It was more than surreal to flick on the evening news to see one’s best friend featured in every station’s top story. It was more than a little disconcerting to hear rumors and allegations, watch as reporters captured her image in a series of jerky shots and frames. The Majority Leader had already called the Bartlet administration an “amoral, sex-driven sham of exemplified leadership” and had a group of prominent Republicans supporting an overwhelmingly wide public demand that Sam Seaborn be cast into the streets for his unscrupulous personal practices.

“Don’ think the wanker knows how to properly use the word exemplify, but I suppose only people who think would notice that,” Spike said with a contemptuous sneer. “There you are, baby. An example of why I think your country’s views on what’s topical an’ what’s not are a bloody joke.”

Buffy frowned. They had just gotten back from another eventless patrol and were catching up on the news while waiting for the pizza delivery guy to arrive; though lately, watching the television did little more than piss her off. “I don’t get it,” she said. “I really don’t. Sam and Will…they…”

Spike rumbled his agreement, brushing a kiss over her forehead. “’S the sex, sweetheart,” he replied. “People go over their heads when their leaders are caught bein’ human. Doesn’ help that the opposition puts a spin on it that makes it look like Prissy was doin’ somethin’ worthy of a crucifixion.”

Her scowl deepened and she burrowed further into his arms. “Stupid people.”

He chuckled. “Don’ have to tell me twice,” he replied, massaging her shoulder gently. “How’s Red holdin’ up?”

“I think she’s taken to watching cable access channels to get her daily learning in.” Buffy’s frown deepened. “I can’t imagine Will not going to school. It’s like…you and blood. Me and…”

Spike perked a brow, nuzzling her closer. “Hot, wild ruttin’?”

She blushed. “Stop.”

“Was jus’ a suggestion.”

“I was going to say slaying, but I guess that doesn’t really qualify anymore, if I’m to listen to Giles.”

“No one expects you to stop patrollin’, as tonight aptly demonstrated. You took out that Fyarl demon almost by lookin’ at him.” He smirked and slid a hand down her belly to caress her center through her sweats. “An’ I meant it when I said that was a suggestion.”

Buffy squirmed and shot him a playful look. “Evil.”

“Always.” He nipped at her ear. “An’ insatiable.”

“You’re telling me.”

Spike’s brows perked. “Right, Ms. Kettle. These past few weeks, you’ve been givin’ me a run for my bloody money.”

“Have not.”

“Well, maybe not, but you’ve been bloody ravenous.” His mouth found her throat. “Not that I’m complainin’…”

A harmonious giggle erupted from her lips. “Hush,” she berated, wrestling a kiss from his lips that could have easily tumbled out of control had she not pulled away and redirected his attention to the television. CJ’s briefing would start in a few minutes, and a spokesperson from the White House was issuing a statement concerning the state of Sam Seaborn’s job and how the President wouldn’t be firing him anytime soon.

Truthfully, Spike was just relieved to see the spark back in her eyes. The past few days had been hell on her, and consequentially, twice that on him. He ached for everything she ached, and worried for everything she didn’t. The only time he felt he was touching her fully without the barriers of fear and doubt between them was when he was inside her or rolling the taste of her blood in his mouth. Maintaining that connection that could only be reached through the most intimate unions. He felt her love for him and was overwhelmed by its depth; humbled by its strength. That was the one area he knew she felt secure. He provided a sanctuary for her, and there was nothing he took more seriously.

But he was worried about her. He was so worried about her. It had been three days since she’d blasted Riley Finn down the hallway, and since then, he had dedicated himself to holding her away from a personal collapse the likes of which he feared she’d never recover. It wasn’t for the solider, he knew. That night, she had been given the first real taste of her power. Not the version that Willow had fed off to stop Quirinias on the Longwood lawn. Not the enhanced strength that had saved her from self-destruction the week before when she met the god at that abandoned warehouse. This was real. It was the tip of her iceberg, and it had nearly torn her apart.

The first true sign that she was no longer human had nearly killed someone who was.

The sound of her weeping nearly tore him apart. His hold on her was strong; he knew that if she lost her balance, he would as well. But he would cushion her fall. He would.

He wouldn’t lose her now. He’d just found her.

He loved her so much. These three days had been hell. Reaffirming each other through connection. Lovemaking for an entirely different reason; though for that, he couldn’t complain. Newly claimed mates often resorted to the physical to feel the spiritual of their connection in the first few years. Sex was a large part of that connection; the most primal, and usually, the only level that many mated pairs touched.

