Spike’s hearing not to catch what was said). The blonde vampire turned his head slowly in Xander's direction, giving a low, threatening growl.

"Watch. Your. Mouth. Mate," he snarled softly, flecks of yellow rippling through his eyes. At the reminder that Spike was no longer one of Buffy's training dummies anymore, Xander wisely shut up. And stayed shut up.

Buffy, who had turned to glare at Xander when she heard Spike's growl, finally tore her gaze away from Xander and her lo -- well... her lover. "Anyway, that’s all you need to know, really. Um, Giles, Spike’s agreed to the observing thingy. Is there anything particular that we need to do? Interaction with each other, fighting, body language, what?"

Giles looked at his charge rather sheepishly. "Er, yes, there is. I attempted to tell you, but you ran out before I could finish. Ah, so I may record all findings correctly, it would probably be best if you were to... ah... oh, dear."

Giles couldn’t finish his thoughts, but Spike seemed to be reading them. He stared at the man incredulously. "I’m not gonna let her bite me so you can do your little study, mate. A claim is sacred, intimate. You think I’m gonna make her do it with all you gits standing out here an’ gawkin’ at her like some sorta freak? Bugger that, Watcher."

Buffy looked toward Giles, disturbed. "You want me to bite him?!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

Giles sighed. "Well, as I said, it would only be for the best recordings... however, I obviously didn’t think this through. This would link you to him forever – there would be no way to cancel the claim and separate you from him. We can’t have that at all." A snort from Spike, which was ultimately ignored by the Watcher. "I suppose we’ll just have to make do with Spike’s side of the claim for now. If anything would show up."

Spike rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and chuckling at the sheer stupidity of it all. Rupert was a brilliant man – he really was – but sometimes he was just so bloody dense... "Eh, mate? I‘m just tossin’ my two cents in here ... but just how the bloody hell do you think Buffy knew about me an’ her ex grapplin’? Psychic powers and that whole bloody lot?"

Giles paused, frowned, and took off his glasses. Then he glanced at Spike. His gaze slowly moved towards Buffy. Then once again back to Spike. Realization dawned on him and he sighed.

"Bloody hell."




TBC.


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