Home : Stories by Author : Stories by Kimi : Reminders - Page 2
Buffy stood in her kitchen, hands on her hips, glaring at the room's two occupants balefully.
"Okay, Dawn, this has got to stop. Doesn't anybody here get it yet? I am all Status Quo Girl. So do not love change."
The younger sister glared right back. "Hey, get over it, Big Sis. Hair grows."
"Dawn, all this time, I thought maybe, hm, doctor? All saving of mankind. Great for somebody destined to protect the world. Some days I'm thinkin', well, okay, she argues well. Lawyer, destined to protect the environment. Not so far off the original saving thing, right? But never, never once in all my daydreams did I see this. A 'colorist?'"
Spike smirked as he ran his hands through his still damp, freshly-tipped blond hair. Buffy's rants were very entertaining as long as they weren't directed at him. He pulled the streaked towel from around his shoulders, toed some cut hair under the table and settled back for the floorshow.
His movement drew Dawn's eye. Her expression brightened. "But just look how cool! And I did it!" The girl's eyes narrowed as she looked at Spike appraisingly. "Argh! Almost forgot something," she said as she headed to the kitchen door. "Got it the other day. It's in my room. I think. Well, somewhere anyway." Her voice trailed away as she galloped up the stairs.
"Well," Spike said, raising a scarred eyebrow. "How bad is it?"
Buffy half-glared at him. "What are you doing here?"
"Keeping the Bit away from the crypt... and Daniel. And lettin' her have her way with me." He waited a moment, then prompted her again. "So?"
"Pretty good," Buffy said grudgingly. "Okay, very good actually."
Spike nodded. "Figured as much from the Nibblet's squeals of joy," he said dryly.
"How is Daniel today?"
"Gettin' stronger. Up and about. Talkin' a bit. Clem took him to his place to try to do a clean up. Seems real comfortable when Clem's around."
"Really?" Buffy frowned prettily. "Why?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, hell, Slayer, isn't everyone? Comfortable with Clem, I mean? Even demonophobic Harris likes him."
She grinned appreciatively at the half-joke and threw herself in the chair across from Spike. Making a huge show of examining his new look, she finally sighed heavily.
"Spike, you don't have to let her do...this." She waved her fingers around, indicating his hair. "You could actually tell her 'no.'" She leaned closer, fingers splayed on the table surface.
"Didn't even try," Spike admitted with some asperity. "Completely whipped by any woman with the last name Summers."
Buffy got up and walked around the table. "Well, I don't think your hair would look right 'brown' anyway," she said thoughtfully. "So I guess this is okay." She walked behind him, still talking and put her hands in his hair absently. "And I like it better this way. No goop."
Spike slowly turned around in his chair, looking up at the intent little frown that had gathered between Buffy's eyes, and caught her still outstretched hand in his. Her frown didn't disappear as she blankly included his hand in her gaze.
By standing up, he drew her attention from their hands to his solemn eyes. "Buffy?"
"You know," she said in a normal tone, "I never thought I'd say it, but I don't know how I feel about any of this. It's...complicated. 'Classic' Spike was a lot simpler to understand. Easier."
A smile ghosted around his mouth as he realized that she was comparing him to a soft drink. His eyes softened in understanding. "Slayer, I think that's the first honest thing you've said to me since I've been back."
She looked down at her hand, still folded into his. As she watched, he gave it a slight squeeze and let go. Her eyes darted back to his face, expecting to see some sort of rejection there.
"S'fine," Spike said reassuringly. "Honest. For you, quite forthright," he laughed.
She didn't. "The other night. When you found... I was waiting for you to tell you something."
"Yeah?"
"I came to tell you...I'm sorry."
His eyes searched her face for some clue as to what she was talking about.
"For the night...That night. The night we found Warren's ex in the woods."
Spike made a small noise of negation and shook his head.
"No. Wait. I hurt you. A lot. I was crazy that night. And scared. Oh, Spike, I was so scared. I was afraid I was like...Faith. I think. I don't know. I was just scared. And angry. And crazy. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you when you were trying to help."
He opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp look from her stopped his words.
"Okay, no excuses. No excuse. Just sorry, okay? So sorry. I was vicious and cruel and..."
Spike couldn't stand the pain in her eyes. "Shhh. S'all right, love. I know. I knew it that night."
"You knew?" she said uncomprehendingly.
Spike put his hands comfortingly on her shoulders and looked down at her with a half-smile. "Yeah, I did," he said reassuringly.
"But I just left you there. Just...left."
"Shhh." Spike pulled her close and put his lips to her hair. She muttered against his chest, body relaxing. Her whispered 'sorry' floated up between them and away.
After a few moments, he stepped back and tilted her chin up with gentle fingers. He kissed her softly, in deference to the pain written across her face, and in remembrance of her kiss after his survival of the beating at Glory's hands.
As their lips met, a connection that had been bent, broken or maybe had never existed at all except in his own imagination, surged to life. He drew back in surprise, looked into her eyes, and tenderly captured her mouth again.
This time, the kiss was slow and deep. Her hands moved around his waist as if anchoring him there. His hands moved to her shoulders again.
She came up for air briefly, quickly diving again into the ebb and flow of the seemingly endless kiss. Her hands moved up his back, pulling him against her. His mouth was soft and sweet, sucking away the pain, replacing it with comfort and warmth. Her stomach lurched and dropped as the kiss changed and she felt him harden against her. She gasped quietly into his mouth.
At that encouragement, his tongue slipped between her lips, done with teasing. He felt a light-headedness that might mean an interdimensional slip. Her nipples beneath the usual Buffy-style thin camisole had hardened into pellets. She moved her hands to the small of his back and gently pulled him closer. His knee went out and parted her legs, so that her sex was teasingly pressed against his thigh. He growled as she shifted against him.
In answer, she moaned and pulled his tongue deeper into her mouth. Legs shaking slightly, he sought the edge of the table and leaned against it for support, pulling her with him. She shivered as his hand slid under her hair and to the back of her neck. He could smell her arousal, a sweet scent he'd only just remembered. Frustrated, he picked her up with one hand, set her fully astride his thigh, and pulled her flush against his crotch. He felt her warm moisture through the leg of his jeans.
Burying her hands in his hair, she pressed herself to him, working to find some relief for the steady throb between her legs. Her breaths came into his mouth in shallow pants, as her steely arms ground him closer. She moved again slightly, deliberately pushing into the junction between his groin and thigh, her hip against his crotch.
"Oh, my God!" Dawn's voice was shrill with shock. "Okay, now that's just - God! Get a room, guys! Scarred here. Totally traumatized!"
Their glazed eyes swung toward Dawn, who was standing with open mouth just inside the door. A now-forgotten bottle was clutched tightly in her hand.
The slayer tried to slow her breathing to something short of warp speed eight, as she attempted to focus on her sister. Spike slowly stood, letting Buffy slide off his leg and onto her own somewhat unsteady feet.
"Did you like totally forget I was here or something?" Dawn complained.
Neither the vampire nor the slayer spoke - although the answer was a resounding 'yes' from the look on their faces. Buffy was trying to figure out what to say, knowing that she had been caught flushed and panting by her sister. For the one and only time in her life, she was glad her mother wasn't here, or Buffy would have had to give in to all kinds of sordid blackmail.
As to Spike, he was completely clueless about what to say. He decided that anyone who had been that close to orgasm couldn't be held responsible for any rational conversations and sat down heavily, willing the still slightly swollen evidence in his pants to give it up. Realizing that he might be making things even more uncomfortable, he stood again. "I'll just let, uh, you and Buffy, uh..." At the lack of any further words presenting themselves, he beat a hasty retreat to the back door, opening it with a hint of desperation on the dusky evening.
