Chapter Seventeen
Joyce Summers stood dumbstruck in the middle of the oldest house she had knowingly walked into. It had taken a week or so to seal the deal, but Buffy had phoned the hotel that morning to proclaim excitedly that they had signed papers and the house was theirs. A townhouse in Georgetown, built in the late 1790s; it was ridiculously expensive, though Joyce had it on good authority that Spike had talked the seller into dropping the price by a considerable amount.
She certainly hoped so.
“You’re sure you two can afford this?”
A slow smile spread across Spike’s lips, and he draped an arm over Buffy’s shoulder. “When you’ve been around for a century, you pick up a thing or two about investin’.”
“Something he’s good at hiding,” the Slayer added, jabbing him playfully in the side. “He pretends to be broke to score money from others…namely Giles.”
“She ignores the fact that I haven’ done that since we got together,” the vampire retorted, jabbing her back. “An’ it’d be especially hard to steal from Rupert when he’s a sodding ocean away.”
“How long has he been in England?”
“A while now,” Buffy replied. “He called last week to wish us a happy Christmas, and let us know that Faith is still…well, Faith.”
“She’s not handling it well?”
“Well, as much as a Faith fan I am, I guess it’s hard for her to deal with the fact that her body was harvested by a god for the intention of global domination.” The Slayer smiled weakly. “She’s actually being rehabilitated, I guess. She…with as bad as I got it last year, she had it worse.”
Spike grumbled his objection, but tightened his arm around his mate’s shoulder and started speaking again before she could take his protest and run with it. “Point bein’, it’s hard to smuggle money away from my honey’s Watcher when we haven’t seen him in weeks. ‘S not like I can ring him up an’ have him wire me money that I never intend to pay back.”
Buffy smiled softly and leaned into him. “But you like it here?” she asked her mother. “I saw it and just fell in love with it.”
There was a fervent nod. “Yes. You definitely have my approval with this. It’s so…but are you sure you can afford it?”
The vampire smirked. “Now, Joyce, have faith in your son-in-law. I can more than provide for my girl.” He paused. “Even if Buffy’s weekly budget outdoes the national debt.”
His mate tossed him a dirty look. “Why do I put up with you?”
“I can think of a few reasons,” he retorted cheekily.
“‘Outdoes the national debt?’” Joyce repeated, arching an amused brow. “Why Spike, have you been hanging around politicians?”
“Don’t get him started,” Buffy pleaded. “I swear, he and the President are thick as thieves. Last week, they conspired to pull a joke on Toby where the President repeatedly mispronounced a word in prep for a press conference just to see how long it would take before he started screaming and throwing things.”
“It was bloody hilarious,” the vampire agreed.
“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun,” the eldest Summers acknowledged with a grin. She went quiet for a minute. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way. I love the house. It’s…well, if I said I thought Buffy would be living in a place like this before she turned twenty, I’d be lying. I love it.”
The two exchanged a long glance. “But…?” Buffy said obviously.
A beat. “Are you sure that moving to Washington is absolutely necessary? You two haven’t been in your apartment but only—”
“We gave it a good run,” Spike said with a shrug. “Seven months for a starter home is a lot longer than other couples get. It was never meant to be a permanent place.”
Joyce smiled. “I just…I guess I never thought that your second home would be across the country.”
“This might be temporary, too.”
“Then why are you signing papers? Why not another apartment?” She expelled a long sigh. “Dawn still thinks we’re on vacation. I have no idea how to tell her that, oh, by the way, her sister and her boyfriend have bought a house.”
Buffy frowned. “Mom, we’ve been here for…why on earth haven’t you told her that you’re not going back to Sunnydale?”
“How do you suggest I do that? ‘Honey, there’s a god after you because you’re not really my daughter, so we’re staying here until that blows over?’”
“Well, I’d suggest language a li’l less callous than that,” Spike observed.
Joyce shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m doing. It was easier before New Years…now there’s no reason to stay here unless I tell her something…” She sighed again. “I can’t tell her the truth. How would you say to your flesh and blood that you…I’m a horrible mess.”
