Josh was staring at the car as though watching it would convince it to start.

“How did this happen?”

He glanced up warily and cocked a brow at Toby. “Do I look like a mechanic?”

The other man wasn’t listening to him, having set into a heated pace across the gravel parking lot at the Winsel House. Not ten minutes had overlapped since departing the dining room, and somehow between checkout and room inspection—self-imposed to make sure nothing was left behind—the rental car had died.

It was the perfect reply to the unasked: What else could go wrong? And while the Deputy Chief of Staff had been taking everything in stride since leaving Washington, this was the last straw. The absolute last before the circumstantial bad luck ceased being funny.

“I don’t have time for this,” Toby was saying heatedly. “We needed to be in Vicksburg yesterday, Josh. Find out what’s wrong and fix it.”

“By all means. Just explain that to the car and I’m sure everything will work itself out.” The younger man shook his head. “And for the last time, Leo’s the one who gave me directions. You can’t blame me for this.”

“Oh, I think I can. What kind of idiot gets in a car without looking at the map?”

Sam sighed and stood from where he was inspecting the replacement tire, just in case it, too, had decided to spontaneously act up. “Look, Donna is going to call a mechanic as well as the rental agency. No need to get antsy. In the meantime, I can go see if one of the guests from breakfast is available to—”

“No,” his colleagues snapped simultaneously.

The man frowned his displacement. “Really, I’m sure it’s no bother. I’ll just go and—”

“No,” Josh repeated. “We’ve had enough of Monty Python’s Flying Circus for one morning.”

The Deputy Communications Director frowned. “Well, that’s…they were a little different, yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that—”

“Sam, just because you wanna play kissy face with one of them doesn’t make them any less strange.” Josh sighed heavily and shook his head. “They were weird and then some.”

The younger man shuffled a bit in discomfort, eyes glued to the ground. “Well…I don’t think that’s fair.”

“We have more important things to worry about.” Josh frowned at the uncooperative vehicle and kicked the front driver’s side tire. “We have to get you and Toby out of here—now. Fair or not, the last thing we need right now is help from some wacko religious fanatics.”

The front door to the Winsel House opened and Donna emerged with Xander and Willow at her heel.

Sam’s head quirked and his mouth threatened to give way to a grin.

“I described the problem to the rental company,” the blonde greeted as she approached earshot. “They said it sounded hazardous and not to drive on it—but then said to drive on it about three hours east to the headquarters so they could give us a new car.”

Toby’s eyes widened. “We have to drive three hours in the wrong direction for a new car?”

Xander grinned and clapped his hands together. “Rental car companies. Gotta love ‘em. Lucky for you guys, I got an A in Shop, so everyone can just…step aside.”

The Communications Director was not impressed. “What’s the Boy Wonder doing out here?”

Donna opened her mouth, but it was Harris who replied, turning promptly as he snatched the keys away from Josh’s waiting hand. “The Boy Wonder is here to fix the problem. Xander is my name, cars are my game. If you’re not a big boy, stand aside. I’m gonna fix this hunka metal like she’s never been fixed before.”

Josh and Toby exchanged a long look.

“H-he really is good with cars,” Willow offered with a meek smile. “Well, actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him…work on a car.” She frowned and stepped up, tapping her friend’s shoulder. “Have you ever worked on a car before?”

“Well…no. But I’m guessing my attempts will be far superior to any others.”

Sam arched a brow. “You’ve never worked on a car, but you think you can fix the problem?”

“No way,” Toby barked. “Absolutely not. We are not so utterly desperate that we’re going to risk you messing up our only mode of transportation even more so than it is already. No thank you. We’ll rent another car.”

Willow pursed her lips and offered a sweet smile. “There are no more cars, Mr. Ziegler,” she explained. “Because of the…speech…and…President…you know. Big thing…down here.” She stopped, cheery, false smile growing even larger. “Sorry?”

