Buffy collapsed tiredly into the non-comfort of the Magnolia Grill’s hard oak chair with a deep yawn that took more out of her than she had been expecting. Times like these, she wondered if the reason Slayers had short life spans was due to the wear on their immune system. A blatant exploitation of what happens when people expect the most plus ten out of their so-called defenders.

She was wiped.

Willow dropped her shoulder-bag into the neighboring chair and reached up to draw loose strands of hair from her sweat-laced brow. “Order me a big glass of water, ‘kay?”

The Slayer nodded her sympathy. Where she was wiped, she was amazed that her friend was even standing. The Witch was in no means out of shape, but she similarly remained unaccustomed to enforcing the full of her physical energy on running around as much as they had without a break; not to mention in humidity that was a few state lines south of where they were used to. Sunnydale could be hot; Natchez was a sauna.

“You want anything else?”

Willow shrugged. “Just whatever you get.” Then she was off, sprinting to the nearest waitress in search for directions to the ladies restroom.

Buffy released a long sigh and reached for the basket filled with complimentary salad crackers. The day thus far had entailed a ceaseless familiarization of the town, completely on foot as the only other means of free transportation would involve one of them manning the Winnebago. Naturally, they had to remain in certain sectors without venturing too far out; Natchez wasn’t a large town, but compared to Sunnydale, it might as well have been a metropolis.

There was no sign of Faith anywhere. No help from the locals or tourists. Not that they ran into many: while the town itself was hardly barren, the speech in Vicksburg had notably seized the bulk of their tourism, driving everyone of every persuasion out just to hear what the President had to say.

Partisanship down here was noted. She saw it everywhere she went, and given the nature of the temperament, it was amazing that any of the very right-wingers wanted to hear what a liberal administration had to say outside a need to ridicule. The national attention was likely just as big a draw. For such a small event in a year not controlled by any dominant campaign, the stop was certainly getting more local attention than she reckoned anyone in the White House had anticipated.

But that was another matter altogether. She had a Slayer to catch. And nowhere within the bounds of this very small town to start.

Given perimeters, finding Faith should hardly pose a challenge.

And yet.

She and Willow had passed many grandiose homes modeled with late nineteenth century ideals. The conditions nearly suggested that they had stepped through a time theorem. The people they met were nothing but friendly, of course; somewhere between the stereotypical southern hospitality and characteristics that made them real. And on the same beat, there was the notable pride smothered in the candor of everyday life. The residents of Natchez were proud of their heritage—so much that anything else was an insult seemingly punishable by death.

Buffy reached for her third packet of crackers and barely had time to nibble on the first before the entrance of the Grill opened and the blonde from breakfast stepped inside.

Small world.

Well, not really. From what Willow had said, the woman’s boss—that Josh guy—had a meeting with a Senator about something or other, and likely left her to herself; on call or the like. She appeared alone and more than a little lost; uncomfortable and unsure. Surveying her prospects and quite evidently wishing herself miles away.

The Slayer licked her lips, appalled at the sudden flurry of dislike that twisted her insides. While there was nothing to suggest it, Spike had turned an eye of favor in the blonde’s direction earlier. An eye of favor—nothing more. Nothing to found a basis of aversion for someone she didn’t know, especially for reasons she couldn’t yet admit to herself. There was a feeling. A deep furrowing parasite that gnawed at her insides. It was gross and unseemly—more than unfair, but there was nothing she could do about it. And its route remained shrouded in mystery.

Then again: not entirely. Not at all, really. There was the other. Acknowledging her jealousy over a non-event was dangerous ground. Buffy-logic, when it came to competition, had never been clear or…well, logical. But more importantly—when had she registered herself in a tournament for Spike’s affection? There was nothing there that she wanted. Nothing she would allow herself to want. Not now—not with who she was; who he was. It simply wasn’t an option.

A long sigh hissed through the air. Uh huh. Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

This was getting nowhere fast.

In the end, Buffy couldn’t let her conscience allow someone she didn’t know enough to merit personal dislike sit uncomfortably by herself only on the basis of a vampire’s alleged affections. Especially since she so didn’t want to claim them for herself. Thus, as the waitress instructed the blonde to sit wherever she cared to, the Slayer sat up and called, “Hey!” as loud as she could.

It wasn’t the most sophisticated form of greeting, but it seemed to get the job done. The blonde’s face fell immediately to relief and she flashed a grateful smile. “Hey…Buffy, right?”

The Slayer smiled back and nodded, wishing she had exhibited enough tact to remember her name in turn. “She’s with us,” she explained to the server, clarifying any ambiguities to the extent of open invitation.

The woman’s gratitude failed to waver. She regarded Buffy as though she was her personal savior. Which really, not too far off the mark, but the Slayer would keep that to herself.