The vampire pursed his lips and stepped forward, patting the woman on the back. “You’re doin’ all you can, Joyce,” he said softly. “’S not easy. An’ the Bit’s not exactly cooperative when asked to do somethin’ she doesn’ understand.” He paused. “You could say it’s the treatment. You’re gettin’ treatment here for your thing that you wouldn’t in Sunnyhell, which isn’t exactly outta the realm of possibility.”
That sounded more than reasonable. The older woman went quiet again, considered, and nodded her agreement after a few minutes. “Yes. I think…yes. But I don’t…do I enroll Dawn in school here?”
“She’s a minor in the eighth grade. You bloody well have to enroll her.”
“I don’t want to enroll her, then pull her out again. It’s not fair.”
Buffy shook her head. “Mom, he’s right. This is what you have to do. Unless you want to tell Dawn the truth, something we all agree would be a bad idea, you have to keep up the appearance that she’s a normal girl and must go to school in the spirit of normal girls.”
“In the meantime, we’ll be here, scoutin’ the area. The President’s ordered an informant within the Initiative to keep him posted on everythin’ that goes on back on the Hellmouth. The bint won’ stay there long once she clues in that the Slayer’s gone.”
“Won’t she come here?”
“How in god’s name would she know to come here?”
Buffy purposefully did not meet his eyes. Their lives being turned over by Glory, as Initiative sources had identified her, was more a matter of when as opposed to if. They had sent for their stuff earlier in the week, and if the god really had an ear to what was going on, she would catch wind of where they had relocated. The Slayer and her mate had agreed not to share that with Joyce. Not if they could help it.
If Glory came here, it would be to find Buffy, not Dawn. And people usually didn’t make a scene if they didn’t know they weren’t supposed to make a scene.
“So you’re moving here permanently. Really permanently.”
“As permanent as we can tell,” the vampire answered honestly. “An’ I thought my girl should have an actual house the second time around, an’ not some small apartment.”
Joyce smiled. “You’ve done really well, Spike.”
He ducked his head bashfully. “Thanks.”
“You make my baby girl happy.”
“Mom, you’re making him blush.” Buffy paused with interest. “He’s cute when he blushes! Do it again!”
Spike grabbed her hand and dragged her back to him, rumbling playfully in her ear. “Hush now,” he murmured. “Don’ give her any ideas.”
“The only idea I have right now is that Willow has probably had all she can take of my teenage daughter,” Joyce said, grinning. “I should probably head back now. The movie was over an hour and a half ago.”
“Nah,” the vampire retorted, waving dismissively. “This is the most attention Red’s gotten from someone who’s either not her boy or from the press in months. She’s prob’ly—”
“Looking for an escape hatch, even though those don’t exist in hotel rooms,” Buffy said, chuckling. “We’ll call you a cab.”
“Are you guys not here for the night?”
“I talked him into doing a quick patrol with me,” she replied, squeezing her lover’s hand. “We’re new to the neighborhood and I want to familiarize myself with the local cemeteries.”
“You really think there are vampires in Georgetown?” She frowned as she was shot a dubious look, then rolled her eyes and batted a hand. “Besides him, of course.”
Spike chuckled. “There are vampires everywhere, Joyce.”
“In Washington DC?”
“Hard to imagine that there could be people walkin’ around the nation’s capital that suck blood an’ have no souls, right?”
She laughed and conceded the point. “All right, all right. Enough pestering of the old woman.”
“You’re not old,” Buffy retorted automatically, elbowing her mate. “He’s old. You’re not old.”
“Slayer, you sure know how to romance a fella.”
She grinned. “And don’t you forget it.”
“It’s freezing outside tonight. Are you sure you want to drag him out on patrol?”
“He doesn’t feel the cold like we do.”
“That’s right, because I’m completely without feelin’.” Spike rolled his eyes. “’S fine. I’ll keep her warm for you.”
“It’s you without the body temperature that I’m worried about.”
He smiled, more touched than he would dare to admit aloud. “Trust me, Joyce, I can handle the cold. We won’ be out there long.”
“And, thanks, by the way,” Buffy remarked. “Your motherly concern is overwhelming.”
Joyce smirked. “I try.”
“I’m calling you a cab now.”
“Okay.”