“And if you’re thinking about calling a mechanic, well, you’re in bad shape,” Harris informed him. “They’re all out of town. For the—”

“Speech,” Josh supplied.

There was a nod of affirmation. “Right. So, it looks like the Xan-Man is your man. Here to at least not make your problem any worse than it already is.”

“I thought you guys were on a mission from God or something.”

Xander turned to fully face the Deputy Chief of Staff, eyes dancing with his customary humor and all previous apprehension seemingly having dissipated from his person. “No. We’re here to find Faith. As in, girl: not belief. Mean streak a mile wide.” He gestured for the main house. “My lovely but very quirky girlfriend has a way of words and using them in sentences while void of tact or concern as to who is listening.”

Sam and Willow’s eyes met and they looked away on the same beat.

“Faith’s a person?” Josh asked.

The redhead nodded. “Yeah. Long story, don’t wanna get into it.”

“She’s a friend,” Xander continued. “Only not…kind’ve of the psycho persuasion. A family friend. Buffy’s insane sister, if you will. And she was headed this way…we don’t want to get any authorities involved because she’ll react violently to…” He trailed off, glancing to Willow. “When you said you didn’t wanna get into it, you meant to avoid this, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a nod.

“Gotcha.”

Toby pinched the bridge of his nose and looked to the ground. “You’re telling me,” he began, “that every mechanic is out of town, every rental car has been rented, we’re stuck an hour and a half away from the President with the speech all these people are going to hear, and you want us to give you our only means of transportation to potentially fuck up even more?”

Sam sighed longingly. “It’s not even a good speech. Well, the writing’s good, but the content is just filler for the policy change that, honestly, was so minimal that it could’ve been thrown out with the trash on Friday, and—”

“I have my laptop with me,” Willow offered. “If all else fails, you could email the speech to…” She trailed off at the elder man’s look. “Or, you know…not.”

Josh licked his lips and turned back to Xander. “And you’re the only one out of your entire group who knows even the first thing about mechanics?”

He earned a shrug in turn. “I’m pretty sure Spike does. Hell, the guy’s been around forever…” A warning look from Willow quickly reminded him that they weren’t talking to resident Hellmouth alums, and he smoothly switched tactic. “But—uhhh—he can’t come out right now.”

“What?” Toby asked. “Is he grounded?”

“Sun allergy,” the redhead explained hastily. “Nasty, nasty sun allergy. Really…you guys didn’t notice how pale he was?”

Donna pouted a bit at that. “That’s a shame.”

Josh’s eyes widened. “What? You were seriously attracted to that guy?”

Xander stared at her, looking a little sick, himself. “You’re attracted to Spike? Can I say gross with a side of bleh?”

The blonde glanced to the Witch for help, and they both shrugged on a natural feminine beat to explain a universal truth that American men simply didn’t understand about their women. “The accent.”

Harris just looked at Willow in disgust.

“What?” she demanded. “He might be Spike, but I’m not blind, here.”

“Rupert, too,” Donna continued. “Older men have such sophistication. He’s older, good looking, and British. Does a woman really need more?”

“She is talking about Giles, right?” Xander whispered loudly.

Willow offered a wane smile. “Again. Not blind.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “Are we actually standing out here, having this conversation?”

“I don’t think we are,” his Deputy replied.

“Wesley, too,” Donna added, completely unhampered by interruption.

“Oh definitely.”

Sam cleared his throat.

“Great,” Josh said unenthusiastically. “Just great. Well, while you two are going gaga over Mr. Mattel and the other relatives of Sergeant Pepper, the grown-ups have to worry about the actual problem. I have a meeting with a Senator in less than twenty minutes in which I’m already going to piss him off enough to change parties. I really don’t need to add selective tardiness for his reason to—”

“I called you a cab,” Donna said before he could get off on more of a tangent than he was already on. “And yes, before you ask, I mentioned that we might be needing a ride to Vicksburg.”

