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And the Dream Will Set You Free by randi
 
Chapter Eight
 
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Notes: Rather a lot of dialogue from Triangle has been stolen and forced into this chapter.

Disclaimer: Not mine, all Joss.

And the Dream Will Set You Free
Chapter Eight

*****
The worst part, Buffy decided, wasn’t Riley’s sudden absence in her life – though she did miss him – because they hadn’t really connected in a while.  It wasn’t even the realization that she wasn’t in love with him, or that, while she was sad for his death, she wasn’t all weepy-girl or vengeance-bound.

No, she was pretty sure that the worst part was that her friends expected her to be all weepy, vengeance-bound girl.

They don’t understand, she thought, and told herself to be patient.  They have no idea that we weren’t going to make it.  They have no idea how I felt about Riley… and how could they, when it took me so long to figure it out?  And Spike…

She sighed and leaned back against the vaulting horse, staring up at the ceiling.  Beyond the door, in the main shop, she could just make out the murmur of the other’s voices.  They were talking about her, she knew.  The last thing she’d heard as she retreated to the training room had been Willow’s softly voiced opinion.  “She must be in shock.”

Maybe you’re right, Wills, Buffy thought wryly, but it’s not for the reason you think.

The truth was often a difficult thing to face.

She had looked at Spike standing over the dusty remains of her very ex-boyfriend, had heard him practically say he’d listened to her when Riley hadn’t, and realized that it was no longer a matter of could she fall in love with him.  It was a matter of when she fell.

No one had ever tried to keep her from being hurt like that.  No one had ever realized that she needed the truth, had given it to her no matter how much it hurt, but tried to cushion the blow anyway.

It was just a matter of time.

And yeah, she’d had that dream months ago now, but dreaming about it and knowing it was happening in Real Life, with all the messy, wig-some ramifications that came with that knowledge were two entirely different things.

I thought it was just a crush… But, God… how can I do this again?

Everything she had been taught told her that Spike should meet his end at the point of her stake.  She’d made an exception because of his chip, because he couldn’t hurt anyone… and now, rather than her easy world of black and white, she was lost in shades of grey.  And seeing those shades of grey made everything different.

Just as she was about to start another spin in the same merry-go-round of thoughts she’d been on since the night before, the door opened and Giles entered from the shop.  “Buffy?”

She looked at him and felt weary and guilty.  “Yeah?”

He took off his glasses, as if discomfited by her gaze.  After a moment, he crossed to stand beside her, resting his arms on the horse but facing the opposite direction, still fumbling with his spectacles.  “You must be heartily sick of everyone asking if you’re all right,” he said quietly, and slipped his glasses back into place.  “So I won’t.  But if you want to talk…”

And that opening was enough.  “It’s my fault, Giles,” she whispered.  “Somehow, it feels like it is.”

“Because you couldn’t save him?”

“No,” she replied, her voice barely audible.  “Because I didn’t love him.”

Giles straightened and turned to look at her in surprise.  “Why on earth…”

“I didn’t, Giles.  I mean, I had only just realized… and I didn’t know how…” She took a deep breath.  “And then we found him there and he said he needed me to need him and I told him I didn’t… I couldn’t... and then he wasn’t home, and…”

“And how does that make it your fault?” Giles asked gently.

Buffy started pacing between the horse and the wall.  “I’m the Slayer.  My boyfriend was paying a vamp to suck his blood.  I didn’t stop him.  I think that makes me guilty.”

He stepped in front of her to stop her pacing, and rested his hands on her shoulders when she would have stepped around him.  “Buffy, if you are guilty of anything, it is simply that you didn’t want to hurt him.  But… you were trying to find a way to break it off with him?”

Buffy colored a little, but nodded.  “I just… Giles, I didn’t want to hurt him, but I… I couldn’t find a way to tell him.  Then I just blurted it out.  We were arguing in the alley and he said I didn’t need him, and I… just agreed.  It was like I pulled the ground out from under him.  And then I just left.  I just left him there.”

“And he could have followed immediately,” Giles reminded her.  “He could have been right behind you as you left.  He chose to stay in what was a very hazardous place.  Buffy, you may have to carry the responsibility for those people who do not know the dangers of the night, and even for those who are willfully blind… but you certainly cannot take responsibility for Riley’s actions.  He knew the potential dangers and you cannot blame yourself if he did not take warning.”

