The days following the White House Correspondents Dinner spiraled into a political mess beyond anything the Bartlet administration had ever suffered. It was kept quiet, of course, as the President explored his options via Oliver Babish and the White House Counsel’s Office. In the meantime, Leo McGarry was wheedling through the senior staffers and bringing them on the inside of what was going on. On what the President had withheld from them for nearly three years.

Each time after a staffer was told, Toby asked that particular staffer to come and see him in his office. It was Josh first. Then CJ. Sam was scheduled to be told later in the day, after legal matters were clearer, and the point of no return became a thing of the past.

In the meantime, the President had asked Mrs. Landingham to phone Spike and Buffy at their home. Before the word was completely out, he wanted to tell those that had become close to the First Family. In this instance, an unlikely vampire and, by association, his wife in blood.

It was near ten in the morning when the phone in their bedroom rang. Buffy and Spike were still in bed, having taken Xander and Anya sightseeing the night before, getting in only when the scent of morning began settling over the town. After all, Harris and his fiancé—as she now proudly described herself—were still on California time, and had done little if nothing to change the hands of their inner clocks. Regardless of how tired said clocks might be around their preset three in the morning.

Having nothing to do the next day, the blonde couple had stayed out to all hours, entertaining the newly appointed Head of the Initiative with drinks and entertainment, all within reason. The promise of sleeping through daylight hours was nothing new to Spike, and after they had finally shed their company, they had collapsed in each other’s arms and fallen into deep slumber almost instantly.

Except now the telephone was ringing.

“Mmhhff.”

“Your turn,” Buffy murmured, snuggling deeper into her lover’s embrace.

“Says who?”

“I got the last one.”

“Well, ‘f you’re gonna use that logic.” Spike chuckled and shifted, reaching over her to grasp the phone. “This better be Josiah Bartlet or I swear on my unholy nonsoul, I’m hangin’ up.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky, then,” a familiar voice replied.

Buffy froze beneath her lover’s touch. “It’s the President, isn’t it?”

“Yeh.”

“Tell your lovely wife good morning for me.”

“He says good mornin’.”

Buffy moaned and burrowed herself deeper into the blankets.

The President must have heard her, for he chuckled good-naturedly. “I think Buffy’s been associating with Mrs. Bartlet a bit too much,” he decided. “She’s beginning to react to my wake-up calls the way the girls do.”

“’m not gettin’ in the middle of this,” Spike retorted, sitting up completely. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Well, that’s rather incriminating, isn’t it?”

“Chuck din’t call. Figure ‘f you’re patchin’ to us directly…”

“Now, now, I never let my staff conduct my personal calls.”

That wasn’t true. On most occasions, other than a select few that Spike could count on one hand, it was either Mrs. Landingham, Charlie, or on a rare occurrence, the White House operator who made the call to their house. This was big. Whatever it was, he knew immediately that it was big.

“Mr. President—”

“Spike, I need you and Buffy to come to the White House at your earliest possible convenience.”

“Meanin’—”

“I need you to get your asses here within the hour.”

Spike frowned. “Has the attorney general decided to charge me on a century’s old killin’ spree?”

“You know, when you say it like that, it makes me less likely to invite you over for our weekly poker games.”

“You’ve had one poker game in the five months that we’ve been here.”

“Well, you can imagine how such an observation is high on my priorities list.” The President paused. “Spike, I need you and Buffy here. There’s something you need to know. Something’s about to happen and I want you to be prepared.”

Buffy was already well on the way to falling asleep again.

“The Slayer has plans this afternoon—”

“I don’t care if she’s entertaining the Marques de Sade, I’m the President of the United States, and I need you two down here as soon as possible.”

The title didn’t carry much weight with Spike. The man making the request was a different issue. However, despite the mass amount of respect the vampire had for Josiah Bartlet, he didn’t take kindly to people ordering him and his mate around.

Still, if it was urgent enough that the President was practically stating an official command, he figured it was likely something important.

“’m comin’. Buffy’s not. She hasn’t had a day off from the lot of you for weeks, an’ she’s seein’ her mates today.”