“And?”

“No help.”

Josh cursed erratically and swung around to kick the tire again. “Goddamn son of a BITCH, I hate this town.”

“I promise you,” Toby replied, “not as much as I do.”

“I find the atmosphere rather charming,” Sam offered, taking a look at his surroundings. “Yes, they are a little behind in the times and it isn’t the cleanest place in the world—but, let’s be honest, neither is Washington—there is a rustic, almost folksy feel to the…” He stopped and took in the foray of stares everyone was giving him. “But yes. Highly inconvenient.”

Willow grinned, her own apprehension lessening by the minute. “We can always ask Spike later if Xander can’t help you.” She swung her arms for a moment and waited for projected criticism, then nodded when no one voiced an objection. “Okay, well…good luck.”

It took the second until she began back toward the house before it registered that she was leaving.

“Wait!” Sam called. “Where are you going?”

Josh grinned tightly. “Kissy face,” he murmured.

A soft smile crossed Willow’s face; it was impossible to tell whether or not she had heard him. “Buffy and I have some things to do,” she explained. “We need to familiarize ourselves with the town…get started and such.” She nodded to her friend. “Xander will help you. It’s all one big bag of good. We’ll be back in a couple hours, I’m guessing. Okay then. Bye!”

That was that. She was gone. And they were left to work.

Only that seemed impossible, given everything.

Harris walked around the car, glancing upward at Sam’s fleetingly desolate expression with wary objectivity. “You like her, don’t you?”

It took the man a delayed beat of recognition before he realized that he had been addressed. “What? I…no, she…I ran into her last night and she…” He trailed off helplessly.

Josh and Toby exchanged a dry, amused glance.

“Aww,” Donna cooed, tilting her head. “That’s so cute.”

Sam blinked. “I don’t—I mean, she’s nice, but I…I just wanted her to know that—”

“She knows,” Xander clarified. “She knows, and then some. And it’s okay. Really, she’s had worse.”

“I’d imagine so,” Toby replied. “If your girlfriend is any indication.”

Harris’s face dropped. “Hey. Line. Couple steps behind you, pal. There’s nothing wrong with Anya. She’s a wonderfully—”

The air cracked with the whipping slam of the front door as it crashed haphazardly against the outer wall. An empty beat for breath and then Anya’s shrill, demanding voice filled the morning breeze with all the symptoms of informal defiance. “Xander Harris! I want you and your penis in here right now!”

“—insane person that I’ve never seen before in my life,” he concluded without missing a beat, avoiding the foray of awkward amused stares that he received in turn. “So…you all are having car trouble, huh?”

Josh turned to the Deputy Communications Director as their makeshift mechanic began his inspection by examining the ignition. “We need to call Charlie,” he said, “and tell him that the President will be receiving the speech through email. Also, CJ will need to make sure the meetings throughout the week are cancelled and that Ed and Larry have the numbers by Friday, even if we’re not there to bug them every five minutes.”

There was a nod as Xander pulled the radio knob off and landed on the car horn. “I’ll go see if my phone is charged,” Sam said.

*~*~*

It was like watching a trained chimp juggle hot coals.

Spike was seated by the far window, observing with an eye of great humor as Xander began sputtering an endless stream of automotive jargon—some authentic, most not—as he attempted another venue of approach. It was more than manifest that the boy had absolutely no grasp on what he was doing; it amazed the vampire that one of the men had not stepped in to put an end to this highly entertaining mess before the situation escalated to irreparable proportions.

Of course, story went that these blokes didn’t know how to change a tire. Harris was on common ground.

A long sigh hissed through Spike’s lips as he tossed a sideways glance to the blanket draped across the sofa’s arm. Waking in warmth was not something he was accustomed to. He was, after all, a vampire, and vampires weren’t greatly known for their affinity for comfort. Most lived underground—in crypts or crypt-like establishments. A few broke the pattern, but not many. Vampires were creatures of cold and dark. This morning, he had awoken in light and surrounded with warmth.