Buffy waited a beat, then pulled out her cell phone and moved to the room she and Spike had decided would make a fantastic dining room. Dining room for what occasion, she had no idea. She certainly couldn’t imagine them eating in there when they were alone, nor could she imagine elaborate parties at which she was the graceful hostess and her mate was the engaging host.
In the foyer, Joyce crossed her arms and took a step toward Spike, her brows arching speculatively. “I couldn’t help but notice,” she said, “that you referred to yourself earlier as my son-in-law.”
He smiled. “’m mated to your daughter,” he replied. “We’re closer in name an’, if I don’ say so myself, connection than any sodding married you’ll ever come across.”
“I have absolutely no qualm with you calling yourself my son-in-law.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I was just wondering…” She tossed him a motherly ‘don’t-toy-with-my-daughter’ look that was very much unneeded, but got the point across regardless. “When do you plan on becoming my son-in-law in name, as well as spirit?”
Spike’s smile broadened. “I don’t think she wants to marry me.”
“No, Spike, every girl wants to marry the man she loves. I know my daughter. She very much wants to get married.”
“The Firs’ Lady teased us about it a bit a couple weeks ago. She got a li’l huffy, but I don’ feel like she really wants to get married.”
“Spike. Listen to me. I know you know my daughter as well as anyone. I’ll even concede the high ground and admit that you likely know her even better than I do. You’re closer to her than I’ll ever be, and you’ll be with her forever. But trust me. I’m a mother. More over, I’m a woman.” She paused. “Buffy wants to get married. She wants to marry you. She wants to live the little girl dream. Do you have any objection to marrying my daughter?”
“Do I…” He was staring at her like she had started speaking some ancient demonic language. “I love Buffy more than I can even begin to tell you without expectin’ an axe to hit me between the eyes. Of course I don’ have any objection.”
“Damn right you don’t.”
“’S right.” Spike shook his head, a sigh rolling off his shoulder. He met her eyes again, his expression serious. “I love Buffy more than anything, Joyce. I live an’ die with her on any given day. She’s my everything. An’ if she married me, I’d be the luckiest, happiest bloke on Earth.”
An adoring look crossed the woman’s face. “See, why can’t you just say things like that?”
“I do. Jus’ not to you…or anyone who’s not Buffy, come to think of it. What I feel for her is beyond words. Beyond explainin’.”
“So why won’t you marry her?”
“I will.” He nodded. “Jus’ not now.”
“Why not?”
“Well, firs’ things, you’re the second person in two weeks to mention it, an’ I don’ want her to think I asked because I’m gettin’ pressured.”
Joyce nodded. “Good point. Why else?”
He paused. “That’s the only thing, really.”
“Okay. Well, this time next year, I expect to see a big diamond on my baby’s hand.”
Spike shook his head. “Won’t be a diamond.”
“Why not?”
He paused, smiling slightly. “’Cause my grandmum’s ring wasn’t a diamond.”
Joyce went quiet, an awed, loving look crossing her face. “Oh, Spike, that’s so…that’s amazing. You’re just amazing.”
“I know.”
“What is it? If not a diamond?”
“You’ll jus’ have to wait for that.”
The warmth vanished immediately and she would have refuted, but Buffy’s voice cut abruptly in the other room and she was back with them in seconds. “Cab’ll be here in a few,” she said. “Sorry that took so long. The guy wasn’t speaking a language known to mankind.”
Spike held Joyce’s eyes a minute longer, then turned to his mate and smiled. “Right then. We do a quick patrol, then go back to the White House.”
“How long have you two been there now?”
“Since before Christmas,” Buffy replied. “Honest to God, I’m astonished the President hasn’t kicked us out yet. If it wasn’t for Professor Higgins over here…”
The vampire smirked. “This president doesn’ seem particularly concerned about what things look like. He’s let us stay ‘cause he likes us. It’s his house, an’ it’s not like we’re botherin’ anybody.”
“Well, no, it’s America’s house and I’m sure Josh and Toby would tell you that we’ve bothered quite a few body’s.”
“Josh an’ Toby can bloody well shove it.”
“How is Josh?” Joyce asked. “Willow mentioned last week that he was going through something and that they were bringing in the American Trauma Victims Association.”