There were certain times when Spike tested the patience of the President to uncomfortable degrees, though he always got away with it as he had been practically inducted into the Bartlet family as a surrogate son. This was automatically filed as one such time. No one turned down an invitation to the White House, and most certainly no one turned down a request of the President.

However, those who knew the President personally had an unfair advantage; if they weren’t on his staff but entertained the sort of relationship that Spike currently did, the fact that he was the Commander in Chief simply didn’t carry any weight.

“All right. But what I tell you goes to you and Buffy alone.”

“Who the bleeding hell else would I tell?”

“Watch it.”

Spike smiled. “Right. I’ll be there soon.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

There was a click. The vampire exhaled deeply and hung up the phone.

Buffy whimpered slightly and twisted in her lover’s arms, “The President’s requesting your presence?”

He smiled apologetically, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“He ruined our plans.”

“Our plans were to shag.”

“This is what I’m saying.”

Spike’s smile broadened and he dropped a sensuous kiss across her lips. “We’ll have tonight, baby,” he promised. “No plans. No sodding Harris, or Red, or Donna pesterin’ us about seein’ our place.”

Buffy frowned. “You think if we distract Josh with something shiny, we can smuggle her out?”

“Well, I think he’s keepin’ her busy now jus’ to be funny.”

“It’s not.”

“’S Josh. He’s without a sense of humor. Can’t blame a bloke for tryin’ an’ failin’ to be funny.” Spike’s lips swept across the claim mark on her throat. “Tonight, we order in.”

“Mmm.”

“An’ I’ll give you one of my special tongue baths.”

Buffy giggled and leaned back. “This’ll be different from your other tongue baths?”

“Not as such, no.”

“Then—”

“’S special ‘cause you’re the only one that gets it.” His eyes twinkled. “Right?”

“Better be the only one who gets it.”

“Trust me, pet.” Spike collapsed tiredly against the mattress. “Tell me what I’m doin’ again?”

“Leaving a very naked me to entertain the President of the United States on his theories of the Boston Tea Party.”

A low moan tore through his lips. “An’ I agreed to go?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because I hadn’t told you about the naked part.”

“Told me? You never sleep in anythin’.”

“Yes, well, this is the part where you’re a dummy.”

Spike moaned again and tossed the blankets back. “Yeh, yeh. Bloody prat better be sendin’ a car.” He bounded to his feet and tossed her his patented annoyed look. “’S not like I can walk out in the broad bloody daylight an’ hail a cab.”

Buffy smothered a smile and rolled back onto her side, snuggling into her pillow. She never would have suspected, despite the chaotic events encircling them, that she would be so completely content with domesticity. And never, in a thousand years of living, would she have suspected Spike could adapt to it so well. The claim between them served as the ultimate balance. While her mate’s bloodlust was hardly tamed, the equilibrium of her set of values served as the ultimate middle road. With anyone else, it could not have worked. With anyone else, she would never have wanted this.

Their home was not her. It wasn’t Spike, either. But it was them.

And she was terrified of her happiness. Especially with the mounting fear of her powers, the growing presence of Glory, and the knowledge that at any time, the walls around her could come tumbling down.

“All right, sweetheart,” Spike said, reappearing in his customary jeans and black tee. “’m poppin’ downstairs to wait.”

“You getting a car?”

“Jed always sends a car. An’ he’s always quick.” He shrugged. “He’s the bleeding President.”

“Does he know you call him Jed?”

Spike shook his head. “’S not the sort’ve thing you tell the bloke that controls the Armed Forces.”

She rolled over completely once more as he sat at the edge of the bed, caressing her cheek. If there ever was a day that every touch he gave her didn’t fuel her with passion or envelope her with love, she didn’t want to face it. The look in his eyes grew richer with every wake, the words stronger with every utterance. At so young, she didn’t imagine she could ever have so much.

“It’s not fair you can get dressed so quickly,” she said.

He grinned. “Pouty.”

“President’s probably gonna be mad you didn’t shower.”

“President’s gonna have to bloody deal with it. He woke me up. That’s your job.”

Buffy flashed a smile and tugged him down for a kiss. “So…we’re canceling all plans tonight?”

“Better bloody believe it. I want you all to myself.”

“I can handle that.”

“Mmm, you think so?”