With Buffy’s warmth.

The last few days had been a jumble of mixed signals and jilted confusion. Days since awakening, since what had occurred at the Bronze, and he kept waiting for it to end. This candor unknowing. The niceties. The honest trade that was so casual that he could nearly call it friendly. Buffy was a difficult woman to figure out, and he had always thought himself particularly talented with women. After all, his study had over a century to its credit. There hadn’t been a woman that remained shrouded in perpetual mystery until her. Even Drusilla, with her shadowed mind and dazed riddles that needed untangling before logic could be made…he had known her. Understood her better than any before him.

Reflections of his dark princess were few and far between now. That was something he had never thought would happen, especially for one such as the Slayer. These thoughts he was entertaining were unforgivable for his kind, but no less had in any regard. With her, there was something he had never had before. He simply had yet to name it.

They had been enemies for so long.

Not now. Not anymore.

Something had changed. They had changed. They were changing together. He knew it, she knew it, and they were drawn to an irreprehensible standstill. They didn’t know how to behave with each other. What had been before couldn’t be now. He knew; he had tried it. Irritating Buffy now nearly seemed to offend her rather than annoy. They had argued about music on the way up without the usual verve that sparkled their debates. Nearly forced. Arguments that were more out of obligation rather than disagreement. It was embarrassing but necessary. If they weren’t enemies, they weren’t anything.

And for whatever reason, Spike couldn’t live with that.

It was just strange. He didn’t know what to expect. The Buffy he had once known would never have let him this close. Not into her group. Not into her quarters. Not into her life.

This Buffy was reserved, nearly shy around him. She had placed a pillow under his head and a blanket over his body. This Buffy hadn’t corrected the allegation that they were more than friends—she hadn’t endorsed it, but she hadn’t corrected it. This Buffy had flared a spark of jealousy when he turned a cheeky eye to the lovely Donna Moss. This Buffy cared.

Cared about him.

Nights were still plagued with the thought of her—now more than ever. Since the Bronze, it was unavoidable. And the way she looked at him after…in the cemetery, talking to him as though he mattered. Reaching her on levels that he never thought to measure up to.

Touching her. Getting to know her. Getting to know Buffy.

Erotic dreams were not enough anymore. These housing arrangements were driving him crazy with blissful torment. Knowing that she slept just a few feet away. Knowing that the fortress of protection that had once kept him out was finally lowering its bridge. It was like coming home to a place he hadn’t known to miss. Grasping something he had never wanted but now could not live without. Slipping away just a little more each day into something familiar but unrecognizable. Slowly falling into her.

There had never been anything but hate between them, and until a couple short weeks before, he had never allowed himself to entertain the thought. Of course, that didn’t mean these carnal feelings were necessarily new; he had always favored her in the way a man favors a woman. He was only a guy, after all. No—the attraction had always been there.

The other, though. The feeling, or the want of…that was new. And terrifying.

And powerful. So powerful.

The door separating her room from the den suddenly flew open, and Buffy walked out. A vision. A golden Aphrodite, if he had ever seen one. Spike cleared his throat with disorderly inelegance and settled back onto the sofa, turning his attention to the telly. It was halfway through a two-episode run of Gilligan’s Island, though personally, he was waiting for Andy Griffith. Daytime television never did anything for him; while here, he was a virtual prisoner. At least in Sunnydale he could navigate in sunlight when he wished it so. He didn’t know Natchez. Not yet.

But something told him that would change.

A small smile crossed the Slayer’s face as she took in the program he was pretending to watch, her hands busy trying to fix an earring. “You look captivated,” she said.

Spike’s eyes softened imperceptibly. “One of the great mysteries in life,” he commented, nodding at the screen. “What exactly does the Skipper mean when he calls Gilligan his li’l buddy?” He grinned as a chuckle froze in her throat. “Might as well dedicate myself to an hour or so of research while ‘m stuck here, right?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Because the world is really being threatened by Bob Denver.”