Spike nodded. “He sat down with the guy an’ had ‘bout the longest day of his life. He’s doin’ better now, from what I can tell.”
“You couldn’t tell he wasn’t doing well to begin with,” Buffy said.
“I could tell; I jus’ din’t care very much.”
“What is it?” Joyce continued. “Have they said what was wrong—”
“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Buffy replied. “Pretty much what we expected. He lost it before Christmas, but he’s doing better now. Finally admitted what went down in his apartment, and went to the emergency room to get his hand bandaged.”
“Bandaged?”
“He broke a window in his apartment. He said it wasn’t his and he didn’t let Donna into the apartment like we thought he had, but he finally admitted that it was his to the guy he was with.” Buffy drew in a breath and turned to the window. “Hey, your cab’s here.”
Joyce frowned. “Where?”
The windows lit up with the flash of headlights.
“There.”
“That was fast.”
“I said a few minutes. You think I made that up?”
Her mother shook her head and tossed Spike a vaguely amused glance. “How do you put up with her?”
“Unconditional love,” he replied, earning a proud grin from his mate.
“Sap,” the older woman said.
“Yeh. And?”
Joyce just smiled and turned back to her daughter. “You have a safe, unproductive patrol.”
“Sure.”
“And tell Josh that he’s a good guy who should take it easy sometimes.”
The vampire snickered. “No chance of that.”
“I’ll call you when I get in,” Joyce said. Then paused. “No, I don’t want to call the White House. Why don’t you call me when you get in?”
“Okay.” They shared a quick hug and then the older woman was gone, wrapping herself in her coat and rushing out to the taxicab.
The two blondes watched until she was safely inside the vehicle.
“You know,” Spike said a long minute later. “We’re alone in our house for the firs’ time. No realtors or former owners. Or mothers.”
“Sweetie.” Buffy took his hand. “As much as I’d love to, hardwood floors aren’t exactly comfortable.”
“I’d let you be on top.”
“How considerate.”
“I thought so.”
“We have to patrol now.”
“’Course we do. It’s subzero weather, why wouldn’t we patrol?”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you have a problem—”
“I don’t.” Spike took her hand and smiled. “I was jus’ sayin’.”
Buffy released a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know it’s cold.”
“You keep me warm.” He raised their joined hands to his mouth and brushed a tender kiss against her skin. “Always warm.”
“Have I told you today that I love you?”
“Couple hundred times, but feel free to keep sayin’ it.”
She flashed him a smile as he held open the door for her and locking it behind them.
Into the cold and linked with fire. There were worse things.
*~*~*
Josh and Sam were hunched over the fireplace in the Mural Room as Donna watched them from behind. They were all bundled in winter coats as though they had just hiked through miles of snow for shelter. There were times when the White House’s climate was several degrees worse than the weather outside on any given day.
Today happened to be one of those days.
“We don’t need some kind of permission for this?” the blonde demanded.
“No,” her boss replied.
“What about supervision? Shouldn’t there be some official supervision?”
Josh shot her a look. “We’re making a fire in a fireplace. What kind of supervision do you want?”
“FEMA? The American Red Cross?”
“What kind of wood is this?” Sam asked.
The Deputy Chief of Staff shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Donna heaved a sigh. “Josh…”
“It’s freezing in here.”
“I acknowledge that it’s cold.”
“It’s like Ice Station Zebra.”
The blonde arched a brow. “It also might bother someone.”
“It’s half past midnight!”
“See,” Sam interrupted, lifting his eyes from where he was examining the wood. “Here’s the thing. This looks like spruce to me.”
“Yeah?” Josh replied with interest.
“And spruce is a softwood; softwood burns out quickly. You know what we need for a slow burning fire?”
“A hardwood?”
Sam nodded. “That’s right.”
“That’s interesting.”
Donna arched a brow, though it was an empty gesture as their backs were turned to her. “Where did you get the wood?”
“It was sitting in…” Josh looked up and pointed across the room. “The thing.”
“I think that’s meant to be decorative.”
“It’s wood,” her boss retorted. “We’re not burning Benjamin Harrison’s log cabin.”
Sam looked up with a smile. “You know what?”
“What?”
“We might be.”
“Why?”
The other man was climbing to his feet. “It was made out of spruce.”