“Anything to drink?” the server asked.

“Water,” Buffy replied, nodding at Willow’s vacant seat. “Both of us.”

The waitress nodded and turned back to the blonde. “And for you, ma’am?”

“I’ve heard that you have the best bread pudding in town.”

That comment seemed to please and earned an enthusiastic nod. “You heard right. Best in town. Guaran-damn-teed, or I’m sure we can work in an all-out refund.”

“Great! I’ll take that and a cup of coffee.” The blonde flashed Buffy another smile, shrugging her business jacket off with a look of furthered reprieve. “I’ve been dying for bread pudding since we got here.”

“That sounds good,” the Slayer agreed. “I’ll take two.” She again nodded to Willow’s seat. “And a glass of diet coke.”

“No water, then?”

“Oh no. Bring the water. We’ll drink anything you put in front of us…within reason.”

The waitress nodded cheerily and hurried off to turn in the order.

“Thank you so much,” the blonde said with every bit as much gratitude in her voice as there was in her eyes. “Josh thought his meeting would last twenty minutes or so and it’s been nearly two hours. I’ve been wandering around for…well, let’s just say, I’m going to try to implement the idea of Casual Friday into every workday from now on if it means never looking at heels again.”

“You look too tall to wear heels.”

“If you knew CJ, you’d know how very incorrect that assumption is.” The woman smiled again and flashed her eyes to the table. “So…what do you do?”

Buffy shrugged and bit back the instinctual save the world answer that she was sorely tempted to throw in the face of any self-righteous politician. However, it was more than obvious that present company was a few steps away from meriting any such label. And, if she wanted to be perfectly honest, so were her traveling companions upon first assessment. “I’m a student at UC Sunnydale,” she replied. “Freshman.”

“Oh my God, right out of high school?” The woman’s eyes widened in admiration. “No wonder you look so young!”

“That compliment territory?”

“Oh yes. Spoken only with the highest envy.” She paused thoughtfully. “Though, words of wisdom—and hear me out—find and stick with a major, make sure you graduate, and under any circumstance never move in with a deadbeat boyfriend who wants you to front all the cash in the relationship and eventually forces you to drop out of school.” Another pause. “And after you breakup, never go back to him. Because then on the anniversary of which you came to your senses, your boss will never, ever let you live it down.”

Buffy nodded, brows arched. “Personal experience?”

The woman waved dismissively. “It’s a thing. I’m sure dozens of other kids have told you the same.”

“Check one for extremely no.” The Slayer smiled as her gaze directed her to the approaching redhead, whose countenance looked much relieved from her opportunity to freshen up. More over, she seemed genuinely pleased to have the other woman joining them. “Hey, Will. Thought for a minute that you had fallen in.”

The Witch shook her head. “Do people actually find that funny?”

“There’s a distinct possibility.”

“Sad world.” She turned with a bright grin to their guest. “Hey, Donna! Did Mr. Lyman’s meeting go all right?”

“He’s still in it—and really, I must stress this—there is absolutely no reason to call him Mr. Lyman.”

Willow laughed heartily at that—surprising her friend for the frank openness of her esteem. The redhead’s enthusiasm was nothing but relief. Nowadays it seemed beyond the realm of possibility when it came to making her happy, in any regard.

Then again, heartbreak could do that. Buffy had learned that lesson the hard way, and well. However, in the namesake of consistency, days and nights were no longer filled with longings for Angel. In a span of just a few months, she had gone from utter despair to simple resignation. Thoughts of her first love had somehow dwindled to nearly fond reflection. There were still mixed feelings, but the love she had so fervently felt was gone. Gone with such abrupt punctuation that she nearly lent herself pause at the depth of emotion that had been there in the first place. So heavy and then gone. That wasn’t normal, was it? Not for outstanding, earth-stopping, time-bendy love. Right?

But it was. It was gone. She missed Angel, to be sure. But not for love. Not for love for some time now.

Not since…

Buffy bit her lip and shook her head. There was absolutely no way that Spike had anything to do with it. Huh uh. Out of the question. Can I see the number of ways in which that is incorrect, Alex?

“So, Willow told me that your boyfriend has a sun allergy,” Donna said, snapping her back to the present. “That’s such a shame.”

The Slayer blinked. “Huh? My what?”

Willow’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open to contest, but she didn’t make it very far.

“Your boyfriend…or is he not? The guy at breakfast that goes by Spike.” There was a non-predatory-but-interested look in Donna’s eyes that Buffy did not trust at all. “I know there was some confusion…but Willow said he has a sun allergy.”

“Spike’s not Buffy’s boyfriend,” the Witch announced, flashing her friend an apologetic smile. “Oh no. He and Buffy hate each other. You could…umm…almost call them mortal enemies. Polar opposites. The sun isn’t shining here, Mr. Giraffe.”