“Yep.” She kissed him again. “Though I want you showered.”

He chuckled. “Think I can manage that.”

“Good. So you better head downstairs.”

“Yeh. See, here’s the thing…” A familiar look flashed across her mate’s face, and he ran a hand over her blanketed body. “’m leavin’ you all alone…naked.”

“Yep.”

“Tell me why I’m doin’ this again?”

“’Cause the President controls the Armed Forces.”

“Sod him. Kiss me.”

“Spike…”

“This is what happens when I get clothed. I see you an’ I get in all sorts of predicaments.”

“Then you better get downstairs.”

A long sigh of concession rolled off his shoulders. “Fine.” He brushed another kiss across her lips, then her brow. “Tell Harris he’s a git for me.”

She laughed. “I will.”

A pause. He palpably did not want to leave her, and she found his reluctance charming. They hadn’t spent too many days apart since they mated, and every time they were presented with the prospect, it felt strained and unnatural. “Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

Spike rose to his feet. “That sound weird, comin’ from me?”

“A little. Now shoo!”

“I love you.”

Her body positively hummed. She would never get tired of hearing those words. “Love you, too.”

The peroxided vampire turned and thundered out of the room before the sight of his girl reclined comfortably in their shared bed could persuade him to tell the President of the United States to sod off for a day.

That wouldn’t blow over well.

Didn’t matter, though. It was only a day.

They would have the evening all too themselves.

*~*~*

“Oh, you’re kidding me.”

Anya stopped from where she was admiring herself in the motel mirror. She and Xander had plans to see Buffy and Spike at their place before they hit the market for available apartments in the neighborhoods Sam and Willow had assured her were the safest that the city could provide.

“What?”

A sigh rolled off Xander’s shoulders. “We’re gonna have to cancel this afternoon,” he said. “I gotta go in.”

“Go in?”

“There’s some activity they want me to look at, then another set of reflex tests and seminars.” He shook his head. “I gotta call Buffy. She’s gonna kill me.”

“You have an important job,” Anya retorted indignantly. “If there is something that needs attention, you need to go and do it.” She flashed a proud smile. “You’re the head of the Initiative.”

He grinned. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Yes. And perhaps this change of plans will be beneficial. While you are occupied looking over data and statistics, I can investigate our list of potential apartments, therein freeing up our time tonight for more gratuitous orgasms.”

Xander flushed but grinned, nearing. “My girl’s always thinking,” he said, dropping a kiss across her lips. “Right. Do me a favor and phone Buffy?”

“Why do I have to do it?”

“Ahn…”

The former vengeance demon waved a hand and sighed. “I will make the call.”

He smiled and kissed her again. “You’re the best.”

A long sigh coursed through Anya’s body and she nodded her agreement. “Don’t I know it?”

*~*~*

“The President can see you now.”

Spike’s eyes rolled up, unimpressed. “’S about bloody time. You get a bloke outta bed, drag him away from his very shaggable honey, an’ make him wait ten minutes?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, nodding. “I’m sure the President feels bad about that.”

“Spike,” Mrs. Landingham chided, not looking up from where she was typing up a revised schedule for the day, “please don’t use the word ‘shaggable’ outside the Oval Office.”

He chuckled. “Anyone ever tell you you’re one moxy gal?”

“Anyone ever coach you on the proper etiquette when speaking with a senior citizen?”

“Class act.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

Spike rolled to his feet slowly. “Yeh. By the way. Those cookies? Kinda stale.”

Mrs. Landingham muttered something under her breath and continued on with her work. He grinned, and strolled leisurely into the Oval Office. Charlie closed the door behind him.

“Spike!”

“Mr. President.”

The President rose to his feet and moved around his desk, motioning for the vampire to help himself to one of the sofas. “Hope it wasn’t too much trouble,” he said, taking a seat.

Spike followed suit. “Well, ‘s not like I fancy leavin’ my girl alone when she’s naked, but—”

The President held up a hand. “This might be one of those things that you keep to yourself.”

“Uh huh. Well, you asked.”

“It was a formality thing. Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yeh, figured as much.”

“I’m telling you because I feel you and your…mate have grown especially close to me and my family over the past few months, and this is a demonstration of the relationship that I hope I am not misinterpreting.”