"Spike?"
Buffy's voice. Spike didn't turn. "You know where I'll be, pet." He walked outside and carefully shut the door, sinking down onto the back step. The house remained ominously quiet.
As he was finishing his second cigarette, Buffy quietly sat down beside him. He glanced at her.
"You all right?" he asked, a little concerned.
She nervously ran her hands through her hair. "No. Are you?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes.
"No..." he said slowly with a wry chuckle. "I have to say it. That's the first time in a century and a quarter of existence that something like that has happened to me. Vampires usually don't have nosy little sis' runnin' round underfoot."
"The therapy bills could really mount up quick," she said, working toward some lightness.
He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Set it up with Harris for tomorrow. I'll come over through the tunnels. Basement's ready, right?"
"Yep," she said, a little more herself.
"Clem'll stay with Daniel." He got up. "I need to get back."
"I know, but...." She watched Spike's retreating back. "Don't you think it's scary?" she blurted out, stopping him in his tracks.
"Scary, love?" he said, turning back with a wry smile.
"I never even remembered she was there. I just...forgot. The rest of the world just goes away and..."
"Yeah," he said sadly. "Funny, that." He turned and headed home, feeling her eyes on his back, until he disappeared behind the hedge.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"I didn't get to finish his hair," Dawn pouted, still holding the bottle of hair goop.
Buffy opened her mouth to inform her sister that his hair wasn't all that didn't get finished, but thought better of it.
Once again in good humor, Dawn giggled. "Boy, and I thought Janice was queen make-out artist..."
"Have I told you lately how much I dislike Janice?" Buffy said wearily as she sat down in the kitchen.
"Only every other day," her sister said perkily. "But you must like what I did to Spike's hair, cause you sure had your hands all in it."
"Dawn..." Buffy was utterly defeated. This would never end. Or if it did, not well.
"That was like - mouth sex," her little sister said gleefully. "NC-17 rated kissage. He kisses real good, right? 'Cause it looked like..."
"Yes, yes, and yes. And that's enough, okay?"
At Buffy's dark look, Dawn's smile drooped. "If you could just *see* you guys together. It's like watching this really romantic movie. You know, like when the guy and the girl meet, and they hate each other on sight. And then they get to be kinda like friends, but not really..."
The slayer sighed quietly.
"And then one day, they're doin' this snarky, fight-y, back and forth kinda witty verbal punch thing and they kiss and fall totally into bed, but not before like wreckin' her apartment..."
Buffy looked up at Dawn. "TV show, not a movie. They finally get together after years of sexual angst and the show gets cancelled a year later. He goes on to become movie action hero actor person making double digits mills for each film, while she goes on to *finally* getting another successful TV series playing somebody's mom with an alcoholic best friend. He gets an Oscar nomination for a movie about dead people, and his pint-size co-star wins it."
"Buffy?"
"Yeah, Dawnie."
"Want to see if we can maybe catch a rerun of 'Moonlighting'?"
Buffy got up. "Not if it's the last season. I can't deal. Too depressing." She shrugged. "Don't we own Sixth Sense?"
"Well, we do now, cause I never took it back. I'll get the popcorn."
The door shut with a click. Clem jumped six inches in his chair.
"Where's Daniel?" Spike's eyes were hooded.
Clem nodded toward the downstairs.
Spike sat down in the smaller chair and stared at the TV, but Clem could tell he wasn't watching. "Like your hair," he said conversationally. "Kinda, you know, snazzy. The Slayer do it for you this time?"
The rude noise was answer enough.
"Guess not," said Clem, shrugging to himself. Gee, vampires were so moody! "Hey, I rented 'Legally Blonde!' You wanna watch it again?"
"No," Spike said tightly. "No blondes, no bouncin' shampoo commercial hair. Period."
Clem nodded in understanding. "You and the Slayer had a fight. Gee, Spike, do you have to be so touchy? The girl's just trying to..."
"She's not a girl. And.We.Did.Not.Fight." Spike clipped out the words in 1920's typewriter stacatto.
Drawing back a little, Clem considered the direction the conversation was going. He decided to drop it and remind himself to stop saying the word 'Slayer,' unless she was in the room.
"You know, when I came back, I realized that this wasn't going to work," Spike's voice gathered momentum. "Should have left then. Gone back to New York." He smiled briefly at Clem. "Vampire can move around all day long there. Whole city underground."
Clem settled back, keeping his expression blank. It seemed to be the beginning of a rant to him. Clem was Spike's best friend and the vampire really didn't have anyone else to talk to about the Slayer. Of course, some of their conversations had gotten a little graphic in the past, but...he liked Spike - admired him even - so he was going to be a friend and not interrupt. Let him vent.
"But no. She was here. Smellin' up the place with that lotion she uses. Paddin' around the crypt like some hausfrau, heatin' blood, watchin' me like I was gonna break, bullyin' me into straightenin' up. Survived over a hundred years without her. Reckon I can make it a few hundred more."
Spike paused. Clem felt the empty hole and responded carefully. "But things have been okay lately..."
"Oh, right. Bloody oh-kay! Well, let me tell you somethin', Clem. She still doesn't get it. Right in front of her bleedin' nose and she's clueless!"
Clem leaned down to pick up the canvas tote bag he'd brought. "Got that, too, Spike. On video. And that Alicia Silverstone..."
"Then, tonight, I'm mindin' my own business. Nibblet's doin' a touch-up, which is fine. I don't care. Bit can do anythin’ she likes. And *she* comes in - all full o' piss and vinegar."
"Oh, not good."
"Oh, no, not bloody good at all, 'cause that's the way I love her best. All tossin' hair and flashin' eyes. 'Course I know she's just playin' at it. She's not sorry I'm there. Then, she puts her hands in my hair, and..."
"Whoa! TMI, Spike. You sayin' things got outta hand?"
Spike nodded decisively, mouth tight. "And then, the Little Bit comes in and catches us."
The demon slapped his hand to his head. "She'll be scarred for life. One time, when my mom..."
"We weren't doin' *that*!" Spike said in exasperation. "Well, we were, but not really, y'know. So I go outside, give 'em some space, have a fag or two. And she comes out..."
"Dawn? Whoo, boy!"
"No. Buffy. So I take my leave, right? With as much grace as I can, considerin' what I want to do to her on her own back porch. Make sure she's all right, set up the thing with Harris tomorrow, and I go.
"And do you know what she says to me? To me - the stupid bloke that went all the way to Africa to get a soddin' soul so that she could love me? That she doesn't understand how she forgot Dawn was in the house! That's all. That's it."
"Yeah...?" Clem was attempting to follow, but the confusion factor was getting higher. He guessed you had to be there, but...no thanks! The idea of all that tight skin - whew!
Spike continued, getting angrier and louder. "Bloody fireworks go off - hell, nuclear bomb goes off, just from one kiss, and *that's* all she says!" He turned and looked at Clem in frustration. "I'm a stupid pillock, and if I wasn't such a git, I'd stake myself. Or let the whelp do the honors!"
"So...you didn't want to kiss her?"
"No." Spike looked at Clem in confusion. "Yes. Well, yes, I did. But not if it's just gonna be like last time. All skin and nothin' else."
Clem looked nauseous. He shook his head to try and get rid of the image Spike had conjured up. As his words echoed through the room, Spike heard them from Clem's perspective.