“It still feels like it’s my fault, that I could have… I don’t know… tried harder to fall in love with him or something.”

Her Watcher shook his head, smiling ruefully.  “One loves whom one loves… and that applies to whom one does not love as well.” A flash of embarrassment crossed his face.  “I wish I had some deeper wisdom on the subject, but I haven’t.”

“Even if… even if it was me that made him want to go there?”

Giles frowned a little.  “What do you mean?”

“I… I’m kinda starting to have feelings for someone else,” she replied, her tone a whisper once more.  “And… and the past few days, I was really wondering how I could tell him – Riley, I mean – that… that I…”

His expression softened.  “Buffy…”

“So he must have noticed that I wasn’t, y’know, with him,” she continued doggedly.  “And he wanted me to need him… He needed to be needed by someone... and I drove him to that because…”

“Buffy.” Giles’ firm tone cut through her rambling, and she ducked her head, waiting for the scolding.  “Buffy,” and this time his tone was gentler, comforting.  “My dear girl. Riley was a grown man, who, I would hope, understood the risks of the situation in which he had put himself.  You are not to blame for his decisions.  You say he needed you to need him… but you are a very independent young woman.  Even if you were not the Slayer, I cannot imagine you depending on Riley to protect you, which, I suspect, is how he wanted you to need him.  If he couldn’t see that about you, then perhaps he did not really understand you, and if he didn’t understand, he could not really love you.  Loving someone is, in great part, understanding just who and what they are – not only accepting it as who they are, but also accepting that they aren’t likely to change.  And… perhaps it’s part of the reason you love them after all.”

Buffy watched his expression change throughout his quiet speech, and realized that, though the words struck her as true, he wasn’t really speaking to her.

So she said nothing, just took a moment to absorb his words, and half-wondered who he meant those words for.

***
Dawn had sometimes thought about what would happen if someone they knew – like, really knew – got vamped.  Not that she wanted it to happen to any of them, she’d never wish for that, but… still.  It was something to think about.

At least now she knew the answer.

Buffy walked around with a sad, guilty expression.  Giles was thoughtful and even more British and reserved than usual.  She couldn’t count the times Xander had started to ask “Where’s Riley?” before remembering and stopping himself, his face red.  Willow babbled uncomfortably to cover for Xander, and Tara was silent, and Anya… well, Anya was Anya, because there didn’t seem to be anything in the universe that could stop thatThough, Dawn reflected, she does seem a bit less… outburst-y.

And there was no funeral.

Mom called it a memorial service, but whether that was because there was no body or because no one else would believe the reason why there was no body, Dawn wasn’t quite sure.  It had been short and she was glad she hadn’t been allowed to go, if the way everyone acted all awkward afterward was any indication.

But she understood why when Anya had come right out and said that some of Riley’s friends from the Initiative were there, and of course, they knew the reason why there was no body.  Xander had hushed her before she could finish her next statement, but Dawn was smart enough to read between the lines.  The Initiative guys blamed Buffy somehow.

Which goes right along with Buffy blaming herself, Dawn thought, and sighed.  Okay, maybe there’s something here I don’t know, but... how can it be her fault that Riley let himself get bitten and turned? That, I just don’t get.

She couldn’t ask Buffy about it, either, because asking would make it unavoidably clear that she’d been eavesdropping on private conversations.  Again.  But I only do it because no one will tell me anything, she pouted.  I just wanna help.

That, more than anything, was the reason she followed Buffy back down to her room.  “Can I hang out with you for a little while?” she asked hopefully.  After all, she thought, before everything went boom last week, we’d been getting along.

That got her the usual big-sister-look and the admonition that touching anything was instant death. Dawn resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.  Rather than wandering around and doing her usual provoke-the-beast routine, she plopped onto the bed.  “Do you think Giles is already in England?”

Leaning back against her pillows, Buffy put down her magazine.  “I suppose.  I mean, he did say it didn’t take forever to get to England, it just feels like it.”

“It’s been a long time since he’s been back there, hasn’t it?  What’d he go for?”