Sex for him meant so many things now. Things he had never fathomed it meaning. Reassuring himself that she was there, that he had not dreamt everything. Expressing love that nearly drowned him with feeling every time he allowed himself to grasp everything he had. Holding her close and being complete, being one, instead of the starving half of himself that he had become.

Giles had told him it would be like this. He had known it would be like this.

Spike regretted nothing. He was more alive now than he had been in a century of existence. In the twenty-six miserable years preceding Drusilla’s deadly kiss. Touching Buffy was like touching Heaven, and it had nothing to do with her powers. It was all Buffy. All his Buffy.

He had to put on the brave face. When she was close to breaking, he was already there; he couldn’t let her know. He had to save her before she needed rescuing. He needed to save her from her demons, and help her come to peace with what she was now. Help her realize that being a god instead of the Slayer made her no more or less Buffy. She was who she always had been, but now she was this, too. When disciplined, her powers would be so second nature that she wouldn’t remember the nineteen years she had lived without them.

“Anythin’ you wanna do tonight?” Spike asked, dropping a kiss across her forehead.

“Well, I was planning on throwing you in the back room and riding you to a gallop, but I guess we can squeeze something in between.”

His gaze heated, and he nudged his pelvis forward so she could feel the effect her words had on his cock. “’m sure we can,” he agreed raucously. “But baby, I was talkin’…we haven’t heard anythin’ about this other god since she nearly pummeled you into your next life. If the Nibblet really is—”

Buffy had gone inexplicably stiff in his arms. “I know.”

“An’ I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but we really need to be researchin’—”

“She hasn’t shown her face. I’ve called Mom and Dawn every day and they’re fine. Dawn’s skipped a couple classes, but it’s just stupid ‘I’m fourteen and I want attention’ stuff.” She sighed. “There hasn’t been anything.”

“Doesn’ that usually mean that somethin’ is on the way?” Spike retorted, arching a brow. “Silence speaks, sweetheart. Louder than anythin’ else. This bird hasn’t gotten in your way yet ‘cause she likely hasn’t the first bloody clue that you’re standin’ in her way. But that’s not gonna last.” He paused. “Any idea what we’re gonna do?”

“No.”

“Buffy—”

She shook her head and wiggled slightly away from him, receding once more within herself. “No. I don’t know. I can’t…I don’t…I—”

He made a quick decision then. The look on her face devastated him; he wouldn’t let her suffer like this if he could do something about it. There were things happening now that she wasn’t ready to face. She couldn’t adjust to being a god when her environment demanded that she serve as the Slayer.

She was his first priority. Over Dawn. Over this other god. Over the whole bloody world. He would do whatever he could to make sure that Buffy’s future trials, this journey she was just beginning, was as smooth as possible.

“We’ll leave,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“With Joyce an’ the Nibblet, yeah? We’ll leave. Wonder Bitch can’t find us if we’re not here.” He quirked his head. “Not forever, okay? Jus’ for a while. Thanksgiving’s comin’ up, an’ Red could use a friend.”

“You want to go to DC?”

“I think we have to.” Spike released a deep breath. “You’re my girl. I love you more than anythin’ on this bloody earth. You’re my mate, an’ you come first for me. You’re goin’ through somethin’ right now, an’ I’m goin’ through it with you. I can’t do nothin’ while you’re feeling like this. We’ll go away. Jus’ for a while. Couple weeks. We’ll wait it out.”

Buffy’s eyes softened. “Oh God, I’m terrible.”

“No—”

“You’ve been feeling…” She glanced down and shook her head. “You haven’t shown it.”

“I can’t. I can’t think for myself. All I feel is you.”

Her gaze clouded with tears, and she was back in his arms before she knew what had happened. “I’m so sorry,” she whimpered. “I just…I’ve been on overload for the past few…forever. And I…I just didn’t think…I—”

Spike shook his head and pulled her tighter against him. “No, kitten, it’s normal.”

“For me to be less attentive to our relationship than you? Gee, thanks.”

He smiled softly. “Well, there’s that.” She scowled and swatted his arm, which only invoked a chuckle. “Of course not. I’m a vampire. You’re not. While Rupert bloody well proved last week that there are a thousand things I have to learn about the claim, it’s natural for me. With you…’s like learnin’ German under a French instructor. You’ll know it eventually. It takes livin’ it to learn it regardless. I jus’ have a head start.”