Buffy wanted to kick her but didn’t dare. The last thing her confused mind needed was further incentive for future random bouts of jealousy. Besides, she was so not jealous. Not of Donna and her crush on the evil, soulless vampire. That just wasn’t happening. Not in this century.

I am so screwed.

Donna’s head tilted sympathetically. “Oh. Oh. That’s too bad. He seems—”

Okay. That was it. The last thing she needed to know was how Spike seemed to women who were not—oh say—her.

“We…hate is such a strong, bitter…word.” Buffy pointedly ignored the questioning glance that Willow sent her in turn. “I wouldn’t say we hate each other so much as—”

“Loathe one another with the fire of a thousand suns?” the redhead suggested, cautiously exploratory.

The temptation to kick her was growing harder to resist.

“We’ve been…uhh…” The Slayer flushed and dropped her eyes to the table. “Getting along…since…we’ve just been getting along.”

Thanks for the blanket, luv.

For what it was worth, Donna seemed to take the hint and nodded wisely before Willow could make another observation. There were some things that it took complete strangers to see, and while Buffy refused to acknowledge anything of the sort, she couldn’t help but be grateful at the other woman’s compassion.

“So,” the Slayer continued, leaning back as their order arrived. Regardless of appearance, she was eager to get the topic on safer ground. “What’s Mr. Lym…Josh’s meeting about? Or can’t you tell us?”

Donna nodded. “It’s not a government conspiracy or anything. They don’t tell me those. There is a very liberal senator from Illinois, originally from here—hence the location of the meeting—who contributes mass amounts of support to the President, as well as Democratic leadership in the House and Senate. He might be named Minority Whip after the midterms. Anyway, he has proposed a bill that’s riding his support because it…well, it’s trying to ban the display of the Confederate flag basically everywhere. Cars, buildings, merchandise—the works.” She glanced down. “Our numbers show that if the bill passed, it would be a move in the right direction as far as Civil Rights, but it also challenges—”

“The first amendment,” Willow murmured.

“That’s the big argument. Everything else is politics.” Donna dug into her bread pudding; her eyes rolled back and she made a sound of distinct approval. “Oh my God. I didn’t know that something could taste that good.”

Buffy nodded in agreement. “It’s delicious.”

“So this bill isn’t going to pass?” the redhead demanded.

“It can’t. We know it can’t, and Senator Davis knows it can’t.” She rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe how many times Josh has said that in the past week. Anyway, the real reason we’re here is to explain why the White House won’t support the bill. We’re having to sit on this one. We can’t afford to anger African-Americans or the NRA.”

“NRA?” Buffy was lost.

“Go hand-in-hand with the KKK in some regions,” Willow explained. “Some being the word there…not all. And they’d be one of the main groups offended if the bill received support.”

“The South on a whole would be offended,” Donna clarified. “And as has also been the motto this week, losing the South is a political no-no. Besides, we’d also risk losing everyone else who agrees with a strict view of the Bill of Rights. But, on the other hand, we’re—at the same time—offending African Americans by not supporting a cause that would remove a public reminder of their historically economical and socially accepted second-class citizenship. And we can’t do that.” She shook her head. “But Sam is right. Leaving that flag up is wrong. It’s just wrong. We’re above this. The President and Josh and…well, everybody. We’re above this.”

A smile quirked Willow’s mouth. “Sam?”

“He’s been reciting passages from the Declaration of Independence at random. ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal.’” She grinned. “It was really cute the other day; he said it, then realized that the passage says men without mention to women, and he started arguing with Thomas Jefferson out loud after he apologized to Bonnie and me.”

Buffy grinned lightly. “Willow’s crushing on Sam,” she said. “She doesn’t wanna admit it, but she is.”

“I am not!”

“See?”

Donna adapted a similarly devious look and chuckled. “Sam’s a good one to crush on,” she agreed. “And as CJ has noted on more than one occasion, he can wear a tuxedo—and well.”

“I am not crushing on Sam!”

“Oh, come on, Will,” Buffy teased. “You’re telling me that his big puppy-dog eyes and numerous apologies just don’t do anything for you?”

“I don’t know,” the redhead replied firmly. “Why don’t you go back to telling us how you and Spike don’t hate each other anymore?”

Donna’s brows perked.

Buffy just paled and stared at her plate. “This really is good bread pudding,” she decided. And said nothing more on the subject.

*~*~*

“Scotch. Straight. I see ice, and we’re gonna have a problem.”

The barkeep nodded and gave him a look that clearly defined offense at the implication that he couldn’t pour a straight glass of Scotch. But Toby didn’t care. He rarely did when it came to such things.