"Sorry, mate," he said apologetically. "Got carried away." Clem stumbled up out of the chair. "You know," he said with a sour look on his face, "I really need to go. Gonna work through the tunnels, make sure the babies are okay in the sewers."
Spike looked at him in concern. "Christ, Clem, s'not that bad. Is it?"
Wiping his forehead, Clem headed downstairs to take the shortcut through the tunnels. "Just lots of mental pictures. I hope I've got a copy of 'Harold and Maude' at home..."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Feinting with his left, Spike snapped a right at Xander. The Scooby dodged the feint and put his nose directly into the path of the vampire's right fist. Both man and vampire yowled in pain.
Buffy tapped her foot, watching a huffing Xander grab his nose, as a wincing Spike grabbed his head. This had been going on for a week, and was going nowhere. But the Slayer had sunk her teeth into the exercises like a vampire with a new victim, and she wasn't letting go of it, til she'd drained it dry.
"Jesus, Harris," Spike breathed out between clenched teeth. "Got to defend yourself better. Like fightin' with a girl." As he felt the Slayer bristle behind him, he corrected himself quickly. "Uh, with a wanker, I mean," he said lamely.
Just as Xander was drawing himself up for another go, Spike had a better idea. He shot the man a conspiratorial look and hoped the whelp picked up on it. After all, they'd spent one entire summer telegraphing moves to each other out on patrol while Buffy was gone - surely Harris wasn't completely brain dead. And he had to be as sick of this as Spike was.
"Wait a minute, monkey boy," he said.
"What?" panted Xander, nearly ready to pass out from the weight and heat of his padded suit. Spike couldn't tell if he'd gotten the silent message or not.
"You're supposed to be attackin' me this time." Spike looked to Buffy for approval. "That right, pet?" he said innocently, eyes wide and very blue.
As he'd hoped, the Slayer raised a slow eyebrow and impaled both of them on gray-green eyes. "This is the saddest excuse for a training exercise I've ever seen. Pathetic."
Spike dropped his hands to his sides as he rolled his eyes. Xander had the grace to look embarrassed.
"This is so not. gonna. work. Not until you two stop playing around and concentrate."
Xander and Spike glanced at each other.
"You know what? I'm bored. Work it out and call me. Take a break. I don't care. I'll be upstairs - doing my nails, washing my hair, or something." She yawned. "Or a nap. Bad fight scenes make me sleepy. Nap is good..." Her voice faded as she shut the door to the basement.
Xander wiped his forehead with a dramatic swipe. "Whew! Thought she'd never leave. We've been doin' this for days!"
Reaching for the fastenings in the back, Spike helped the man remove the training gear. "Yeah. Bloody hell, whelp, how many times before she gets it?"
Xander huffed as he climbed out of the hot suit. "Sure could use a..." He looked at Spike guiltily. "Bottled water. I'm all Willow for the bottled water."
"Yeah. Right," the vampire said sarcastically.
"Well, still. It's okay, I guess."
Spike walked over and sat down on the basement step. "This is a bloody waste of time. There's no loophole. The second I want to wipe up the floor with you, the chip goes off."
Xander came over as he cracked open a bottle of water and sat down, too. "Yeah. And I don't know how you can use the old 'for your own good' thing on any Initiative guys. Or anybody else. Good thing you missed old Warren at his worst. You'd be toast."
"Yeah, but Willow stripped his bark," Spike said wickedly.
"Hey! I was there. It was...horrible."
"Any bastard comes after my friends with a gun is fair game, Harris - even if the bloody chip fries my brain. What pisses me off is that RoboBoy Warren could 'a told us everything we needed to know about this," Spike tapped the side of his head. "No guess work. All he needed to know was what it was and he'd 'a figured it out. Had reports, readouts, tech stuff. *I* couldn't read 'em, but..."
Xander stared at Spike in astonishment. "What?"
The vampire looked down at his feet, and tried to explain. "When I found out the chip didn't work - on Buffy, I mean - I went to Warren. Had him take a gander at the chip. See what was bolluxed up. Wanted a closer look, but I had a bad feelin'. Got out o' there. Should 'a torn Mr. Fett's head clean off," he muttered, remembering.
"Wait. Does Buffy know this?"
"Nah. Not important, then - no good in it now."
"But Spike, we've got papers," Xander said, excited in spite of himself. "Technical stuff. Will slipped some of it out of the old lair. Buffy got some other stuff from the new one before it went all self-destructo. If we knew what we were lookin' for, we might..."
"RoboBoy is one with the earth, monkey boy. And he built the Bot. Smarter than any of us."
Xander looked at Spike. "Except Will, Spike. Willow could figure it out."
"But Red's not here. She's with that witchy bunch in Devon."
"We could send it to Giles," he said, wheels turning in his head. "Get him to get it to her. Then, she could help," Xander's excitement was palatable.
Spike looked at him with half-lidded eyes. "And why would she do that, whelp?"
"Well, she actually *liked* you. I think." Xander got to his feet, heading up the stairs. He looked back at Spike, who hadn't moved. "You comin'?"
Spike slowly looked behind him and up, eyebrow raised. He blew out a breath and got up. "Why are you doin' this? I'm thinkin' you might not like this chip out 'o my head."
Xander stared at him. He grinned recklessly. "Crazy maybe? Suicidal?"
Nodding, Spike slowly got up and followed him. "Right then. Lead on."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"No." Spike sighed and looked at another piece of paper. "Not it." Buffy handed him a piece of paper that was approximately eight inches by one and a half inches long. Spike squinted at it and made a disgusted noise. He held the sliver up. "Don't hand me any more of these, Slayer. I mean it."
Xander started giggling. Both Buffy and Spike shot him a look.
There were several shallow piles of paper of various sizes scattered in the floor of Buffy's living room. She was leaning against the sofa with her knees up, bare feet pointing toward Spike, while he sat in the floor nearby, legs crossed. Xander had become uncomfortable just watching them, seeing how at ease they seemed, how intimate. Once, she had even lazily handed Spike a sheet of paper with her toes. He'd taken it without commenting.
Xander let out a bored breath. It was hopeless. He was sorry he had ever suggested it. Spike kept on it long after the point Xander would have fled screaming from the house. Finally, the vampire laid the last sheet down and looked around, face falling when he realized he was done.
"Okay, so bad idea, guys," Xander said, spreading his hands. "There really wasn't a lot left, was there? Looked like more before. Hey, Spike? How's the kid?"
Spike absently picked up one of the larger sheets of paper and turned it upside down, looking at it one more time. "Kid?" He glanced at the man. "Is that new slang for the fledgeling vampire I have staying at the crypt?"
"The kid. Yeah. Daniel."
Spike laid the paper down, looking at Xander cautiously. "He's pickin' up," he said slowly. "Face finally healin'. Bruises disappearin'.""And you did that, right?" the man asked nonchalantly.
Spike was outraged. "No. College boy vampires did it. With one of those bloody paddles all the best fraternities are so fond of. Hit him in the face, ribs..."
Wincing, Xander put a hand up. "Okay, okay. Holy cow, Spike. Don't get your soul in a tangle. Ever figure out what the deal is?"
"What deal?" Buffy broke in, trading a glance with Spike.
"His thing. The why
and the who and the rats. Thought I'd come by and see him."
Both Buffy and Spike spoke at once. "Why?"
Xander's eyes widened. They were spending way too much time together. "Why not?" he said reasonably. "Just curious. Okay? No motives here, ulterior or anterior. Promise I'm not gonna stake your new pet."
Spike gritted his teeth. "Harris, you're a wanker and an idiot."