“Watchery stuff,” Buffy responded too quickly, but then sighed when Dawn huffed and crossed her arms.   With a resigned smile – one of a grand total of three Dawn could remember seeing since yesterday’s memorial service – she said, “All right, you’re not stupid, I get it.  You remember that snakey thing?”

She shivered, and tightened her arms.  “Yeah, it was really freaky.”  Buffy reached out to tug on a lock of her hair, and she took advantage of the offer of comfort to swing around and rest her head in her sister’s lap.  “So he went to find out what it was?  I thought you killed it?”

“We did kill it.  But… we want to make sure nothing like that happens again.”

Dawn settled herself more comfortably as Buffy started to play with her hair.  “Good.  That was way scary.” She shuddered again.  “Not in the ‘I’m gonna get eaten!’ sense, but in the ‘I’m glad it’s got little tiny arms, ‘cause it looks like it wants to kidnap me!’ sense.”

Buffy’s fingers suddenly stopped moving in her hair, and when she tilted her head back to look at her sister, she could see that she had gone still, her face very white.  If I didn’t know better, she thought, heart sinking at the sight, I’d say she looked scared.

Now that was one of the weirdest things ever.

I was only trying to help, she thought, and bit her lip.  She forced herself to sound bright and cheerfully unconcerned when she spoke again.  “So, is he going to bring back stuff from England?  Like, English stuff? Oh!  And how long do you suppose it’s gonna take before Anya and Willow are totally at each other’s throats?”

She felt it when Buffy shook herself out of her thoughts, and her laugh wasn’t really a laugh when she said, “He’s not bringing any English stuff back – just him. And just when did you get to be so perceptive? It’s creepy.”

Dawn stuck out her tongue in response to that.

After a moment, Buffy started to comb her fingers through her hair once more, and inwardly, Dawn sighed in relief. At least this was approaching normality.

For a few minutes, she chattered about how great it was that Mom was home, and how she was feeling better.  Slowly, she fell silent, kind of mesmerized by the feeling of Buffy petting her hair, and waiting for the inevitable dig about homework.

It never came.  She had closed her eyes, and Buffy must have thought she was asleep.  Otherwise, she knew her sister would never have spoken, even though it was just a whisper.  “I’ll protect you, Dawnie, no matter what.”

The words worried her nearly as much as the fact that Buffy still hadn’t thrown her out of her room.

***
Xander wasn’t quite sure how much more of the seemingly endless girlfriend vs. best friend battle he could take.  It had been growing steadily worse over the past few weeks, and now, with Giles gone, and Riley… it was like someone had taken the cover off a particularly bubbly cauldron of nastiness and it was about to boil over and give him some third-degree burns on some very sensitive areas.

Yeah, ‘cause that’s what I need – to dwell on this craziness, he thought, turning away from the bar in the Bronze, peanuts finally in hand.   Man, can my life possibly get any worse? 

Of course, he immediately bumped into someone.  “Sorry!” he said automatically.

“Hey, watch… oh, it’s you.”

Xander blinked.  Those deep British tones were very familiar, and just as unwelcome.  When, oh, when am I going to remember I live on the Mouth of Hell?  And that asking questions like that is a sure sign of terminal stupidity?  “Spike,” he drawled.  At least he could taunt the toothless vampire.  “Don’t let me stop you from not being here.”

If it had been from Giles, Xander would have said the look he received was one of reproach.  Hell, it was Spike and he still felt a little like squirming in embarrassment.  He prepared himself for the snark he knew was coming, but there was nothing.  In a mild tone, Spike replied, “I was here first, you know.”  He raised his beer for emphasis.

And, okay, just why did that sound like Giles in my head?  And why does Buffy not want to stake this guy – er, vamp?  And why am I always caught in the friggin’ middle between Willow and Anya?  Can my life truly get any worse than it is at this moment?

Instead of trying to find answers, he just slumped down into a chair, hunching over his coveted peanuts.  Spike followed him over to the table.  God, I’m dumb, Xander moaned to himself.  Mouth of Hell, remember?

“So why are you in such a temper?” Spike settled into the chair opposite, sipping his beer and studying him over the rim of the glass.