“This really is quite good,” Giles said, flipping to the third page of the President’s Vicksburg speech with a nod of acknowledgement. “Really, I don’t come across modern writers with such a grasp of the language all too often. Most remarkable. Your diction is flawless and…this is just very good.”

“Get this man a Scotch, too.” Toby sighed and rested his head against his palm. “Yeah. Shame no one will get to hear it.”

“I thought Willow offered to lend you use of her laptop.”

A small smile quirked his mouth. “You don’t understand the process in which the President prepares for a speech,” he said. “It’s rare if we have the actual final draft to him within two minutes of the address.”

Giles frowned at that. “Really? I wouldn’t have thought.”

“He covers it well.” A pause. A drink. Another. “Most of the time.”

“I have always been impressed. Granted, my line of work doesn’t give me much chance to pay attention to American politics, but when I do, I am never disappointed.” The Watcher glanced down. “I meant to catch the Inauguration speech, but we were a tad busy that year.”

“There have been several since then.”

“We’re a tad busy every year.”

“What do you do?”

Well, wasn’t that the question of the hour? Giles sighed heavily and tossed his head back with his drink, his glass meeting the counter with more force than he intended. What did he do? Right now—at this moment—nothing. Nothing whatsoever.

And when he tried to do something, it resulted in the mess that was that morning.

“Well, in Laymen’s terms, I suppose you can say that I play the part of chaperone for a group of high school graduates who still behave like children while simultaneously regarding me as a guidance counselor, thus demanding leadership and support.” Giles tossed Toby a wry glance. “I love them all, understand. No father could be prouder. And, all complaints aside I daresay that this has been one of our more successful outings.”

He earned a long, hard stare in turn.

“Get this man another Scotch.”

*~*~*

It was nearing sunset, and Buffy had not returned.

Spike had utilized the falling shade to bolt from their accommodations to the main house the minute that his senses told him he would not fry in result. There were enclosed spaces; then there was the townhouse. His living quarters were comfortable enough but much too confining for his taste. And he couldn’t risk taking a step in the place for fear of being overwhelmed with the Slayer’s fragrance.

Not that such displeased him. With every breath, he wanted her more.

And therein was the problem. Buffy was off limits to him.

Or she had been. He had no idea of the ground they stood upon. She was a perpetual enigma. Always had him guessing. Contemplating. And oh god, craving. There were times when he could reach out and touch her; that was something he had never had before. With every beat, she was that much closer to meeting him halfway. Their trade earlier today notwithstanding. And now she wanted to go patrolling with him. She could have gone with anyone else, but she chose him.

Logic told him that his vampiric skills were being exploited. Hope told him that she had different cause altogether.

And time told him that the sun was nearing the horizon and she was not back.

Not home. Not with him.

Not with him in a town that harbored one seriously pissed off rogue Slayer who had a nasty vendetta against his girl. Where Buffy was out in the daylight with no one but a witch whose powers were sometimes highlighted as more than hazardous. She was gone when she should have been back.

And hell if he was going to sit around here and wait. If she was in danger, the time to act had already passed. Which was exactly what he told himself before an incredibly greasy and sun-whipped Xander Harris came in through the front, wiping his nose with the back of an oil-stained hand.

“I might have been overstating it when I said the Xan-Man was their man,” he greeted, shaking his head. “Sam’s about ready to beat me over the head with the car-jack.”

Spike perked a cool brow. “Thought the bird said they din’t have one.”

“That was last night. Anyway, I am here on an act of protest to request with extreme diplomacy that you move your pale ass outside and give us a hand.” He quirked a brow and shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t want to be the reason the President of the United States doesn’t have a speech. And I don’t know them very well, but I can already tell that I’m in trouble if Sam’s the one giving me the ultimatum.”

There was a snicker at that. “Sorry, mate. Wish I could help, but I don’ care very much. ‘Sides, case it slipped your notice, the Slayer’s not back yet from her merry outin’. ‘m on my way out.”

Xander blinked. “To what?”

“Find the Slayer.”

“Why? She’s out with Willow.”

Spike nodded slowly, waiting for him to catch on. “Yeh. In a town she doesn’ know where a bird she doesn’ like is hidin’ out with the means of god-knows-what. You’re s’posed to be her chum, Stay Puft. You do the bloody math.” He paused again. “Well, you wouldn’t want your bird out there alone, would you?”

“Anya’s shopping. I don’t really think Faith’s looking to hit the strip malls.”

“That’s not the bloody point, an’ you damn well know it!”

The air hung around them in a long, unsettling silence.

“Are you worried about her?”

The Cockney’s eyes widened in a classic moment of deer-in-headlights. “What? What? ‘Course not. She’s the Slayer, you git. Vampire, remember? Don’ exactly make habit ‘bout worryin’ over their mortal enemies. Jus’ din’t wanna miss the action, s’all. Bound to be a keeper. Hope the bird trips her intestines out.”