Smiling, Xander got up and headed for the front door. "Betcha say that to all the guys." He waggled his fingers. "Nighty night." The door closed firmly behind him.
Stretching his neck to relieve the tension, Spike slowly turned toward Buffy. "I hate your friends," he said calmly. "You know that, right?"
"Obviously, the feeling is mutual. He hates you, too."
Spike jumped up and paced to the other side of the living room. "No. He hates me *with* you. Or hates whatever he *thinks* I'm doin' with you. Jealous little twit!" He stopped pacing and looked at Buffy apologetically. "Need to get back to Clem."
"Yes, you do. We're notoriously short on babysitters," she said dryly. "Lucky for me, Dawn's with Janice tonight. Or not." She sighed and got up. "I'm going with you."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"I really ought to have my head examined," she complained.
Buffy had gone downstairs and spent some one-on-one 'quality' time with Daniel, while Spike had played catch-up with his demon 'sitter. When Buffy had come back upstairs, her eyes were shining and her face was smooth. No frown marred the sparkle that lit her face.
Spike loved her like this. He chuckled as she fussed around with the heated pig's blood. He reached over quickly, picked up the mug, and spun away with a flourish, raising the mug to his mouth for a taste. She grabbed, but missed.
"Smooth move, Spikey," she said sarcastically, as he wiped his upper lip and the thin line of blood on his chin. "That's right. Waste your food. Oh, and by the way," she said, pointing to a spot he'd missed, "Eewww!" She realized what he'd done. "Hey! That was for Daniel!"
"Oh, of course," he said mockingly. "Daniel..." he teased in a falsetto voice.
"Well, he cleans up nice!" She grinned unselfconsciously. "Clem did good! And he *is* closer to my age than you are," she teased.
"Oh, now it's boys now, is it?" he said with an arching brow.
"You know, I feel really sorry for him. Did you know his girlfriend is still going to school here?"
"At Sunny U?" Spike looked at Buffy in surprise.
"Before those vamps got him, he used to go watch her when she'd go out at night. Watch over her, I mean," she said, lowering her voice confidentially.
"Oh, and suddenly, that's all romantic?"
Buffy stared at Spike. Then, her eyes narrowed with comprehension. "There's a difference between 'watching' and 'stalking,'" she retorted.
"Really?" Spike leaned against the table with mischievous eyes. "Enlighten me."
The Slayer opened her mouth to explain the difference. Confused, she quickly closed it. Spike thought she looked especially adorable when that sharp, biting wit escaped her.
"I thought so," he laughed. "Slayer, you just didn't know how good you had it!"
In answer, she grabbed the mug out of his hand and looked inside, effectively changing the subject. Wrinking her nose, she slammed the mug back down. "You drank it!"
"Yes, I did. Fruits of my labor. And Clem's. Percentage of the net, paid over the term of the contract."
"Oh, yeah. Mr. Sunnydale Business Guy," she said loftily. "I can just quit my job and sit back, right?"
"Got other mouths to feed here, pet. Get your own contract. They ought to be paying you well for risking life and limb," he said pointedly.
She laughed. "*Lives* and limb. Plural on the life part. And at least Daniel doesn't smoke. That saves a bundle!"
"Oh, no. Daniel would *never* do anything so crass."
Buffy pushed a fresh mug into his hands. "You're right. Daniel seems perfect. Well, except for that one little thing." She had a sudden thought. "Oh, God."
Spike looked at her questioningly, putting the mug down. Frowning dramatically, she stalked around the table and grabbed his arms, digging her fingers in to punctuate her words. "Never, never, never let Dawn meet him!"
"Ow. What does...?" He remembered Dawn's first Halloween date - a vampire in a high school letter jacket. That had ended badly. "Oh."
"And," she said, letting go of his arms and pressing a finger into his chest, "I blame *you* for that," she said, only half-joking.
"Me? I didn't tell her to toddle off and get her own vampire boyfriend. One in the family is enough."
She ignored his words. "Oh, it's your fault, all right. You, with all your stories. And your cool hair," she said, mimicking Dawn. "And your smooth moves. And your..." She looked down quickly as she felt herself redden at the glint in his eye. "...coat."
"Oh, it was the coat, was it? And I thought it was my sparkling wit and the grace I exhibit under pressure," he teased.
"Miss the coat."
The humor drained out of Spike's eyes. "Buffy, believe me, you don't miss the coat. I don't miss the coat. The coat is a...trophy," he said with distaste. Reaching up to his brow, he tapped the scar there. "Just like this."
She looked at him questioningly.
"The first slayer I killed gave me this. The second slayer? Well, she didn't *give* me the coat. I took it."
Buffy's eyes went wide. "The coat? Was her coat?" she whispered.
He nodded. And waited for the inevitable repercussions.
She tore her eyes away from his, and handed him the now-cool mug. "Um, here. Rewarm this, okay? I...I've got to go." She grabbed her jacket and headed for the door, almost in a run.
Spike watched the door close. Then, he walked to the microwave.
"She's your girl, isn't she? The Slayer?" Daniel said quietly as he appeared at the head of the stairs.
Spike closed his eyes and let out a breath. "She's a lot more than that."
Timidly, Daniel walked over to Spike. He leaned against the refrigerator. With his curious green eyes trained on the vampire, he pushed the too-long shock of wavy, black hair back and away from his face.
Spike nodded in approval, at the successful clean-up job and the well-worn sweats. "Clem took good care of you, then."
Daniel's eyes lit up. "Clem's a cool guy. Kind of funny lookin', but... And, yeah, he took care of me. We watched a movie, too. Or he did, anyway. I was thinking too much to concentrate on it."
"Hardly think Clem's taste in movies would stretch you in any way, shape, or form," he commented dryly.
"I asked him about her," Daniel said, nodding toward the door. "About the Slayer. He said she kills vampires."
"That she does," Spike nodded in agreement. "S'in the job description. Good at it, too. Best I've ever seen and I've seen some."
The fledgling nodded thoughtfully. "She kills vampires, but she hangs out with you."
"Hangs out? S'pose she does, a bit." Spike almost sounded pleased. "Well," he said shrugging, "she's an odd duck. Hero types usually are."
Daniel was trying to understand. "So she's a hero type, kills vampires..."
"Slays vampires, Daniel. Hard to kill somethin' that's already dead."
Daniel corrected himself. "Slays vampires... But you don't look dead to me."
A wry laugh rang the walls of the crypt. "Daniel, not only do *I* look dead, *you* look dead!"
"Uh, I meant, 'undead.' I think."
Spike took a long look at Daniel. "You do realize that you're a creature of the night, right? An impure bloodsucker - the kind they make movies about. Or did you get hit in the head one too many times since you were made?"
"Oh, yeah, I *know* I'm a vampire. I just ... forget."
"Well, you're all Normal Boy, aren't you? Guess that's why the Slayer gets all sunshiny in your presence. You're like the gits she went to school with. Look a bit like that Parker ponce, now that I think of it."
Daniel looked at him quizzically. Spike let out a frustrated breath.
"It's not you," he said in apology. "It's her. And me. Not to worry, Daniel. The Slayer and I have... an interesting relationship. Known each other quite a while now. I'd like to say it's based on mutual respect, but..."
"But that wouldn't be true."
"No."
"So you two have ... like a history, or something?" The boy seized on part of the vague explanation. Spike didn't feel like he was saying too much if he continued explaining.