Spike nodded. “Okay. Well…I know your missus has taken the Slayer under her wing since her mum’s been all sickly, an’—”

“I feel you have become more…extended family.”

The vampire froze. While the sentiment had been there, it was surreal hearing the words touch the air, especially coated in the voice of the most recognizable bloke in the whole bleeding country. Never in the long line of his life had he ever imagined having a friendship with a man, much less the President of the United States, in the way he had grown to value Bartlet’s. For all the complaining he did, he didn’t figure there had ever been a person in his life, other than his father, that earned that sort of paternal respect.

The Slayer had Giles. He had the President.

Life jus’ keeps makin’ with the funny.

“All right. Well…all right.”

The President laughed shortly. “Spike, Leo and the Counsel’s Office are looking into ways of announcing this shortly. Several of my closest staffers have already been told, with the exception of Sam.”

“Why not Prissy?”

“He’s being told at the end of the day. Toby’s of the mindset that I should wait with Sam.” He paused. “Spike, eight years ago, I was diagnosed with a relapsing-remitting course of MS.”

There was a long pause.

“Now…” Spike shifted uncomfortably. “’S not like I followed the campaign, but…you din’t mention that, did you?”

“When I was signed into office, the number of people who knew was thirteen. Abbey told Leo last year after I collapsed prior to the State of the Union. Then I was shot, as you remember, and the anesthesiologist was told. Then the night of the filibuster, the Vice President slammed down Big Oil, and Toby got curious. He was told a few days ago. He was sixteenth.” A pause. “Right now, Oliver Babish, Josh, CJ, and I believe Donna, are on the inside. You’re the twenty-first person.”

“You told Donna before—”

“Toby told Donna. I wasn’t a part of that decision.” The President sighed. “I’m going to tell Sam tonight, and I’d like you to tell Buffy, as I suspect Sam will tell Willow. We’re looking into legal concerns on whether or not I defrauded the public in concealing an illness to win an election.”

“Did you?”

“Well, I concealed my illness and I won the election.”

“Yeh. I can see where that’d cause you trouble.”

The President paused for a beat, studying him closely. “Are you all right, son?”

Spike was quiet. Then nodded. “Yeh,” he said. “I don’ reckon it’s any of my business.”

“Well, if everyone could take on that mindset, it’d make my job a lot easier.”

“MS isn’t fatal, right? An’ it’s not like you’re the firs’ man in this office to do this. There was this bloke back in the forties…was elected four times, ‘f I remember correctly. Oh, an’ won a war while he was at it.”

“Yeah. Well, most of the people that remember that don’t have your insight.”

“Could always rig the election for you.”

“No, because then we’d have to change party affiliation.” The President smiled and rose to his feet. Spike did as well. “You’re all right?”

“Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that?”

His smile turned grateful. “Thank you.”

“The blokes that don’ understand…you know ‘s jus’ because they don’…”

“Contain your special sort of hindsight?”

“Well, yeh…or they jus’ really, really hate you sodding Dems.”

The President laughed thunderously. “All right, get out of here.”

“Your secretary’s gonna have the secret service stake me.”

“You stole a cookie?”

The vampire nodded sheepishly. “Couple, actually.”

Bartlet shook his head. “You’re on your own, mister.”

“What a bloody load of help you are.”

“You don’t mess with the woman’s cookies. Now get out. I’ve got a country to run.”

He spoke of it all good-naturedly—the MS, the legal matters, coming clean—and Spike could tell he meant every word with all the undertones that couldn’t be translated.

It was likely the best reaction the President was going to get from anyone.

Now it was a matter of going home and telling Buffy, and hope that she saw it the way he did.

In the meantime, the man in the office had a hard story to sell.

And something told Spike that it could not have come at a worse time.

*~*~*

Buffy was grateful that Xander was running late. She had planned to make something for lunch to prove that she could be normal and make meals for the family rather than depend solely on Spike’s culinary prowess. The result was a burnt slab of meat, the shrill of smoke detectors that she knew now worked like a charm, and about thirty-five dollars to the nearest pizza delivery place.

She ordered extra buffalo wings. Spike loved buffalo wings.