And all at once, Xander realized that despite being friends forever with Buffy and Willow, what he really desperately needed was to be around a guy, just someone who wasn’t a member of the estrogen brigade.  Someone to have guy talk with, like he had with Riley.  Someone who wasn’t old or British or… well, Giles.

Well, at least Spike isn’t Giles, he thought.

Which was probably the reason he found himself playing pool with the bleached menace.  And wonder of wonders, he was actually almost enjoying it.  Yeah, Spike was winning, but Xander was talking, and it felt good to get the words out.  “I mean, Willow gets this look like she’s trying not to say ‘what the hell do you see in her?’ or something.”

Surprisingly, Spike nodded as he lined up his shot.  “I know that look,” he said, and was that commiseration in his tone?  “Lot of people never really got Dru.”

“Yeah, but she’s insane.”

The filthy look he received made him very glad that Spike was leashed by the chip.  Then he sighed, and the look faded.  “Yeah, well, doesn’t matter, does it?  Not if you care about her.”

Xander was just about to protest – soulless vampires don’t care – when a big guy passed behind Spike, bumping him a lot harder than he had earlier.  Spike missed his shot completely, and just barely managed not to put a scratch on the felt.  “Hey, watch it, mate!” he bit out, straightening.  He sounds… perturbed, Xander thought, a little surprised, not really pissed off, though.  Must be hard to not indulge in a little shoving when you get shoved all the time.

Doing his best to pretend he’d never had that thought, or any fleeting moment of kinship between nerd and neutered vamp, he stepped up behind Spike.

Solidarity was good, and the guy had interrupted their game, after all.

Then the guy who’d bumped Spike turned around.  Holy horns, Xander thought, staring up, up, up into the guy’s greenish face.

“On second thought, do what you like,” Spike amended hastily.

That shocked Xander even more than the horns.  Wha-huh? No leaping into the fray?

The big greenie turned away.  Before he could pry his jaw off the floor, Horn-boy was guzzling down a keg of beer like it was nothing, holding it over his head and biting through the metal.  This is so not of the good, he thought.  “Think I should run and get Buffy?” he said quietly to Spike, and he didn’t mean for it to be a question, but it was.  “Or… maybe you could fight him?”

“Yeah, I could.” Spike snorted quietly.  “If I didn’t mind gettin’ my head bashed in.”  He nodded toward the monstrous hammer the guy was toting around.

Looking back and forth between them, Xander became conscious for the first time that for all his strut and swagger, Spike was not really a big guy.  And not for the first time, he was just a little impressed, knowing as he did some of the things Spike had taken on. 

“Oookay,” he said, reassessing the options, “so, probably not the best of ideas…”

When the big greenie started calling for more ale and, sweet baby Jesus, babies to eat, Spike discreetly laid down his pool cue and started sidling toward the door.  Now, that is a good idea, Xander thought, and followed as stealthily as he could.

They hadn’t quite made it when Willow and Anya stumbled in, both looking a little windblown.  Whoops, he thought, and wished they’d stayed away just a little longer – like long enough for him and Spike to have actually made it outside and away.  Not quite ready to take on the role of Judge Xander again just yet…

Anya latched onto him immediately, tugging his sleeve.  “Xander, you shouldn’t be here,” she said, and she sounded almost petulant. “There’s a troll.”

“Big guy?  Hammer? Yeah, I think I noticed him.” He pointed toward the bar, where the guy – er, troll – had just finished sucking down the second keg.  And yeah, the sarcasm was maybe a little over the top, but he couldn’t help it.  Then he heard Spike snicker behind him and was hard put to stifle a grin, despite the badness right there in front of them.

Willow, however, wasn’t listening; she was staring at the troll and practically wringing her hands – or, well, she would have, if she hadn’t been holding what looked suspiciously like a spell book.  “I wish Buffy were here,” she whimpered.

It was on the tip of his tongue to retort And so say all of us.  Just then, the lady herself ran in the door right next to them.  Whoa, he thought admiringly.  Way to go, Wills!

***
Well, Spike thought, eyebrow arched as he studied the two girls.  I guess we know how the troll got here, then.

Red had no sooner finished her whine for the Slayer’s presence when the Slayer arrived with the good witch in tow.  “I’m here,” she announced, looking around to make sure her mates were all right.