Xander just looked at him.

“An’ then shoves ‘em down her throat.”

“And people wonder why I question the here-ness that is you.” Harris shook his head and turned around to march back outside. “Buffy has never not kicked Faith’s ass, so any gratification you’re looking to get in seeing another Slayer do what you can’t is out of the question, pal. Buffy’s going to open a can and then some. And then she’ll come to her senses, realize that you’re nothing but a colossal waste of space that never gave a damn—vengeance or not—and do what she should’ve done months ago and stake you once and for all. Now, in the meantime, I have to go be helpful.”

“Oh,” the vampire retorted. “You mean by bollixing up their car even more?”

Xander stopped and turned in the doorway, gaze shadowy. “Go to hell, Spike.”

Then he was gone, rendering the other useless in ways that he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

So, leaving was now out of the question. He had pretty much made that clear.

And Buffy was still out there.

“Trust me, Small Bread,” Spike said, striking a cigarette as he collapsed into one of the lobby’s sofas, eyes glistening at the window as they sky grew darker by the minute. “’m already there.”

*~*~*

“I could’ve done that,” Giles decided, slamming his drink onto the hard copy of the speech again, ignoring the way Toby was glaring at him. “I could’ve written, you know. Always received high marks in school. Wrote a play, once. Never got anywhere. I wanted to do a lot of things. Fighter pilot. I would’ve been a fantastic fighter pilot.” He paused, taking another drink. “Or a grocer. You’d be amazed at how fast you learn to bag things when there are pieces of demon just lying around you. That’s the trouble with Buffy—she never cleans up her messes.” He turned to the Communications Director, eyes fogged over. “I mean, how would you feel if you tripped over the head of a Djorstik? Nasty species. Though there are many theologissssts that think they invented the toaster. Isn’t that strange? The toaster.”

He received nothing but a stare in turn, but was far too passed the brink of inebriation to notice or care.

“Yes, sir. I could’ve done a lot of things. But no…have to be a Watcher. Have to uphold family tradition. Told my dad to stuff it, which didn’t do much good. Buffy says this job didn’t choose me like hers chose her. Bloody bollocks, that’s what I have to say to that.” He took a minute as the barkeep refilled his drink, something that Toby had been trying unsuccessfully to discourage for the better of an hour. “If she thinks I wanted to spend my adult life training adolescent girls to save the world…not that saving the world is a bad thing. No. No Watcher could be prouder of his Slayer. She’s the best, you know. The bloody best of all of ‘em. She got an umbrella that said so. No other Slayer got an umbrella. No, my friend. Just mine.”

Toby sighed and motioned for another round. If he couldn’t get the man to shut up, perhaps he could drink him to death.

*~*~*

“Would you guys stop? I’m not saying I don’t think Sam is good looking. I’m just not attracted to him.”

“Then, quite frankly Will, I’m worried about you.” The Slayer offered a luxuriant laugh. “Is it because he’s too tall? I know Oz was short, but trust me, dating a guy who has a few inches to the advantage isn’t a bad thing.”

“As you would know from experience,” the redhead retorted.

Donna was just staring at them. “Do I even want to know?”

The two girls stopped and looked at her. Then realization struck.

“In height,” Buffy stressed, eyes wide. “Height. My ex-boyfriend was tall. Very tall. And, as you can tell, I am very not. I was talking about height. Nothing else.”

The Witch grinned teasingly. “Oh. Are you saying that Angel lacked in a certain department?”

“Willow!”

“Angel?”

“His real name was Liam,” the Slayer explained with a pout.

Donna shook her head and smiled. “Don’t tell that to Josh. He was already going on about your names and how all of your parents must have been hippies.” She paused a second later, gaze large and apologetic. “I don’t mean—”

Willow shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Hell, I’m named after a tree.”

“My real name’s Elizabeth,” the Slayer offered meekly. “And Spike’s real name is William.”

Donna tilted her head in consideration. “That’s a nice name.”

Buffy wanted to agree but didn’t dare open her mouth. She had risked enough strange looks from Willow tonight. It didn’t matter, though. The blonde had switched tactics the next minute, shifting up as her gaze fell to her plate.

“We need more bread pudding over here.”

The Slayer’s eyes bulged. “Umm, no thanks. I don’t think I’m going to eat again for the rest of my life. That stuff is rich.”

“Yes, and I’m poor, so I like the taste. Might as well enjoy it while I can.”

A smile crossed her face. “Well, when you put it that way…”

*~*~*

Spike sat up with hope that rose and died in one fell swoop. The scent hit him just seconds before Josh Lyman stomped into the lobby of the Winsel House, soaked with rain and looking more than a little irate.