The pizza arrived first. And at about a quarter till twelve, Xander still hadn’t shown. Buffy sat idly in her sparsely furnished parlor, snacking on a baby slice of hamburger and onion, waiting for CJ’s press briefing with such anticipation that it had her insides rattled with irony.

Before she had moved here, she couldn’t have cared less. Now every time she had nothing to do, she was tuned into current events. Spike still recorded Passions at whichever VCR wasn’t occupied. She watched MSNBC and commented on the hottie-status of Ron Reagan, which usually made her mate snarl, throw her on the bed…and give her a reason to continuously remark on men she found attractive. Spike’s possessiveness always left her body tingling.

Only now she wasn’t thinking of ways to get her mate to cart her off to bed in a jealous fury. She was thinking of her friend, and wondering what in God’s name was keeping him.

“Dammit, Xander.”

“Oh, honey, don’t blame him.” The voice that sliced through the room made her blood freeze in her veins. “After all, I think he was called into work because of me.”

Glory was in her living room. Oh God, Glory was in her living room.

“What are you doing here?”

The other god extended her arms in mock innocence. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve figured it out.”

“Figured it out?”

“The Key, you idiot. I’ve figured it out.” Glory laughed. “I mean, come on, it’s so obvious! It’s not Josh. I thought it was Josh, and I was wrong. I hate being wrong. Almost as much as I hate being lied to. All the time I put into searching for the Key, and the monks melded it into a vat of fleshy goodness? If you would just tell me where the Key is, I could avoid what I’m about to do…so I’ve come to put a deal on the table.”

Buffy was frozen with terror.

Spike. Spike, please.

The connection worked when they were apart…after they had shared blood.

Please!

There was nothing. No voice answered her. No presence warmed her with reassurance.

I’m a god. I don’t need him for this.

The words sounded hollow, even within her head. She needed him for strength. She needed him for everything.

She was only one half.

“Wanna know how I found out? I’m gonna tell you, anyway. The Key has to be bled. It’s right there in the freaking prophecy, okay? The Key has to be bled. Josh was my first choice. Wrong! The man is so frustratingly human, I could just kill him.” The elder god sighed. “So, you wanna tell me who it is? It’d save me a lot of time, and quite frankly, a lot of your friends.”

“I…” God, she was shaking hard. So hard. Her mind was blank, and she was shaking. The power rattling her insides was large and messy, and itching for freedom. “The last few times you’ve tried this, you haven’t been very successful.”

“Yeah. I got that part figured out.”

She felt like her face had been smashed in. The air stung and her blood rushed, her body soaring across the room and smashing in a smoky descent against the wall near the fireplace.

Something large and terrifying was stirring within her. Something hot and white, and unstoppable. There was an ignition of power. A blinding sensation of white: familiar, whole. Her body went cold as it left her, and she went numb at the look that crossed Glory’s face.

Glory’s face that was soon replaced with her own.

Then it touched her, and she screamed. Her blood was on fire. Her eyes were swimming in white. Electric shocks powered through body, tearing across her skin, blazing every inch of her into a scorching inferno. There had never been pain like this. As though she could feel each of her senses dying, feel her blood burning, feeling the strain of her power as it rebounded through her body.

The stench of burnt flesh stung the air.

Glory tossed the mirror aside without so much as a flinch, then prowled forward and fisted the younger god’s hair, jerking her eyes upward. “There are so many new people in your life,” she snarled. “So many of them. I just can’t decide which is the one I need.”

That was it. The last thing Buffy heard. Her head slammed back against the wall, and the world around her went black.

“So,” Glory said, wiping her hands. “You’ve left me no choice. I guess I’ll just have to kill them all.”

*~*~*

It was the folly of the secret service. No one would ever deny it.

The minute he felt her pain, Spike screamed her name and broke in a fast run. There was no thought but for her. Nothing except the feel of his mate in danger. The feel of her collapse. The weight of her terror.

She had called out to him. He just hadn’t received the message in time.

And being in the most security-conscientious building in the country didn’t help. The secret service stood in his way, and when he tried to battle them off, the chip fired. And fired. And fired.

Spike collapsed in the White House amidst a group of terrified tourists.

Buffy was hurt.

And Glory was coming.


TBC