Josh grinned as he disappeared into the other room and turned back to Donna. “Where’s CJ?”
“She’s over in the Roosevelt Room.”
“Is she doing the seating chart?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded. “Jancowitz has a hearing aid that seldom works; he needs to be seated near the center. Would you tell her that?”
“Yeah.” She paused. “You’re not using lighter fluid or anything are you?”
“No!” Josh retorted adamantly. “No flammable liquids of any kind to start a fire, ever.”
Donna nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned as Sam reentered the room, a lamp in his arms.
“Found it!” he called victoriously.
“What?” Josh asked.
“Kerosene.”
Donna whipped around. “Josh…”
“Go.”
Josh turned back to the fireplace after he was satisfied she was gone and no longer hovering. “It’s so much easier to do this without a babysitter.”
“You know,” Sam said as they positioned the wood. “If Willow were here, she could probably get this thing roaring without having to make a big thing out of it.”
“Has anyone told you recently that you have it bad?”
He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I hear that quite often.”
“Where is she tonight, anyway?”
“Buffy and Spike took Buffy’s mother out to dinner and then to this place they want to buy in Georgetown.”
“You mean they might actually move out of the White House?” Josh released a heavy sigh when the other man nodded. “And here I was getting used to the idea that the country is being co-operated by a non-Judeo-Christian god and a soulless vampire.”
“Well, teaches you to get used to anything.”
“You can say that again.” He paused. “You want to stand them in a tripod, right?”
Sam nodded and glanced back to the fireplace. “Yeah, standing three sticks on an end and slanting them to a common center.”
“Isn’t that a tripod?”
“Yeah, but…”
“You just thought you’d say more words.”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
Donna hurried back into the room. “Josh—”
“Hang on,” he told her quickly before turning back to Sam. “You know what we need?”
“Dried leaves.”
“We need dried leaves.”
Donna drew in an impatient breath. “To move Jancowitz, we’ve got to move either the House or Senate Whip.”
“House,” the men replied in unison.
“Why?”
Sam tossed her a glance. “’Cause life is tough in the big cruel world, and if he doesn’t like it, he can kiss me.”
“So, the spirit of bipartisanship begins,” she retorted.
The Deputy Communications Director nodded. “Yeah.”
“Could you possibly get us some dried leaves?” Josh asked as she prepared to run back to the Roosevelt Room.
There was a cynical beat. “Yeah, I’ll just run out to the forest and be right back.”
“You know what?” Sam asked after she was gone.
“You think she was being sarcastic?” Josh asked.
“Yeah. I don’t think she’s getting the leaves.”
“You know what we could use?”
“Newspaper?” Sam ventured.
Josh grinned. “See, this is what I’m talking about. This is teamwork.”
“It really is.”
“So, Buffy and Spike are with Mrs. Summers…where’s Willow?”
“With Buffy’s sister.” Sam climbed to his feet again and set about the room in search for a newspaper. “Though I’m starting to get worried that she might’ve been locked in a room somewhere. She should’ve called by now.”
“Locked in a room by Buffy’s sister?”
He started back to the fireplace after the newspaper was located. “She’s a fourteen year old girl whose sister is a vampire-slayer-turned-god. I’m not ruling anything out.”
“I’d hope that, as a witch, Willow’d be able to handle herself.”
Sam nodded, and they split up the task of packing in the newspaper. “This looks about ready.”
“Yeah.”
“I think we should get a match.”
Josh reached into the pocket of his parka. “Got that covered.”
“You keep matches in your office?”
“In case the President wanders by and wants a cigarette, yes. I am that prepared.”
“Really?”
“No, I stole them from Toby’s office.”
They sat back as flames engulfed the wood and paper, and were silent for a few seconds.
“In Georgetown?” Josh asked a minute later.
“What?”
“Buffy and Spike’s house is in Georgetown?”
The other man nodded. “It’s nice, from what I hear.”
“Yeah, well, I live in Georgetown.” He frowned. “Not too sure how happy I am that they’re gonna be my neighbors.”
It didn’t take long for the situation in the fireplace to spin out of control. Not as long as it could have been. A few minutes later, the Mural Room was flooded with smoke.