She was quiet for a long minute. “So…you want to go to DC?”

“Unless you have a better suggestion.”

“No. I just…” She paused. “Do you…this might be crazy, but…Dawn…if we can…do you think—”

“That the President will lend us a hand?”

“That sounds so less stupid when you say it than it would have if I’d said it.”

“Somehow I doubt it.” Spike paused thoughtfully. “Well, pet, guess the best way to find out is to ask the man himself. Figure he owes us one, right? You saved the world. Least the bloke can do is offer his protection to the Nibblet.”

“I don’t even know what he would do.”

The vampire shrugged. “Ship her off to Camp David?”

Her eyes narrowed. “And if the god got wise and went to Camp David?”

“’m sure the President of the United States can offer more than a wink an’ a nod at anyone under his protection.”

The statement lingered between them, untouched. CJ Cregg was approaching the podium.

“Good evening,” she said. “We begin on a somber note tonight. Approximately four hours ago, President Nimbala of the Republic of Equatorial Kuhndu, who was recently in Washington on a diplomatic trip to discuss the state of his country and the AIDs epidemic, was shot and killed in the airport parking lot after arriving home in response to a military coup that took place during his stay. It should be noted that President Bartlet offered President Nimbala asylum, and that the offer was refused. We’ll continue to brief you throughout the next few days after the Pentagon makes an official statement.”

“CJ!”

“Katie.”

“It’s been four hours. Why are we just hearing about this now?”

“The President wanted to firstly take time to make sure we knew where President Nimbala’s wife and daughters were being kept before making any sort of formal statement. They have been recovered and are being flown to Germany where they will receive medical attention.”

Spike drew in a deep breath. “We might get a lucky break, luv.”

Buffy frowned. “What?”

“Military coup leaves li’l room to ask questions about sex scandals.”

The television begged to differ.

“CJ!” the room shouted, settling back after the Press Secretary called on a reporter named Steve. “The House Majority Leader came out today with another indictment against White House Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn and nineteen year old undergraduate, Willow Rosenberg. Does the White House have—”

“You’re honestly asking me about this on a day that a president of one of our allies has been assassinated.” CJ looked genuinely disappointed, though not so surprised. “All right, here we go. Day Four. As I’ve said about three thousand and twenty-seven times now, Sam Seaborn and Willow Rosenberg have not committed a felony. I think the House Majority Leader knows that, but he also knows that if he says the name Sam Seaborn and sex together enough times, the American people will somehow lose the ability to tell the difference between right and wrong. If Willow Rosenberg were twenty-nine and not nineteen, this wouldn’t make a bit of difference to anyone. She’s a grown woman, he’s a grown man, this is a nonstory that became a story because people don’t know when to mind their own business. Kevin!”

“Amen,” Buffy murmured, glaring disdainfully at the offending reporter.

“She’s good,” Spike agreed.

“I remember you telling Giles that when we were in Natchez,” she replied. “It’s just so strange…will you ever get used to hearing Willow’s name said repeatedly on TV by the White House Press Secretary?”

“CJ,” Kevin from the Washington Herald was saying, “ever since the Seaborn/Rosenberg story broke, numerous sources have stepped forward and made incriminating statements as to the stability of Willow Rosenberg, herself. Amy Price, a flight attendant for American Airlines, was on flight 89 from St. Louis to Washington DC on the night of the Rosslyn shooting. According to her, a woman matching Rosenberg’s description went, and I’m quoting, ‘into some sort of fit when we were landing. She screamed things that made absolutely no sense at the time, but given what we know happened on that night, and the intimate relationship she has with a White House Senior Advisor, I’d almost say she was aware of what was going on while it was happening.’”

CJ was staring at the reporter as though he had lost his mind. “You are aware,” she began after a few dead seconds, “that the leader of an allied nation was gunned down today just after arriving home to solve a national crisis that had already killed his brother and two sons.”

“The question’s not so ridiculous, CJ,” Katie intervened. “American Airlines has disclosed that there was a Willow Rosenberg on the plane that night, and that she was traveling with William Bennet and Buffy Summers, the two additional names that received a public thank-you from the White House after the Natchez event. There were also numerous reports of electric and, I’m quoting, ‘metaphysical,’ disturbances related to Ms. Rosenberg’s arrival; from airport security, civilians, and a few unnamed members of the DC Police.”