“This is what I don’t understand,” he announced to anyone who happened to be nearby. “Rhodes Scholar, graduate of Harvard with a Masters in Humanities and a Bachelors in Political Science—yes, that’s right: both—worked as a political analyst before he got to Congress, wrote two books on the correlation of white and black America along with multiple articles in the Post and the Times about the dangers in the radical approach to racism. The man’s a political star rising to the top faster than any mind of the modern world and doesn’t understand why the White House can’t support a bill that takes the first amendment and puts it in the shredder.” He took a minute to kick the wall, ignoring the rough warning from the owners, from the back where they were preparing supper for themselves. Instead, he whirled back to the vampire, who was reclining comfortably, watching him with dry amusement while keeping his senses on high alert. “The man compared the Confederate Flag to the Swastika while ignoring the fact that the Nazis were in Germany and we don’t have any laws that prevent it from being waved around. You know what the Swastika means?”

Spike’s brows perked. “Other than—”

“It means good luck. It’s a cross, for God’s sake.”

“’S rainin’ outside?” the vampire intervened, taking in the man’s appearance. “Din’t sm—sound like it. Usually have good—”

“Just on the other side of town, naturally.” That didn’t keep his mind occupied long enough. “And yes, I take high offense to it being waved around. Of course I do! The President does, too, and he’s not even Jewish.” Josh shook his head. “But we don’t have any laws against it. The KKK as mandated by the Constitution have just as much right to be here as Neo Nazis and other radical extremists that would just as soon overthrow the government as take in an afternoon matinee. That’s democracy’s fault, my friend. Not mine, and certainly not our administration.”

“Right, ‘cause when there’s a problem, the last person the country needs to look to ‘s their leader.” He chuckled wryly and threw his hands up in neutrality when he received a cold stare in rejoinder. “’m stayin’ out of this, mate. An’ for the record, the Nazis were sloppy. They…” He stopped again. “Never really fancied ‘em.”

“Glad to hear it.” Finally, the man started to calm down, dropping his backpack to the floor and running his hands through his hair. “Where’s Donna?”

Spike shrugged. “Haven’t seen her. ‘ve been waitin’ for the Slayer, myself.”

“The Slayer?”

“Buffy.”

Josh just looked at him for a minute. “You two have cute nicknames for each other, you do.” He released a deep breath and dug out his cell. “I need to reach Donna. Time for us to get the hell out of here and back to where things matter.”

“’F you’re lookin’ to skip town with that hunka metal outside, you’re outta luck, Curly.” Spike snickered and lit another cigarette. “Don’ know ‘f you noticed, but it’s in parts all across the drive. ‘S funny to watch ‘em try to put it back together, though. Think Harris was assemblin’ the steerin’ wheel to the trunk, last time I took a peek.”

Josh was staring at him in numb shock. “And you haven’t gone out there to help? Or at least stop them?”

“What can I say, mate? ‘m bored an’ that’s cheap entertainment.”

“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?”

“Am not. I jus’ don’ care all too much. An’ don’t talk ‘bout my mum like that. Woman had a heart of gold.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff looked away as though having to restrain himself from launching across the room. “Donna better get back soon,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of her out in a town she doesn’t know.”

“You an’ me both.” Off the look he received, his hands came up again. “’m talkin’ bout the…’bout Buffy, you paranoid wanker. She’s been gone all day.”

“Away from you? Can’t say I blame her.”

The vampire’s eyes darkened. “Watch it. Don’ take kindly to prats who don’ know what they’re talkin’ about. Have a nasty habit of dealin’ with ‘em in ways that don’ always end up clean.”

It wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it, anyway. What would he do? He could go into game face and scare the git shitless, and while the notion was tempting just for the humor aspect, he decided against it.

The threat fell to deaf ears; Josh collapsed in the seat nearest to the window so he could watch the cars that approached. He attempted to call his assistant and couldn’t get a line through. He hung up, waited a few minutes, and tried again.

“They’ll be back soon.”

Spike nodded. They had to be.

Though if they weren’t in the next few minutes, he was going to tear through the town. Sod reputation. Sod pride. Sod what Harris thought. If the world had to know how he felt about her, that was the way it was.

Nothing was going to happen to Buffy. Not on his watch.

*~*~*

The cab pulled into the drive just in time to see Toby storm through the doors and another take off in the opposite direction. A corresponding crash from the townhouse verified that the Watcher had returned. However, while noted, the girls let it slip without mention.

It had been a good day after all.

“Oh God,” Buffy laughed. “Giles is gonna kill me.”

Willow waved a dismissive hand. “Oh come on. When was the last time you’ve had a vacation, anyway? So you took one day to yourself. He can lighten up.”