“I think this might be because the wood is wet,” Sam noted as they backed up.
“Well, the fire ought to dry it pretty quick shouldn’t it?”
“You’d think.”
Donna rushed in the next second. “What did you do?!”
“It’s going pretty good now,” Josh retorted.
“There’s smoke in the hallways!”
And the fun kept coming. Toby and CJ stormed in.
“What the hell did you do?” the Communications Director demanded.
Josh nodded to the fireplace. “The wood’s drying out.”
CJ looked incredulous. “Are you burning a dining room table?”
“Spruce is a slow drying wood.”
Toby was not amused. “Do you have any idea what you’re talking about?”
“No,” Josh replied.
“Hang on.” Sam was studying a plaque on the wall beside the fireplace.
The Press Secretary arched a brow. “Are those instructions?”
“It says this fireplace was a favor to President Andrew Johnson and he would sip whiskey from a charcoal keg while reading by its light.”
Josh cast him a narrow glance. “That doesn’t help.”
Sam turned around with a sheepish look. “The flue’s been welded shut since 1896.”
The Deputy Chief of Staff nodded. “Well, that’s probably it, then.”
Another slam rang through the air. Charlie was in the room the next second, and he looked, if it was possible, even less amused than Toby.
“What are you doing?” he demanded irately.
“Somebody started a fire in this fireplace, Charlie,” Josh noted with a veil of mock-innocence.
“If the smoke alarms go off, they’re going to make me wake up the President.”
“The President’s a thousand yards over and two flights up,” Sam replied, frowning.
“It’s Secret Service procedure.”
Josh nodded. “Well, let’s get a fire extinguisher and put it out before the smoke alar—”
There was absolutely no chance of catching that sort of break. A shrill screech sounded through the air. The staffers exchanged a series of looks; CJ’s hands flew up to cover her ears.
“Well,” Sam said with a sigh. “There goes that.”
*~*~*
Charlie held his breath as the President’s bedroom door flew open.
“What?!” Bartlet demanded. He was dressed in his PJs, and he looked like he had been at that blissful period right between sleep and consciousness.
“Mr. President, you know how you told me not to wake you up unless the building was on fire?”
*~*~*
It was strange how quickly everything could fall apart.
Patrol was uneventful in any regard. Spike had told her once that, if at all possible, vampires did not sire fledglings when the weather was so cold. While it was true that the undead did not feel the chill as fiercely as others, a newly risen vampire would stand almost no chance in fending off a predator—such as the Slayer or a stronger demon—with no warm blood to rely on. Newly risens typically forfeited the bulk of their power in crawling through the soil to freedom and were fortunate if they did not encounter trouble between liberation and finding a decent meal.
There were no vampires tonight. No baddies to slay. No demons to stop. No apocalypses to avert.
There was nothing but a youthful strawberry blonde standing ten feet away from them, looking anything but amused.
“Oh God.”
Spike tossed her a worried glance. Buffy had all but frozen in place, her eyes wide, her body numb. The ferocity of her sudden fear struck him like a wooden bullet through the heart. And in that instant, he knew.
“See, this is what I don’t understand,” the woman growled, storming forward. “I told you I wouldn’t stop until I’d found my Key. All I wanted was what’s rightfully mine. You’ve taken what’s mine, and then you ran away with it. That’s just rude.” She was beside them in a flash, her eyes flickering dangerously. “You give us gods a bad name.”
Something exploded within him the next second. Buffy tore through the air with the impact of a well-aimed punch, landing on the concrete some five yards behind him. And everything else was left to instinct. He didn’t even feel his bumpies break through the human façade, didn’t hear the callous roar that ripped through his throat. Didn’t feel himself lunge through the air until he had a fistful of blonde curls in one hand, the smooth column of a godly throat in the other.
“Oh please,” Glory retorted, rolling her eyes even as he lifted her off the pavement.
Spike’s eyes flashed. Then he began to squeeze.
Something terrible had arisen within him. Something he didn’t know. Something beyond power. Foreign strength surged through his veins. As though he had touched life again, and it was empowering him as if nothing else.
Glory’s overconfident posturing drowned out the next minute. She was irritated still, but there was a flash of fear in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “What the hell,” she gasped, wrapping an authoritative hand around his wrist, “is going on?”