Spike grudgingly answered the question. "Something." At the boy's curious look, he relented. "The Slayer and I have *several* histories, Daniel," he explained patiently. "Each one seemingly worse - and more complicated - than the last. The first time I met her, I decided she was going to be my third slayer. I've killed two. And, Daniel, that's not something just any vampire can say. Circumstances caused us to become allies once - well, more than once. And here we are."
"Well, where are you? I mean, where is 'here?'"
"Damned if I know," Spike laughed.
Daniel looked at Spike as if trying to decide how to ask a question.
"Well? Out with it! Go ahead. I won't bite. Well, I will, but... go ahead," Spike said, pulling a container of blood out of the refrigerator and pouring the contents into a new mug.
"So she knows you're a vampire and she's with you, right? So that happens? A vampire with..."
Spike slammed the microwave door and turned to Daniel in shock. "No! No, that doesn't happen! It never happens. For a vampire, a human is a victim. Or a potential vampire. That's it. Two ways it can go, Daniel. Vampires are killers. S'what we do."
"But you..."
Spike remembered what Buffy had said about Daniel watching his old girlfriend. He had to be very careful. "The Slayer and I are even less normal than the usual. There is no normal in the Hellmouth."
Daniel looked down at his feet, chewing his lip.
"And if it's some bird - " Spike sighed as Daniel's eyes went blank. "Some ... girl you're thinkin' about, remember this, Daniel. You. Are. Dead. Your heart doesn't beat. You don't have a soul. You only exist as a nightmare or a horror story."
The beep of the microwave cut through the silence. Spike turned and reached in, handing Daniel the mug. The boy looked into the mug and quietly put it on the table. Spike watched him disappear down the stairs.
"Well," Spike muttered, picking up the untouched mug. "Buggered that right up."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Every time she thought there might be a shot, something else reared its ugly head and struck at her. This time it had gone straight into her.
The coat. The coat was a slayer's coat. *The* slayer - just like Buffy was. She'd cried into that coat for months now. Months that she'd watched him take baby steps, dragging his new soul behind him. Nights and nights that she'd let the lining that reeked of booze and smoke absorb her tears.
She'd slept on that coat, never minding that it was stained and cracked in places. Because it was his coat - and the closest she could get to him right now.
His coat.
Her coat. But there was nothing of 'her' left in it. All him. It was *his* coat now - moving with him like some live thing, snapping away at his heels.
She did the math. She remembered that much. 27 years. That damn coat had been on his back longer than she'd been alive. Her eyes filled with unwanted tears. She'd loved that damned coat. Now all she wanted to do was build a fire in the backyard and let the sparks rise from it like some ancient funeral pyre.
Hearing the scrape of glass across concrete, her eyes darted to the dark lump sitting on her front steps. The half-empty beer bottle seemed to wink at her with light reflected from the street.
"So how serious are you about this whole chip thing?" he asked casually.
Something in Xander's voice made a chill crawl across her shoulders and down into her belly. "What's wrong?" she asked quickly.
"Just needed to talk." He looked her over, as if trying to figure out where she'd been and suspecting he already knew. "You're home late," he probed.
It was a comment, not a question, Buffy told herself. Running a hand through her hair, stalling for time, she reached into her pocket for the house key and tried to figure out what Xander could be doing sitting on her porch at 2 am. After Spike's little confession, she really wanted to be alone and think, not listen to Xander zing away at him, which is what she expected. So not telling him about the leather duster. Ever.
"Where have you been? You left hours ago," she asked noncommittally.
Xander shrugged. "Went home. Made a phone call. Came back out." He dragged the bottle toward his body as he carefully stood. Buffy winced at the grating sound of glass on the rough step.
"So..." she said, more calmly than she felt. "What's up?"
"Ah, the mystery of the night, Lone Ranger." He looked behind her pointedly. "Where's Tonto?"
"'Spike' is at home. Where you should be. Obviously," she said sarcastically.
Xander made a grand gesture, almost stumbling on the low step. "Aw, c'mon, there's absolutely nowhere I have to be tomorrow."
"I do," she grumbled, digging in her back pocket, almost ready to rip it off and listen for the tinkle of the key on the pavement.
"Whatever happened to honesty, Buff? And the big cry face? He's back and you play nursemaid for two months without tellin' the big, funny, best friend guy?"
"We've been over this," she said through gritted teeth. Snagging at the key and missing, she sighed, wishing she wore looser jeans. "And there's nothing to tell. Spike and I are so G-rated right now, Disney is bringing a film crew."
Xander let out a harsh breath. "Really? Then how come I feel like a fifth wheel every time I'm around you two? Huh? And don't tell me it's just him."
"Let it go. Please."
"So I'm just paranoid. Paranoid Xander," he said in disbelief.
"You'll have to ask yourself that. I'd try it sober though if I were you."
Xander laughed a very unpretty laugh. "Well, that's cold. Okay, riddle me this, Batman, without 'Robin' around to help you out: if you could make Spike's chip go away, would you do it?"
In the silence that followed, the click of the unlocking door sounded like a pistol shot.
He laughed again. "C'mon, Buff, the clock is ticking. Decision needed. Should be an easy one for you."
She caught her breath. "What are you talking about?"
"We're doing all this 'testing,' and getting nowhere. I make one phone call and discover the road to somewhere. Keeblerville."
"Keebler..."
"Home of the Keebler Elf and the not-so-chipped chocolate Spike. 'Not so' as in 'chipless,' Buff. I can so see the bracelets now."
"Bracelets?" Buffy had never had as much trouble understanding Xander in their entire relationship as she was having right now.
"You know. Bracelets. Pins. Necklaces. 'What Would Spike Do?' Just how saintly is the ex-Big Bad? Is the Soul Man a good poster child for the 'free choice' gig?"
"Xander, go home. You're not making any sense."
"The big prize rests on the other side of one of these three doors," he prodded unmercifully. "Can you trust Spike without the chip?"
Buffy drew herself up straight. "I'd trust Spike with my life."
"How about everyone else's?"
Pushing the door open, she jerked her head toward Xander and back to the darkened house. He moved inside - swallowed by the dark. Flipping on lights, she noticed that Xander's 'big funny' bit had deserted him. He looked tired and heavy on his feet, like someone's father instead of a twenty-one year old boy. Of course, none of them looked twenty-one anymore.
She took pity on him. "Sit down before you fall down."
With a cheery little salute, he sat on the sofa, as she remained standing.
"Now, I don't know who you've been talking to," Buffy began warningly, "but it better not be Riley."
Xander shook his head silently. Waiting. She sighed.
"Xander, I know you hate Spike. The whole thing with Anya would be reason enough for you - *anything* would be enough for you. But if you know something that can help, and I mean really know something, I want you to spill."
The boy continued to look at her out of flat eyes.
"I sent up a warning shot - an email to Riley - weeks ago. I expected to get back a denial, or some kind of government doublespeak. Do you know what I get back?
"Nothing. Less than nothing. Now I know you're a charter member of the Riley Fan Club, but..."
Xander spoke then, in a cruel voice. "Maybe he's dead."
"And maybe he's not," she shot back, a twinge of a headache starting behind her eyes. "Because a couple of weeks ago, my Spidey senses started tingling. I know what the Initiative smells like - feels like. Call me crazy, but I feel something crawling around Sunnydale - and it's non-demony and all about soldier boys. I'm going have to tell Spike, but I wanted to have a plan first. Any plan. Because he can't face them down. If they come after him, he'll have to leave Sunnydale."
Xander rubbed his hands together and opened his mouth to support Buffy's last statement. Her next words closed his mouth with a snap.
"I don't want him to leave." She sat down in front of Xander. "Not now. Maybe not ever. I hated it when I thought he was gone, even though I wanted to kick his ass into next week. The only thing that made it okay was *knowing* that he'd be back."