Red perked up a little.  “I wish I had a million dollars,” she stated, quite a bit more brightly than she’d spoken only moments before.

The Slayer just stared at her like she’d grown another head.

Harris apparently couldn’t contain his amusement, if the way his shoulders shook was any indication.  Spike smirked at the Slayer’s expression.  Rare indeed we get to see her at a loss for words like that, he thought.

Just at that moment, she glanced beyond Harris, and saw him standing apart from the group.  Her eyes lit up and she offered him a smile and a nod, which he returned.

Once the troll’s presence had been noticed, the club had gone as deathly quiet as it was possible for any group of humans greater than five to be.  Spike wasn’t surprised that he could hear heartbeats.  The white witch’s heart rate was even now slowing to just-faster-than-normal after her run with the Slayer, but the Slayer’s own was still tripping merrily along at about double-quick time.  He frowned a little, studying her as she turned to Red, urging her to incant some spell.  Wonder what’s goin’ on? he asked himself.  Noticed that her heart was beatin’ fast last time we patrolled, too, and there was bloody nothin’ goin’ on that night.

He was still puzzling that over when the troll’s deep bellow of rage startled him out of his thoughts.  It advanced upon them the moment it realized that the spell wasn’t going to work, grinning with all the earmarks of thrill in imminent destruction.  Oh, bloody hell.  Fine time for the mojo to fizzle, Red.

In an instant, the Slayer had pushed out in front of her friends, ready to take on the troll.  Spike was right behind her.  Just loud enough so he could hear over the troll’s earth-shaking footsteps, she said, “High and low, Spike.”  A split second later, she launched herself at the troll, feinting high before ducking low and kicking it hard in the knees.

Spike tried to follow up with a blow to its jaw, but it swung the hammer before he could connect, and the next thing he knew, he landed with a jarring thud on the floor, though luckily he hadn’t smashed through any of the seats.  He was still trying to pick himself up when the Slayer fell on top of him, sending them tumbling to the floor again in a tangle of limbs. “Oof!” 

Before they could find their feet again, the air was full of screams and the sound of splintering wood, and the troll’s satisfied laughter.  Searching for the bloody beast, Spike saw that it was taking aim with its hammer at one of support posts for the balcony.

“Spike, come on!”  The Slayer had scrambled up and grabbed hold of his arm, dragging him from beneath the balcony.  Glancing up, he saw that it was already starting to sag on one corner, because that support was in splinters.

“Look out!”

The screams grew even louder and more panicked when the troll destroyed the other support, and the balcony came plummeting down, tables, chairs, guests and all.

The resulting crash nearly deafened him.

When his ears stopped ringing, Spike discovered that he’d pressed the Slayer against the wall and shielded her with his body, his back to the rest of the club. “You all right?” he demanded.

For just a second, she stared up at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.  Then she coughed out a lungful of the dust that had been raised when the balcony fell.  “Yeah,” she choked.  “I’m good.”  She peeked around him, and he watched her mouth firm in that way he’d come to recognize.  “Come on,” she ordered, and pushed against his chest, forcing to stumble back a step.  As he did, she ducked under his outstretched arm and back into the midst of the club.

A second later, it struck him what he’d done.  Why? he asked himself.  Why would I... She’s the bloody Slayer, an’ well able to protect herself! Doesn’t need me turnin’ myself into a pincushion to save her.  His mind turned it over at a furious rate, but he couldn’t come up with a single reason that would explain his actions.  Instinct, he decided at last, somewhat desperately.  Some poncy Victorian leftover – gotta protect a lady, even if you’re more likely to break than she is.  Gotta be it.

Just then, her voice interrupted his thoughts.  “Spike,” she called, “help me.”

When he turned around, he saw that she was straining to lift a piece of the balcony remnants.  It was pressing down on some guy, someone he didn’t recognize. 

“Spike!”

Without thinking, he grabbed the other end, and together they heaved it carefully to one side.  Buffy encouraged the guy that had been trapped to lie still so as not to aggravate any injuries, and seconds later, she was trying to help someone else beneath the rubble.

The troll was nowhere to be seen.