Buffy was there the next minute, her fear temporarily overcome by a stronger sense of instinctual protection. “Just like you said,” she snapped, “I give gods a bad name.”
It couldn’t last. Even with the unexpected surge of strength, Spike knew his inherent abilities were no match for a centuries’ old superbeing. In a flash, Glory had freed herself of his grip and cast him across the street like a rag doll, turning angrily to the Slayer, her eyes shining with rage.
“What the hell are you playing at?” she demanded. “He knows he’s a vampire, right?”
Buffy didn’t hear a word. Her eyes were glued on her mate, who lay on the sidewalk across the avenue.
There were no words for outrage. No time for forethought. Only room for instinct.
The street was suddenly a haven of light. Glory’s eyes went wide, contorted with pain and fury. Buffy didn’t see her. Didn’t see anything. All she knew was that Spike was hurt. Her mate was hurt. There was white all around her, and she couldn’t see through it. Her veins seared with hot torment, but she didn’t care to stop it. The force of what was flowing through her felt likely to both crush her body inward and throw the entire city into a whirlwind of torment. She saw nothing.
Then it was over. A quick suffocation of power. The white around her faded into nothing. It was a quick decapitation. Gone the next second, and she had nothing to soften her fall.
And she was on the ground, body overcome with earth-shattering tremors. Hot tears scalded down her cheeks and her skin burnt with the pinpricks of the sweltering cold as the world came back to her.
“Buffy!”
Spike bounded across the road the minute Glory was gone. Gone to where, he didn’t know. Her essence vibrated throughout the entire city block, and he felt her with power he had never touched.
He had told Giles months ago that he was getting stronger. Tonight he had been handed proof. And he had absolutely no idea what it meant.
Only that Buffy was hurt, and his demon was screaming for retribution.
“Buffy. Oh God, sweetheart.” He fell to the pavement beside her, lifting her into his arms, peppering soft, desperate kisses across her face. “Baby, talk to me. Please. Oh God, you gotta…you can’t—”
It didn’t take long, though it felt like years. Her skin was covered in ash; as though she had walked through fire and lived to tell the tale. She didn’t appear burned except for a small patch running down her arm, and another against her cheek. He had no time to ask questions. She moaned in his arms and opened her eyes, finding his soaked with relief.
“Oh Jesus!” Spike gasped, burying his face in her hair, his body shaking. “You gotta stop doin’ this to me, baby. I can’t bloody take it.”
Her arms enveloped him and she released a trembling breath into the crook of his neck. “What happened?”
“Fuck if I know.”
That wasn’t entirely true. She had gone white again, as she had in the hallway of their old apartment. As she had when she nearly sent Riley spiraling through the wall. Only this time, it had been stronger. Strong enough to collapse within her when her body couldn’t take it. When her inexperience leaked through, and nature took command of her powers when she couldn’t control them.
This wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let it happen again.
“G-Gl-Glory?”
“Gone.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Took off. You gave her a bloody run for her money.”
Buffy’s eyes fell shut. “It happened again, didn’t it?” she asked, exhaling a pained breath. “I…I remember white. That’s all. I remember it was white.”
“Sweetling—”
“She’s here for…for…” She shook her head. “I can’t do…I can’t fight like this.”
“Buffy—”
“Like this.”
Spike sighed, hauling her into his arms as he rose to his feet. “’S okay, baby,” he said, casting a glowering glare to the few faces that had peeked out of back alleys and closing stores to see what had happened. He shook his head to warn off the few that tried to approach. “You’re not ready.”
“I can’t protect Dawn if I’m not ready.”
As much as her words tormented him, he couldn’t help the rush of relief he felt at her admittance. With that much, perhaps they had finally broached her fear and were ready to tackle the task of conquering it.
“We’re not alone,” he promised her. “We’ll get help. ‘S what we came here for, right?”
She met his eyes wearily. Her expression broke his heart. “You really think—”
“Yeh. I do.” He paused. “We’re gonna get you home. Gonna take care of you tonight.”
“But—”
“No bloody ‘but’s’. You’re my only priority. I’m takin’ care of you tonight. I’ll see if Charlie can get us in with the President tomorrow.”