"And then he shows up with that new soul. Convenient. Didn't even get that ass-kickin', did he? Just a great big honking 'get out of jail free' card with his name on it in gold," Xander finally said angrily.
"He doesn't feel that way," she retorted.
"Right," he nodded. "He's Mr. Remorse."
"I never asked you to stop seeing Anya, even when I didn't get it. She seemed to make you happy. Me and Spike? Well, I don't expect you to understand it. I just need for you to accept it."
As he dropped his eyes to the floor, he muttered, "I can understand it a helluva lot sooner than I can accept it."
"Look, Xander," she said, frustrated at the tone of the conversation. "I can't protect him alone. I need him to be able to protect himself! *He* needs to be able to protect himself. If the chip was just modified some way..."
"That's not one of the choices. It's all or nothing." He raised his head to look at her searchingly. "I mean in - or 'out.' Gone. History. Like it never was."
She stared at him. Then sighed, "Maybe you should ask Spike that," she said grudgingly.
"Nope. Dead Boy don't get a choice at this stage of the game. I'm asking you, 'Slayer.' Since you're probably the only one who could take him down if he starts foaming at the mouth. Do you trust him enough to let him off his leash?"
"How?"
He got up. "Just tellin' you it's possible. You trust Mr. Holy Souly enough to make it go away? Sleep on it. Let me know."
"Xander..." she said warningly.
"Toodles, Buff. I'll just let myself out."
She continued to stare at the door long after she heard the click.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Buffy ducked her head inside the door of the crypt. The light from the television flickered in the room.
Feeling her eyes on him, Spike turned toward the door, getting up in the same smooth motion. Daniel's eyes followed him to the Slayer. She smiled at him in greeting, and returned her eyes to Spike.
He approached her warily, wondering at the strained look on her face that showed even through the smile.
"Not comin' in, pet?" He frowned. "Gonna stand on the stoop?"
She shook her head. "Can you leave for awhile?"
"What's wrong, Buffy?" It had been almost a day since he'd seen her. That never happened anymore. He'd missed her. Sighing, he thought about the fact that once he would have been grateful for the sight of her face once a week. "Is this about the coat?"
"The coat? No. And yes. It's about a lot of things."
Spike grimaced. "Not really up to drama tonight, love."
"Well, sorry, Spike. Drama we got," she laughed ruefully.
"Is this going to involve yelling or...?"
She shook her head decisively. "No. No yelling."
"Go downstairs then?" He nodded toward the trap door.
She looked behind her nervously and thought about what they might run into out there. Then, she smiled - the first real smile he'd seen. "If Daniel won't mind our using his room," she said coquettishly.
At the sun breaking across her face, Spike relaxed and put a hand under her elbow. "S'okay. I know his landlord. C'mon." As he walked by Daniel, he raised his eyebrows. "Don't go drinkin' all the blood now," he warned teasingly. "We'll be right down here."
Buffy went down the stairs and walked over to the only seating there. The bed. It was made, of course. Daniel would do that. She took a deep breath. "Okay, you need to sit down. I almost *fell* down when he told me."
Looking at her curiously, he sat on the edge. "Summers, you're beginning to scare me."
"Xander came to see me last night. Now before I say anything else, he'd been drinking, but he wasn't drunk. I've seen drunk. This was not it."
"Right. Whelp. Not sober, but not drunk."
She grinned quickly. "Check. He came over to ask me a question. Now I'm asking you."
"Sounds bloody serious."
She nodded. "I think it is. I've been thinking about it since last night. I know my answer, but it's really up to you."
"Hell, out with it then," he said loudly, beginning to get very nervous.
"If you could have the chip taken out, would you do it?"
Spike jumped off the bed and began pacing. "What kind of question is that?" He stopped and looked at Buffy suspiciously. "This isn't rhetorical, is it?"
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "No. He knows something. He's talked to someone and he believes it can be removed."
"Removed. Not changed. Just 'out.'" He turned the concept over in his mind.
"That's what he said. Wanted to know if I trusted you that much." And that was more than she'd meant to say when she rehearsed this at home.
At her words, Spike walked over to the bed and looked down at Buffy. "Do you?" he asked softly.
She looked down at her hands. In a breath, he was squatting in front of her, trying to catch her eyes. "Do you, Slayer?" He deliberately used her title and not her name.
Bravely, she impaled herself on his eyes. "Buffy does. The Slayer? I think so."
Spike handed himself up beside her on the bed. "Fair enough. Hate it when you lie to yourself more than I hate you lying to me. Being honest with both of us is better."
"There's more."
"Wonderful," he said, rolling his eyes. "It's a good thing my heart stopped years ago."
Uncharacteristically, Buffy giggled. "Well, at least it's the evil we know."
"Soldier boys," he said quietly.
Her eyes opened wide. "You knew?"
"Well, love," he began, picking her hand up off her lap and looking at it, turning it over, and then back again. "The way you were pushing the testing. I can fight demons. This meant a human menace. Thought you might have had a hunch, or knew more than you were tellin'." He looked at her from under his lashes, not raising his head. "Decided to wait until you were ready to talk."
She laughed in release. "Because *forcing* me to talk before I'm ready has always worked so well in the past."
Grinning, he nodded. "Right."
"I'm telling Xander 'yes.'" She said in relief.
"Yes, 'you want it out', or 'yes, you trust me?'"
"Uh, both?" She giggled.
"I don't know," Spike growled. "It ought to scare you that I'll be able to bite the whelp's head off if he gets me pissed."
Now fully laughing, she threw herself back on the bed. "Oh, this is such a relief! I was dreading this. Telling you about the chip, about the Initiative. About Xander."
He followed her down on bent elbow. "Why?" he asked quietly, studying her face.
"This is big stuff! So tired of the big stuff. I'd really rather worry about bills, or Dawn's homework, or work-work." He raised an eyebrow. "No," she protested. "Really. I need a break from the big bad. I need...a vacation!" she announced firmly as she started to get up.
In a flash, he'd knocked her elbow out from under her and had locked his lips on hers. Buffy stiffened as her Slayer reactions kicked in, then relaxed, moaning slightly in his mouth. After a long moment, he pulled back, eyes sparkling. "That's all the vacation I can spare right now. We're in the guest room, after all."
"You're a tease," she grumbled. Realizing that he was telling the truth, she struggled up to a sitting position, looking back at him as he still reclined on the bed behind her.
"Yeah...?"
"And I hate it when you do that."
"Really? Couldn't tell."
She grinned. "Okay, okay. Look, I need to find Xander."
He got up and extended his hand to her, hauling her off the bed and toward the stairs in one motion. "Find Harris then. Although that wasn't quite the reaction I expected from kissing you..."
She headed up the stairs. "I think that's exactly the reaction you wanted though. I don't know what this is going to involve. Xander was very vague. But I believed him, Spike." Looking back over her shoulder, she topped the stairs, waiting for him to reach her. "Once we get that chip out, we can make some real plans. Do some reconnaissance."
"We might need to do that now, Slayer. With or without the bloody chip in my head."
Daniel's head swung around, mouth open. "Chip? A chip in your head?" he echoed.
Spike laughed. "Yeah, Daniel. Silicon, wires, sod all wormin' round in there. Keeps me from harming humans."
Daniel stood up. "Oh, shit."
Buffy frowned. "Daniel. It's not that bad. Spike..."
"I've heard about you. I just didn't..."
Spike crossed the room and backed Daniel toward the wall. "Didn't what?" he said coolly.