Spike shook his head, trying to clear it, trying not to think anymore.  The guy they had just rescued was bleeding, and he wasn’t the only one.  The scent of blood hung heavy in the air, taunting him, and he could feel the hunger rising, raging against his control.  He closed his eyes, clenched his fists at his sides.  They’re already hurt, he thought, and for just a second, he let himself listen to that tempting voice.  Could just get a taste, an’ if I don’t hurt ‘em, the chip won’t hurt me…

Then he felt someone’s eyes on him.  Looking around, he saw the Slayer standing by the rest of her little group, watching him with her head cocked to one side.  Her brow was wrinkled as if she was worried, but when he caught her eyes, she smiled and gestured him over.

I’m not gonna do it, he told himself as he joined the Slayer and her friends.  Not gonna do anything that won’t let her be friends, and snackin’ on disaster victims has gotta be right at the top of the list.

“Anya, you and Wills go back to the store and try to get rid of the ex.  I don’t think we want to keep him anymore,” the Slayer commanded.  “Xan, follow him.  We’ll stay here and help Tara until the paramedics get here.”  The Scoobies all agreed and scattered.  When she turned to him, she seemed concerned again.  “You all right?” She put her hand on his arm.

“Yeah, pet, I’m fine.  Just needed a moment.  So what’s this about the ex?”  Spike arched an eyebrow at the Slayer’s choice of words.

She just grinned back at him and nudged him into helping her shift some more debris.  “Didn’t you hear?  Troll-off there was Anya’s cheating ex.”  They put the slab down out of the way.  “He was wenching around, so she troll-ified him.”

“S’pose that’s better than datin’ a troll.” He smirked at her. “Oh, I forgot, that’s what she’s datin’ now.

“Spike!” But Buffy was laughing even as she protested.

No, he thought, and his smirk stretched into a real smile, not gonna do anything to muck this up.

***
Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands.

Which was probably why one of them inevitably ended up on Spike whenever she was close enough.

Of course, they weren’t anything more than friendly touches – or anxious ones, like earlier tonight, or pulling him along behind her for no other reason than she could, like now.

Spike wasn’t really protesting, however, and she wasn’t so much pulling him as… well, just holding his arm as they strode away from the wreck that used to be the Bronze.  I could be holding his hand instead, she thought, and immediately admonished herself.  Oh, bad Buffy!

But she didn’t let go of his arm as they left, either.

Once the paramedics had arrived, the three of them were kind of unnecessary.  Before anyone official could stop them, Buffy decided it was definitely time for them to go.  “All right, now we’ve got to make sure that Troll-off goes back where he came from.”  She glanced over her shoulder at Tara.  “What do you want to bet he’s gone back to the Magic Box?”

Tara’s face looked pinched in the glare of the streetlamps.  “It w-would be easier to find him… b-but I hope he hasn’t.  Willow and Anya could b-be in b-big trouble if he has.”

Buffy nodded and increased her pace, reluctantly letting go of Spike’s arm as she did.  “You’re not wrong.  Come on.  Even if he’s not there, at least we can see what Wills and Anya have got to get rid of him.”  Spike kept up with her easily, though Tara lagged a little behind.

What are we gonna do if he is there?  He was able to throw the both of us around in the Bronze… I really wish I had a weapon right now, she thought longingly.  I don’t even have a stake with me.  What kind of Vampire Slayer am I?

Apparently, I’m the kind who’d rather make with the undead smoochies than with the dusting.

Since that night in the alley, her dreams had only gotten more intense, more real.  In them, she was bold, much braver than she’d ever been with a man before, touching, tasting, doing things she’d never dare to do elsewhere.

And that didn’t bother her as much as she knew it really should have.

She wrenched her thoughts back to the giant troll-shaped problem at hand, and very sternly tried to keep herself focused on that.  ‘Cause if I don’t, I’ll end up thinking about what he did at the Bronze, and…

He’d deliberately put himself in harm’s way to protect her; she could weather flying splinters of wood much better than he could.   Part of her was angry that he would endanger himself like that, and part of her wanted to know why he’d done it, and part of her… Part of me just wants to pretend that it’s some romantic gesture, like we’re more than friends… And all of me is stupid. She shook her head, trying to clear those distracting thoughts out.  Concentrate, Buffy!  You can take the time for Spike-thoughts later!