The air rang with the sound of another crash. That assumption seemed fair enough.

“Yeah.” The Slayer shook her head with another laugh. “It’s been a while since I’ve had so much fun. But seriously…never eating again.”

Donna nodded, reaching for her key. “I hear you.”

“You’re not going to get in trouble, are you?”

The question lent Buffy pause. The day had been most liberating—just a few hours talking, and it was easy to forget that the company she shared was also valued by men of means, not to mention the President of the United States. And for everything, she didn’t want to have cost the woman her job. After all, there had to be a million other things she was supposed to have complete.

There was no danger in Donna taking Spike. She knew that now.

Well, of course she knew that. But she didn’t care. No way did she care.

“Trouble? Hardly. Josh is probably glad that I found something to do.”

Willow’s brow was marred with concern. “So he won’t fire you or anything?”

Donna just looked at her for a long minute, then burst out laughing. “No. No! God, Josh can’t find his socks without calling me. Trust me, my career is the last thing on the line right now.”

There was a rustle indoors. The curtain in the parlor was shoved aside to reveal the very relieved but similarly annoyed face of Josh Lyman as he yelled through the glass, “Donnatella Moss, you are two seconds away from being out of a job!”

The attempts at the lock proved ineffectual the next second. The door flew open to reveal a very anxious, heaving vampire on the other side. His eyes were flashing with anger and the dying bits of frustrated concern. His hair was ruffled, and his duster was off his shoulders.

Buffy’s eyes widened and her heart rate doubled. He looked…

Oh. My. God.

So unfairly good.

And did she mention the angry part?

“Where the fuck have you been?” he snarled, gaze flaring before he seized her arm and pulled her across the threshold.

“Hey! Hey!” Willow snapped, following them over. “Let her go!”

“Stay out of this, Red.”

“Spike. Now.”

It didn’t matter. Buffy had wrenched herself away the next minute, rubbing her arm before realizing that the chip hadn’t fired during the entire display. And her world froze. Froze until she caught the look on the vampire’s face, nearly horrified at the reddened skin that marked where his hand had been.

The look vanished just as quickly, but she didn’t allow herself to vanish with it. He hadn’t meant to use such force. Spike hadn’t meant to use force.

Oh God.

From where she couldn’t react, Willow had no such qualms. She stepped forward and offered a shove to the vampire that was surprisingly forceful enough to send him back a step. “What’s the big idea, you creep!”

“I…uhhh…” Spike glanced to the ground, suddenly unsure of himself. “Slayer an’ I were s’posed to patrol.”

“Patrol?” Josh echoed. “What the hell?”

“We were?”

The vampire pointed at her in protest. “You said so! Before you left!”

Buffy’s face fell. Oh God.

How could she have forgotten?

“Oh.” Donna clutched her heart and made a sad noise. “And you were that worried? That’s so sweet.”

“Sweet?” Josh echoed. “The guy’s psycho. And where have you been?”

Spike stuttered ineloquently and glanced to the ground. “Not worried. Wasn’ worried. Jus’…jus’ brassed. You made the date, Slayer. You wanna break it? Fine. I’d jus’ like a heads up in the future.”

Willow’s eyes boggled. “Date?”

“No!” Buffy protested. “No date!”

“I was with them,” Donna explained to Josh calmly. “We had bread pudding, talked about work, and how Willow is attracted to Sam but doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Donna!” the redhead protested.

Spike cracked a smile. “Anymore talk like that an’ I’m gonna swear you’re a descendant of Harris’s bird.”

“Descendant?”

Buffy stomped the vampire’s foot.

He yelped a bit and tossed her an angry scowl, but his features softened with more of the same. “Relative,” he ground out. “I meant relative.” He took another minute to look at her before releasing a deep breath. “You all can shove off. Bloody waste of time.”

He blew past her the next minute, the slam of the door punctuating his leave.

“Psycho,” Josh murmured again.

Donna whacked him across the chest.

“Buffy?” Willow asked lowly. “What…are you…what?”

The Slayer licked her lips and released a deep breath. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Spike’s…I guess he…I dunno. He’s just been…there’s…I gotta go.”

Another second and she was gone, too, nearly running over Sam as he made his way into the foyer. Sam, whose appearance merited a double take from everyone in raw surprise. It was more than obvious that he had been working on the car for the bulk of the day. The man was shades away from the speechwriter that he had been that morning. His hair was ruffled; his work clothes had been traded in for faded jeans and a white t-shirt. His skin was dirty and tanned. He looked…

“Well,” Josh said. “That was sudden.”

Neither of the women were paying attention. The floor was irreversibly handed to the slightly bashful man who flushed when he realized he was on display. Donna favored him with a cat whistle. “Someone’s been outside today,” she teased.

“The car is still broken,” he said.