That was the end of that, as far as he was concerned. There was no way he was going to let her worry with this tonight. Not when she was burnt, even if she didn’t feel it. Not like this.
He loved her too much to risk anything else.
The rest could wait for the morning.
*~*~*
The Senior Staffers, excluding CJ, were lined appropriately in front of the desk as Bartlet and Charlie walked into the Oval Office from the President’s personal entrance.
“What’s after that?” the President was saying.
“Security briefing.”
“After that?”
“Agriculture.”
The President nodded and slid his glasses onto his nose, eying his staffers wearily. “Who was the idiot who set off the smoke detector?”
Josh leapt in before anyone else could. “Well it sounds a lot like you are talking about Sam, Mr. President.”
The other man tossed him a peeved glance before turning back to the Commander in Chief. “Were you inconvenienced, Mr. President?”
“They had me on the Truman balcony for six minutes in my underwear.”
“Was it cold?”
The President gave him a long look. “In January? No. Why do you ask?”
Toby cleared his throat. “Mr. President I'd like to talk about those rules in that memo you’re reading.”
Leo rolled his eyes. “It’s a breakfast. Toby, it’s a pancake breakfast. There’s nothing in that memo that’s important.”
“We’re having Vermont maple syrup?” the President demanded.
“Mr. President,” the Communications Director continued, “if you read item four, you'll see that time at this breakfast will be spent discussing calling the Patient's Bill of Rights the Comprehensive Access and Responsibility Act.”
“I don’t give a damn if they call it the Monroe doctrine. What the hell are we doing serving Vermont maple syrup?”
Toby ignored him. “On the minimum wage, if we all turn our attention to item five of the Rules for Bipartisan Breakfast.”
“They’re guidelines,” Leo said sternly. “You keep calling them rules.”
“Margaret,” the other man replied, not even tossing a glance to the Chief of Staff’s senior secretary, “what does it say at the top of the memo?”
“Rules for Bipartisan Breakfast,” she replied.
Leo tossed her an annoyed look. “I keep meaning to fire you.”
“Yeah,” she agreed.
“New Hampshire syrup is what we serve in this White House,” the President said.
Sam shifted slightly. “Sir—”
The President shook his head. “It's a breakfast. We eat. We pose for pictures. You do a post-game conference. Everybody gets the hell out of here and I don't have to be so Officer Crupky.”
Leo nodded. “Anything else?”
“An OMB efficiency expert has said we could free up much needed office space by moving the Press Room across the street,” Sam said.
“What else?”
There was no response.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Leo said appropriately, and the Senior Staffers, with the exception of Josh, filed out of the room. The Deputy Chief of Staff was motioned to follow his boss into the office that adjoined with the Oval.
The President stood over his desk, glanced over a briefing memo, then raised his head to the most-commonly used door of the room.
“Charlie!”
The young aide popped into the room quickly. “Yes sir?”
“What’s next?”
“You have the Chinese Ambassador in ten. And Spike would like to see you.”
Bartlet glanced up. “When?”
“He’s outside.”
“Send him in.”
Charlie nodded and retreated back to his workspace. Spike entered the next minute.
“Spike!” the President exclaimed merrily. “Before you say anything, I’ve been meaning to ask you, in 1892, did the British really—”
The vampire didn’t look in the mood to exchange the normal humor. He held up a hand, something no one did in the presence of the President of the United States. Bartlet seemed to have an understanding that vampires lacked respect for authority figures, though the past couple instances had earned a minor scolding.
There was something haunted in Spike’s eyes this morning.
“’m sorry,” he said. “There’s somethin’ I…something’s happened.”
The President frowned and stepped forward. In the few weeks since his houseguests arrived, he had never seen the vampire look so lost. So thoroughly concerned about anything. More than a few times, he would get a far away look in his eyes when his mind was noticeably with his better half, but it was never like this.
“What is it, son?” Bartlet asked softly. “It’s okay.”
Spike glanced up. “’S the reason the Slayer an’ I came here. One of them. She’s…she got hurt, but sleepin’ now. She’ll be okay.” That last part seemed more for his own reassurance than anything else. “Somethin’ happened last night.” A pause. “We need your help.”
TBC