She surfaced from her thoughts as they reached the Magic Box.  The bellowing, screaming and crashing noises from within told her that they wouldn’t have to search any further for Anya’s ex-troll.  “Be careful,” she cautioned Spike and Tara, and broke into a run.

She shouldn’t have been surprised when Spike cut through the broken door ahead of her.  She was only a half-step behind him, and it took all of her self-control not to call out to him, to demand that he… that he do what? she asked herself, and the thought was scathing.  That he back off from a fight? Like that’s ever gonna happen!

Troll-off had his back to the door, but their footsteps had alerted him to their presence.  He started to turn away from Xander, who was slumped against the far wall and cradling an arm that was clearly broken.

But the troll didn’t quite turn fast enough, and Spike leapt onto his back, passing one arm around his thick neck, bracing with the other and pulling.  He wrapped his legs around Troll-boy’s barrel-like body, holding as tightly as he could.  “Get him, Buffy!” he shouted, and tightened his choke hold as the troll started to gasp for air.

Unaccountably, she paused, a split-second of indecision, not wanting to strike because if she missed, she’d definitely hit Spike.

“His hammer, Buffy!” Anya’s cry filled her distraction.  “His strength is in the hammer!”

Suddenly galvanized, she darted in close – taking a glancing blow from one of Troll-off’s flailing fists as she did – and laid her hands on the hammer.  Unsurprisingly, he didn’t want to let go, and growled at her in troll-speak.

Planting her feet, she yanked with every ounce of power she could summon, hoping to wrest the damned thing away from the troll’s meaty, sweaty paws.  It didn’t happen, but she managed to pull him off balance, enabling Spike to continue to strangle him.

Troll-off staggering toward her sparked an idea.  “Be ready, Spike,” was all the warning she could give before pulling on the hammer once more.  This time, though, she kept herself braced, kept her body moving, and the pull became a throw.  Troll-off rolled over her shoulder and slammed into the floor, landing hard enough to stun him.  He blinked up at her, briefly dazed, and she plucked the hammer out of his lax fingers, tossing it carelessly aside.  Two well-placed punches – left and right – and he was out like the proverbial light.

When she lifted her head, Spike was there, grinning and bouncing on his toes, and relief – Thank God I didn’t flatten him under Troll-off – sapped all of her strength.  She somehow crawled to her feet, managed to pick up the hammer from where it had fallen.

We did it.  She grinned back at him.  “See that?” she said, so full of adrenaline and happy-making thoughts that she couldn’t keep silent.  “We make a pretty good team.”

“We do at that, love,” Spike agreed.  Then he dropped his gaze to her hands, and after a moment’s puzzling, she understood that he was looking at the hammer.

She was just about to offer him a swing or two when a groan and a scuffling noise told them that Willow and Anya had gotten Xander to his feet.  He held his broken arm awkwardly, and winced as every step he took jarred the bone.  He looked at the troll, laid out on the floor, then at the hammer still in Buffy’s hands.

“Can I just say I am so glad it’s not hammer time anymore?”

His statement was greeted by a chorus of groans.

Even so, Buffy still couldn’t stop grinning.

***
Patrol was – not to put too fine a point on it – dead, and Spike wondered why Buffy had wanted him to come along.

They were wandering more or less aimlessly through the third cemetery of the evening, and hadn’t come across a single fledgling, never mind anything that would have required the two of them to subdue.  It was the third time this week that the Slayer had come by to see if he wanted to go with her, not counting what she was calling the Troll-off incident.  Somehow, he’d decided that she wanted or needed to talk about Finn, and was looking forward to that as much as he was the next zap from the chip.

But she hadn’t said much of anything since coming by his crypt, and the silence was starting to drive him barmy.

Just when he’d decided to take the plunge himself and open the conversation, the Slayer spoke.  “Giles got back tonight.”  She kicked a rock; Spike heard it clatter against a headstone.

Ah, so that’s it, he thought, and wasn’t quite sure if he was relieved or disappointed.  Slayer’s just thinkin’ about the Nibblet an’ how to protect her.  “Back from the mother country safe an’ sound then, is he?  Bring back any info on that bint with the bad perm?”

The Slayer grinned at that, albeit briefly, and he managed to relax a little.  Can’t be too bad, if she’s still got a sense of humor.