Willow was just staring at him.

“Yeah,” Josh agreed. “And Spike refuses to help us fix it.”

“Xander told me.” Sam released a long breath and combed a hand through his messy strands. “I’ve gotten over the anger part and am more looking for helpful solutions.” His eyes landed on the anxious redhead. “Toby and I might need to borrow your laptop after all.”

“Have you heard from CJ?”

The Deputy Communications Director just looked at him.

“Of course you have.”

“She called me Skippy.”

“Ouch,” Donna commented before nudging Willow. “You’re catching flies.”

Sam flushed again.

That was all it took to nudge the Witch out of her delirium. She coughed suddenly and glanced to the ground, nerves taking her in all forms imaginable. “I…uhhh…have to…I’ll go upstairs,” she said hastily. “Xander agreed to trade rooms with me today. So…I don’t have to…with Wes…and—”

“Wes went out to get us food,” the would-be model for the Playgirl Centerfold said. “He’s been helpful. Very nice guy. He—”

“Sam.”

“I gotta go now.”

And, like Spike and Buffy before her, Willow had vanished the next second—moving like she was attempting to break the world record for speed. She had hardly made it to the upstairs hallway before a door sealed her away from the world.

Sam frowned his confusion before turning back to the others. “Was it something I said?”

*~*~*

The townhouse was a picturesque representation of the Cold War. Giles was at the table in the entry, drinking from a bottle of God-knows-what; Spike in the living quarters, flipping angrily through channels. Buffy had stormed in through the back entrance purposefully. The look she gave him still burned his insides. A look, and nothing more. She had looked ready to say something but evidently decided against it, turning instead to march intently to her room and slamming herself away.

It lasted, all in all, for ten minutes. The door to her room flew open and she steamed back out again, sizing the vampire up with purpose.

“What is your problem?” she demanded.

“My problem?”

“Yes, your problem. I don’t know what you thought that was, but—”

“What that was? Guess it doesn’ matter, does it, kitten? After all, jus’ a vamp here. Your pet vampire. You drag me down here by the bloody collar an’ then—”

“Drag? I’m sorry, but I dragged you nowhere.”

There was a snort from the other room. “Oh, I beg to differ,” a very drunk Giles objected.

Buffy frowned but ignored him. “I thought you wanted to…you said—”

“No, luv. I din’t. I never said I wanted to be your bitch.”

“Make a good play about it, though,” the Watcher commented.

Both blondes tossed a glance in the man’s direction at that. He responded by heaving another drink and making a face.

“Fact is,” Spike barked when they were back to each other. “You blew me off.”

“I did not blow you off. Will and I went out. We ran into Donna. We lost track of time.”

He paused. “So not only did you blow me off, you blew me off to have tea an’ crumpets with Miss Congeniality?”

“Ummm, no. And I did a quick look-around on the way back. There’s nothing there.”

“Brilliant deduction,” Giles said, language more than a little slurred. “’S a bloody wonder you haven’t won the Nobel Peace Prize for all the saving of the world that you do.”

Spike shook his head. “You blew me off, Slayer! Don’ skirt around it.”

“I did not!”

“I beg to differ.”

Giles held up his tumbler and gave it a stern look. “You, Mr. Daniels, are a drink fit for kings. Have another, you say? Well, aren’t I the wicked one?”

Buffy’s eyes flared. “Beg all you want—”

“Yeh.” Spike smirked with a snicker. “Like that, wouldn’t you?”

“It was a mistake. I forgot. Case closed. I did not blow anyone off. There was no blowing!”

A long, quiet pause settled throughout the room. Then Giles burst into a fit of giggles.

The vampire had a thousand things he wanted to say at that, and chances were, his selection wasn’t the wisest of maneuvers. “Why Slayer,” he purred. “Din’t know you were offering.”

It was amazing how rapidly the atmosphere could turn cold.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. The entire argument was the wrong thing to say. The look in her eyes had fallen from angered to hurt in record time, and he fell right along with her.

Even more amazing how everything he had been building them toward—they had been building themselves toward—could seem gone in a matter of seconds.

There was nothing to follow that. Buffy was gone, leaving him with only her scent as the slam of the door once again punctuated her unmoving disposition. He felt something within himself fall from Heaven, and didn’t know whether to rejoice or break the nearest fragile object.

The unspoken option was there, but he would hear nothing of it.

“Oh dear,” Giles drawled, voice bubbling with mirth. “She is angry, isn’t she?”

Spike had nothing to say. His eyes fixed longingly on the door; a trembling sigh passed through his lips. “Good goin’, mate,” he murmured to himself. “Turned yourself into a prize fool.”

The scent of alcohol and tears were heavy in the air. That had happened fast.

He really needed a drink.


TBC

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chapter 10

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