"Didn't know you were him." Daniel said in confusion.
"Him who?" Spike prodded in a hard voice.
"Hostile 17."
'Half-assed is better than no ass,' Xander thought grimly.
After a truly lame attempt at cleaning up the kitchen, Xander Harris grabbed the two open garbage bags and headed out to the dumpster. The reality that was a pizza box - or four - meant that there was more air in the sack than trash. And the same went for the Styrofoam containers that Doublemeat Doubletreats came in. He felt that the bag would pull a full-scale pop fly if a decent breeze got under it. Maybe he'd just toss it up there and watch the boxes scatter.
"Psst."
Xander spun around, slinging the bags wildly as he reached for a stake. And again... so not there. What was the deal with him and stakes lately? A figure crouched, wincing, as cardboard and Styrofoam flew.
In a breath, Xander was off the concrete and had the shadow pinned against the wall. He looked down.
And down.
"Jeez. And ow!" The shaky voice almost squeaked. "You called me, remember?"
Xander let out a huge relieved breath. "Oh, man, you were nearly dust," he said as he pushed back from the wall. "Well, not dust exactly, and I didn't happen to have a stake on me, but..." Xander's voice trailed off. "Scare a guy, okay? Where were you anyway? Across the street?"
The shadowy form looked down and straightened all-black clothes, cutting dark eyes up at Xander. "Decided to come in last night," he said in his own defense. "Wasn't so sure when I'd get here. And I had to get the stuff you wanted."
"But...I didn't say come back. I just said that I might want you to come back." Xander was confused.
The figure was still. The small voice sounded lost. "So...we're not gonna do it? I thought that maybe Buffy wouldn't be so mad and maybe I could come home. I really need to come home. And you know I never meant for it to go that far. You know I didn't. You told me so."
"I'm not sure I want you to do it," Xander said thoughtfully. "Think maybe the Xanman's sanity might be doing that returny thing after all." He brightened. "Maybe you could just say you're sorry. She's all with the forgiveness lately with ole 'good and gooder' bein' back on site."
"You think? That would be, like, great, cause I'm kinda out of practice with the whole magic thing lately."
"Well, come on in, anyway. You look terrible. And going inside is better than standing around waiting for something bad to bite you on the ass. Hellmouth, remember?"
"Thanks. Hey, got anything to eat? I'm starving."
"Just trashed it. But hey! Delivery okay?"
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"He may not need it to breathe, but I think he needs it to talk. Air, Spike. Now." Buffy reached up and slowly peeled Spike's fingers one by one away from Daniel's throat. He'd tossed the boy across the room and fastened onto his neck with one hand as if he would take his head off. His other arm was pushed against his chest, holding him to the wall. Buffy was so relieved to see Spike slipping even a little toward gameface, she almost laughed.
"You know," she said conversationally as she eased the older vampire away from the fledgling, "some anger management courses might be a good idea, considering the changes we were discussing earlier."
Spike let her move him, but he never took his hot, narrowed eyes off the boy. Daniel looked at him in shock. The older vampire was a half-head shorter and less massive, but there was no doubt who had the sheer will to overcome those handicaps. Spike looked as dangerous as Buffy had ever seen him.
Taking a deep breath, she turned back to Daniel. "You," she said curtly. "Sit. And don't try anything either. I've got a stake with your name on it."
He nodded - although he was a lot less worried about the small woman than his recent benefactor. Spike's eyes were fixed on him as he backed away toward the chair. Sitting down, Daniel relaxed slightly and began rubbing his throat.
Slowly, Spike turned to the slayer, still as tightly wound as she had seen him since his return. She touched his arm, not a tender touch, but more of a 'welcome back.' "I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see you again. The odds just hiked up in your favor, Big Bad."
He stared at her as her words hit home, eyes still narrowed and slightly gold at the edges of his irises. He was breathing heavily, pushing air in and out as he fought to overcome the shock and betrayal. She smiled. "Go. Sit. We're gonna sort this out. He's just a kid, remember?"
She walked over and hitched one leg over the table. Swinging it as she looked at them both, the slayer tried to decide what to ask first.
"Okay, so how do you know about Hostile 17?" Her leg never missed a swing. This was more like it. At least something was beginning to shake loose.
As Spike's eyes impaled him, the boy cleared his throat and looked straight at Buffy. She could understand why. Spike was very, very threatening. "I didn't know it was him. The records are gone. There was a fire, I think. His chip - it was a prototype - and the only one that really worked."
Buffy shot a look at Spike and saw that he was beginning to come down some, eyes not glinting as fiercely, as the flecks of gold disappeared. Good! "As opposed to... what?" she continued, turning her attention back to Daniel as if it had never strayed. "The ones that don't?"
The young vampire nodded quickly. "All of Professor Walsh's schematics disappeared. So they went into a redesign. But the new chips kill. At least they do when they put 'em in a vampire that's already... fed. The chip fires, but it's too subtle or not subtle enough, so it either doesn't work or it kills them. White coats don't even bother to pick up vampires for experiments anymore. Just make their own."
Her stomach began to clench in nausea, as she anticipated the answer to her next question. "Make their..."
Daniel looked nervously at the slayer as he stole a glance at Spike. "Vampires."
Spike came off the chair, fingers clenching. "Lived here for days," he said in a harsh growl. "And not a word! Nothing. Like you were some amnesiac on a soap opera!"
"I didn't know..." Daniel protested guiltily.
"Spike?" Buffy said sweetly. "Sit." She turned back to Daniel, not even waiting to see if he did it. "Okay, who's doing this?"
"Military op. Well, quasi-military, because there are some civilians involved."
Spike leaned toward the boy with a menacing coolness that Buffy found strangely comforting. "How do you know all this?"
The boy recoiled slightly, but laughed wryly at the irony. "I'm AWOL. Very, very absent without leave. As in dead. Wrong place, wrong time."
Spike threw himself back in his chair, as the slayer pursed her lips, considering her next question. They'd return to Daniel's origins later. "How?"
The fledgling didn't pretend to misunderstand. The words tumbled out as if they'd been buried for a long time. "They recruit from the hospitals. Terminal patients. Very terminal. Full blown AIDS. Leukemia. Rejected kidney transplants. They get releases from the families for organ donation." Buffy almost sighed with relief that the recruitment process wasn't worse than it was. Then, she recognized the sheer audacity and arrogance of it. And she thought of her old friend Ford.
"So it's an army experiment," she nodded. "Another one." She looked at Spike angrily. "And this one is so far on the side of bad, I can't believe I'm hearing it. Why in the hell would they be making vampires?"
Spike spat the answer into the room where it lay coiled like a snake.
"Soldier boys, Slayer. They're makin' soldier boys."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dawn turned off the television and stretched. Buffy was in for it. It was late and she was tired of waiting.
Clem looked up from his bowl of popcorn (Orville Reddenbacher, of course) with a grin. "That was a good one, Dawnie. Don't go for horror movies much, but..."
"That is *so* not a horror movie," she said archly. "That was 'Scream'. And it's all about the parody. Just one big sillyball, rolled up and thrown right at you." She looked at him, suddenly concerned. "You thought it was silly, right?"
Clem looked down in embarrassment. "Well, at the end, I did. But the first? Whoo-boy! Had to tell myself it was a movie to keep from turning it off. That sweet little girl from ET trying to get away? Well, that was just sad!"
"Buffy's late." Dawn's pronouncement was definitely off topic movie-wise, but on target otherwise.
Clem looked a little embarrassed for the slayer. "I'm sure she just got hung up slaying something," he muttered.