“Never say never, pet.” His eyes sized her up immodestly, partly for his personal pleasure, partly to get her reaction. When she didn’t stomp over and smack him, he had to fight a laugh of victory from escaping his lips. It was this that he was living for now. The little things. The signs of possible something-more that she gave him without making a sound. Without doing anything that exceeded simply being. “Goin’ somewhere?”

A sliver of disappointment ran down his spine when she nodded. While it was foolish to hope, especially given the grounds of their arrangement, he had been hoping for more time just to explore whatever this was between them. He was stuck here all day—it didn’t seem so radical to want company until the sun went down.

The fact that he wanted hers exclusively was an entirely separate matter.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Will and I are gonna start familiarizing ourselves with the town, figure out the feel…basic stuff. Then tonight, you and me hit patrol.”

“Patrol?”

“Faith-search, more or less.” Buffy shrugged. “We might also try to hit a cemetery or two if it’s slow or whatnot.”

“’d like a look ‘round town, myself,” he agreed.

“Well, if we see anything really interesting, you and I can go back by tonight.” His eyes widened and her cheeks flushed; she coughed something hastily and looked down. “Ummm…but yeah. Ummm…have you…did Xander come by here? I was gonna have him…uhh…do something.”

Spike smiled and tossed a quick glance out the window. Harris’s front was covered with oil and Toby was hitting the hood of the vehicle with what appeared to be a large branch. “The blokes that work in the White House’re havin’ some car trouble,” he said. “Stay Puft’s lendin’ a hand.”

“What? He—”

“An’ judgin’ by the dent that Ziegler git’s leavin’ in the hood, his help’s not appreciated.” Spike turned back, shaking his head. “Y’think you can drop by the butcher while you’re out, luv? Stomach’s makin’ all kind of gurglies.”

“You ate breakfast.”

“Yeh. An’ it was good. Jus’ not what I need.”

A sigh hissed through her lips. He couldn’t tell if she was irritated or not, but didn’t care much either way at the moment. It was what he was—he couldn’t help that. “Right. If I find one, sure. Anything else?”

There it was. That blessed edge to the tone. A palpable look of relief overwhelmed her with reassurance. As though it was water and she was seconds away from dying of thirst.

Time to knock her off her horse.

Spike smiled again and rose slowly to his feet, ever aware of her pounding heart. The delicious way her pulse increased with every step he took toward her. The battle raging behind her eyes between two common enemies. He didn’t know what he wanted at that moment. All remained hidden behind a line of ambiguity.

“Yeh,” he murmured. “Thanks for the pillow, too.”

And that was it. Her gaze kept his for a minute longer before she swallowed hard and covered the space between herself and the door in short, hurried moves. She seemed to hesitate before disappearing on the other side but was soon gone. Gone and waiting on the porch. In the sunlight, where he could not reach her.

He was not dismayed. It had been there. Something had been there.

Something he wanted more than he had wanted anything. Something…

For all else, it would be reserved until tonight. Patrol with her tonight.

A smile drew across his lips. He couldn’t wait.

*~*~*

It took almost two full minutes for Buffy to gather her bearings. Standing on the wooden porch, hands on the railing. She had absolutely no idea what had happened inside. Nothing, if one was looking at the trade objectively. Nothing to work herself up about. Nothing.

But that was just it. There was never nothing where they were concerned. She and Spike either fought or they didn’t. This…this was something else entirely.

It was wrong. It couldn’t happen anymore. Ever.

“This has to end,” she murmured.

And it would. It would.

Because it was Spike. Honestly, how long could he possibly keep this up? How long could she?

It couldn’t last. It just couldn’t. They both knew it.

Somehow, that thought wasn’t as gratifying as it should have been.


TBC

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