“Willow and I went to pick him up at the airport, but he said that he wanted to get rid of the evil aura of the plane.  ‘The woman next to me was suffering the most horrific curse imaginable,’ was all he would say.” She mimicked Giles, using a very poor accent, but Spike still snickered, able to hear the Watcher complaining just that way.  “Honestly, I think he wanted some bonding time with his books.”

“Tell him what happened at the shop?” Spike patted his pockets, searching for cigarettes and lighter.

“It was mentioned.” She winced.  “He wasn’t happy.”

Frowning, he searched through his duster pockets again, but couldn’t find what he was looking for.  “Didn’t think he would be.  What’d he have to say about her?”  Bloody hell, where are my fags? Thought I had a new pack…  Unable to light up, he resorted to scraping the remnants of black polish off his fingernails.

The Slayer sighed.  “Nothing.  He said he’d come by the house after patrol, but he didn’t say anything about Glory at all.  I think it’s more to fill Mom in than anything else.  She got the idea that Dawnie was more than just… just Dawnie before her operation, but after that… well, she wasn’t really up to it, and then there was…” She stopped speaking, but hunched her shoulders and kept on walking.

Then there was your wanker of a boyfriend, he thought, somewhat ruefully, and steeled himself.  Here it comes…

But surprisingly, she said nothing about Finn.  “So, after patrol, you’ll come back to the house with me, right?”

There was a stick or something right between his feet.  That was the only explanation he would accept for the way he stumbled at her words.  He managed not to fall on his face, but she’d already turned to look at him and gotten an eyeful.  “Very graceful, Spike,” she commented, grinning widely.  “I wouldn’t think that’d be a very effective move in a fight… though it certainly would throw the newbies for a loop.”

He scowled as he recovered his balance, but strangely enough, he wasn’t really upset with her… not really.  It was getting harder and harder to get angry with the chit, never mind stay angry at her.  “Ha bloody ha, Slayer,” he muttered, and once again started the futile search for his smokes.  “Regular comedy riot, you are.”

She just continued to grin at him, head tilted ever so slightly to one side.

Damnit, I need a fag.  “And just why do I need to be there?” he asked, aiming for belligerent, and falling somewhat short.  He stalked past her, shoving his hands into his pockets.  After only a moment, he heard her light footsteps coming up next to him.

“’Cause you’ve been in it since the beginning,” she said quietly.  “’Cause if Giles does have anything new on Glory, you should be there to hear it.  ‘Cause I’d like you to be there to help me explain… everything to my mother.”

Something a little like awe filled him at her words, and he glanced over at her to see whether she was really serious.  She’d been the one to cry friends, and yeah, he wanted that, more than he’d ever thought he would, but there had still been some part of him that wanted to hold back, certain that she didn’t really mean it.

But she does, he thought, seeing her look back at him solemnly.  She does mean it.

Almost as if she could hear the wheels turning in his head, she smiled.  “And Mom made sure I went out and got some blood for you today, so it’d be fresh.”

“Did she now?” he drawled, smirking at her. “Guess the only thing left is what time?”

“Now is good,” the Slayer replied.  “I mean, no offense, but it’s really dead out here.  Come on.”  She tugged on his sleeve.

“Pushy bint, aren’t you?” he grinned.  In response, she gave him a mock glare and pulled harder on his sleeve.  “All right, all right, I’m comin’.  Leave off, pet, don’t hurt the leather.”

She rolled her eyes, but released his arm.  “Sheesh.  Next time, I’m going to take your coat hostage instead of just your lighter.”

When the words registered, he stopped, studying her, eyes narrowed.  “What was that again?”

She blushed and ducked her head, peering up at him through her eyelashes in a way that was cute, but didn’t quite reach innocent.  “Um… oops?”

“I’ll give you oops, Slayer,” he growled, and let his features melt into bumpies and fangs, taking a menacing step toward her.

Laughing, she pulled the lighter out of her pocket, flashed it at him teasingly, glittering silver under the moon, then legged it for the gate.

With a roar, he was after her, eyes glowing yellow, anticipating the chase as he hadn’t in ages.  As her laughter floated back to him, he grinned through his fangs, pleased to let her have her fun, and not questioning why.
 
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