"Oh, yeah, right. Slaying, or maybe lay..." Dawn stopped when she saw Clem's shocked face.
"I don't think that's a very nice thought you're having, Dawnie."
The girl tossed her hair, but had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry. But I saw 'em in the kitchen and it was hot, Clem. I mean, really hot. So excuse me if I wonder just what they're doing right now!"
Clem jumped up and started gathering empty bowls and glasses. He crumpled a still partially full bag of potato chips in his haste to get out of the room. Dawn reached for it, quickly looking inside and smoothing it.
Looking up, the demon set his chins and gave Dawn a reproving look. "Your sister and Spike are having a talk tonight. When she called and asked me to stay, she said it was important. All serious sounding, too. So I don't think there's much kissy-face goin' on, if you get my meaning."
Dawn looked at him craftily. "What kind of talk?"
"Didn't ask. Sounded like slayer business to me. You know how her voice gets when it's slayer stuff. All firm."
The girl sighed. "I was hoping... Well, not hoping. But... just thinking, that maybe everything would just be okay again. And he could come over and watch movies with me again. And talk. Uh, with us. You, too, Clem. You're always invited."
Clem threw up his hand and laughed self-deprecatingly. "Well, I know I'm no Spike, Dawn, but that's nice of you to say. You're quite a young lady."
Dawn sighed and almost stomped her foot. That's right, Clem, make with the guilt! She hoped Buffy never found out that killing her with kindness would make her cave every time.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Buffy had finally left Spike with Daniel, hoping that the young vampire had the good sense and enough training to obey orders and stay downstairs out of Spike's immediate vicinity. He couldn't say she hadn't warned him. Swinging her arms, she blazed out of the cemetery and into the dimly lit streets.
Although most of her attention was on the scenery - and whatever glint of Kevlar might be lurking behind it, the night was on replay in her head. Unfortunately, Spike's display of anger wasn't the only display she was thinking about. She smiled softly and then shook herself out of that little fantasy and back to reality.
Spike had actually moved like Spike tonight. He'd vaulted over the chair and slammed Daniel to the wall like some feline predator. The sight of it had been enough to make her cheer. In fact, it had shocked and pleased her so much, she almost forgot to help Daniel.
Help Daniel. And what was up with that? She groaned. Black and white had been so much easier. Demon, human, stake and go. Spike had changed all that - long before he'd gotten that soul of his.
And she had to admit that Souled Spike had been bothering the hell out of her more and more over the last Riley-wordless weeks. She needed him fighting beside her if it came down to it. Not getting all soulful in a corner somewhere. She realized she really hadn't been worried about what he'd do with the chip out - she'd been more worried that he'd get it out and get staked anyway.
The chip. For a moment she hesitated about going on to Xander's apartment. It was late - and to be honest, the thought of drunken Anya-angst was not on her list of favorite things to end her night. But the sooner she got this over with, the better she'd feel. She and Spike had made real progress tonight with Daniel. They had some information, something to go on. She wished she knew what they were going to do with it.
This whole Initiative thing was scary. The chip had been one thing - one less big bad to deal with. But this? She couldn't even comprehend the sick mind that had lain awake nights hatching this plot. Making vampire soldiers! It was like some D- horror movie.
Finally arriving at Xander's apartment, she noticed that the lights were on. She stood there, chewing on her lip, trying to decide if tomorrow was better.
In a bit, she walked around to a window and peered into the living room to see if he was up. He was. He was sitting in a chair, talking to himself, a beer in his hand. Talking to himself? She snorted as a second, much smaller figure walked into view. Her eyes widened. She ran back to the door and pounded hard. This was *so* not happening!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Daniel came upstairs and saw Spike sitting in front of the television with the sound muted. He wasn't sure if Spike even knew he was there. Eyes glassy, he stared at the far wall.
"Daniel, this is not the safest place for you to be right now." Spike's voice was calm, even though he spoke without looking his way.
The fledgling came closer. "I'm sorry, okay? I needed you to understand that I really didn't know."
Spike sighed. "Didn't you? And what part of 'safe' didn't you understand?"
"I knew you were different. The pig's blood, this place - looks like you've been here a while. You said humans were...food... for vampires. But you weren't eating. I just thought...well, I figured it was because of her. I never thought about Hostile 17."
"You know my name," Spike said gruffly. "Use it.
Daniel laughed softly in spite of the chill in the room. "A lot of the guys don't think you're real," he said, shaking his head. "Nobody's around from when it happened. Bunch of 'em died, I think. Rest got reassigned. The new guys think you're a myth."
"One of the 'guys' knows I'm not," Spike retorted. The thought of Captain Cardboard and his holier than thou self made his stomach turn. Suddenly, he turned to look at the boy with a calculated interest. "Tell me, Daniel. Have you met a soldier boy name of Riley Finn? Officer maybe. Big, beefy looking git. All about obeying orders without any thoughts of his own?"
"Finn?" he echoed. "No. I don't... I don't think so. Don't remember anybody named Finn. And I pretty much know the officers."
Spike slumped back.
Unless..."
The chair creaked as Spike sat up slowly. "Unless what?" A catch in his voice was the only betrayer of his excitement.
"Unless he's the one who brought her. From South America."
Spike let the words sink in. "Brought who?"
"'Her.' The dark lady. The guys call her that. They laugh at her. Well, some of them do. I don't - a lot of the guys don't. She's scary."
"She's the one makin' vampires." Spike nodded once as he relaxed back into his chair.
Daniel nodded. "She's the one - the only one now. Killed the other one. And nobody seemed to mind. That was so weird." He shivered slightly, then shrugged, embarrassed. "I've seen her a couple of times. She's pretty, but strange. You can tell she's evil, but in a sad way. She's supposed to make the new ones, but sometimes she won't. Just lets them die. They say she sees things she doesn't like about 'em. Sees it in their eyes," he said, almost whispering in remembrance.
Daniel's voice dropped away and he shook off the eerie memory. With surprise, he noticed Spike staring at him, mouth open, in shock. Daniel watched silently as the older vampire's face twisted in pain and he buried his head in his hands.
They had finally learned to bring her only the pretty ones.
Oh, not very pretty when they brought them, of course. Oh, no. They were sick and already had the smell of death about them. She would pick and choose, crooning, leaving the unacceptable ones drained and broken on the shiny white floor. Like jointed dolls.
But pretty or not, acceptable or not, they all died with shining eyes. She made sure of that. She saw into their hearts and minds and gave them what they wanted most of all. The twinkling stars smiled down upon her as she fed on their shivering bodies.
Sometimes when she let one die, they'd bring another toy soldier for their cause. Sometimes she changed him, sometimes she simply sang until he was taken away. It was all one to her.
They'd stopped bringing girls - nasty, soft, boneless snakes.
When she finally found the right one, a prince for the princess, she would fold him away and hide him from pale amber tresses, pink lips and deceptively powerful arms that could keep him from her. She would conceal him in the dark and cloak him from the golden light that would flame him to ashes.
Ashes. He had tasted of ashes.
She would find another to replace the one who had held her heart so long. The one who was now so lost to her. He would be beautifully bitter inside and out. Wicked and sweet. Strong and weak. Cruel and soft.
The dark princess smiled at the heap of ragged flesh littering the floor. He'd been pretty, but she'd seen - known him for what he really was. She pouted prettily and spun around, skirt whirling around her ankles enticingly.
Perhaps tomorrow they would bring her knight - one brave enough to breach the walls and free her. Until then, she would dance, brush her long, dark hair, and wait.
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