“She was later spotted by several nurses at GW Hospital, as were two others with her that, upon viewing security footage, three of the five flight attendants have identified as Ms. Rosenberg’s traveling companions.” Steve added. “The airports were closed, all flights were grounded, and there wasn’t any way for anyone to get into the hospital after the President had arrived. How does the White House respond to these accusations of preferential treatment for a nineteen-year-old girl that many obviously knew was intimate with the President’s senior advisor? What about the two that were with her who have now vanished? It wasn’t until the next day that even John Bartlet, the President’s brother, was cleared for entry.”

Spike didn’t know if she realized it, but Buffy was holding his hand tight enough to tear it from his arm if she so desired. “Oh God,” she muttered in horror. “Oh my God.”

“’S’all right, luv,” he murmured in calm response, though his eyes were glued to the television.

It took CJ a minute to gather her bearings, but she did so with poise and grace that quickly obscured any hint of uncertainty. “The Rosslyn shooting was chaotic for the entire country, as I’m sure you’re all aware. Of the many vague, however heartfelt reports that have come out of what occurred that night, I find it neither auspicious nor surprising that people would come forward and embellish facts to give them a surreal twist that would match an equally surreal experience. Willow Rosenberg, William Bennet, and Buffy Summers were, indeed, flying in to Washington on the night of the shooting. Sam Seaborn was notified by the secret service that they had arrived, and they were given clearance for entry, as were a number of White House staffers that work solely beneath senior counsel. That is all.”

The room called out to her again in a flurry of shouts and camera flashes, but the Press Secretary had made a quick retreat into the West Wing, and the briefing was over.

Buffy and Spike sat in silence for a few minutes, staring blankly at the mass of reporters that flooded the screen.

“Maybe,” the Slayer ventured quietly, “maybe Washington right now is a very bad idea.”

Spike was silent for a moment longer. “I still don’ see what we did wrong,” he replied. “We flew to DC to catch the President’s speech an’ humor Red. How the bloody hell were we s’posed to know some racist wanker was gonna try an’ off someone—”

“We didn’t,” she agreed, “but we did know what Willow was doing was wrong. She nearly blew the cap off the entire airport when she came out of her thing. And, yeah, National-Procedures-When-The-President’s-Shot is one of the many classes that I decided not to take last year, but we got into the hospital.”

“Prissy got us into the hospital,” he reminded her. “We were followin’ the witch. ‘Sides, luv, that doesn’ change what’s happened here.”

“What do you mean?”

“We still have Wonder Bitch to avoid. I won’t presume to know what’ll happen if this god of yours gets a hold of the Nibblet, but knowin’ our luck, it’ll be somethin’ of apocalyptic proportions.” He quirked his head. “Don’ know about you, baby, but I think the President might be a li’l reasonable when it comes to savin’ the world over savin’ his reputation.”

Buffy looked doubtful. “This is an American politician we’re talking about.”

“Yeh, an’ take it from someone who’s lived to see quite a few of the best an’ worst of American politicians—hell, jus’ politicians in general.” The vampire paused. “Thought this beforehand, too…this Bartlet bloke’s the real deal.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How in the world can you be sure? You guys have only talked indirectly…about Latin.”

“He helped save you,” Spike replied softly. “That’s all the evidence I need.”

She stopped, her eyes flooding with tenderness. “Spike…”

“Plus, after a hundred years of payin’ attention, you get to notice things like body language an’ sincerity.” He smiled. “There’s so much you can tell from a bloke’s eyes. He’ll lend us a hand, pet. If for nothin’ else other than he owes us one.”

He’d won her over. He knew he had. Her gaze was soft and full of love, her will too strained to be tested. She was a fighter, his girl, but the past few weeks had taken a toll on her. The past few days had nearly seen her collapse.

He needed to get her away from Sunnydale for reasons that had nothing to do with saving the world.

“What about patrol?”

“Figure the soldier boys can handle it,” Spike replied, brushing a kiss over her forehead. “If not, I’m sure we’ll hear about it one way or another. An’ you’ll swoop in to save the day like you hero types do.”

Buffy smiled emptily and snuggled into him again. His arms came around her and fastened. He never wanted to let her go. Not tonight. Never. He would be content to spend an eternity exactly like this.

There was no finer bliss than the promise of forever with the one you love.

He would get them there. If he had to move mountains, he would get them there.

Or die trying.


TBC