The Slayer and Her Vampire by Megan

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Chapters 1-5

Chapter 1 

It was an old piece of equipment; big and bulky and a tremendous pain in the arse. If only it had earmuffs so he could add deafness to his list of disabilities, then he could remain ignorant to the screams and grunts of ever-loving bliss pouring through the walls of the mansion.

Fucking bitch, sire. Complete fucking wanker of a grandsire. They sucked out all his patience. Made him wallow in his little hell on wheels until the moment he could make the move to prove he wasn’t quite yet out of the game.

They’d retired for the night, forgetting to provide him with some satisfying feed. He’d just have to go and find himself something; it was a bit of a chore when you got peckish while restrained in the chair and under their gloating eye.

A small bitter smile curled Spike’s lips as he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He’d had just about enough of it all. One grand moment had shown him that all women were fickle bitches, good for nothing but the blood they could dribble down his throat. Stuck in a body with weakened legs was beyond bloody extreme, and Spike decided to ignore the dangers known to him if he went a wandering on Slayer turf without the strength to protect himself.

Would almost be a blessing. And there’s a plan! Find the annoying little chit with shampoo commercial hair, make a bite at her and he’d be so much dust on the wind. Bloody perfect, it was.

With a far more chipper smile for one committed to allowing his existence to explode into a cloud of dust, he slowly made his way out of the mansion, legs rickety from disuse.

The night was young for all those vamps not yet fed and tucked up with someone else’s significant other. The continuing steps added a little zing in the swagger. He was convalescent, yet still had enough Big Bad to scare away any of the younger pups thinking of possibilities of one upmanship. It was no secret in such a disloyal bloody world of evil that he was weakened. A wreck at the hands of the Slayer. Well, Spike was determined to find her and have her finish off the job.

A loud altercation in the first graveyard he came to had him sniffing her out. The blunt thump of fists hitting faces suddenly went silent as a pouf of ash hit the air, and Spike couldn’t help but smirk in admiration. She’d been improving; was better even than when he’d last fought her in the church.

A moment of melancholy stayed his movement, sadness that he would be going out at less than his best.

Didn’t matter. He shrugged it off and reconciled himself to his end and continued to creep up behind her. He marvelled at her obliviousness as she kept her back to him. He stopped, tilted his head to the side and waited for her to calm and sense him.

Her turn was slow, but finding him within a step behind her had her jump half out of her skin. Instead of fuelling Spike’s humour, her sudden rush of fear disappointed him.

“What the hell do you want, Spike?”

He couldn’t help the direction of his eyes as he swept her from gorgeous hair to fashionably booted feet. No doubt about it this Slayer was a looker. Fists were still lethal, though. And whether he’d changed his mind or not was too late, his legs far too weak to get him back to the mansion let alone propel him through this fight and remain standing.

Time to take the bull by the balls, he thought as a fist swung and connected with her cheek. Her look of shock confused him enough that he didn’t see her kick as it effectively knocked him off his feet and to his back, a lump of warm slayer straddling his belly in the most inconvenient manner. She clung to the stake raised in her fist, poised for the down-stroke that would take him from this world and condemn him to one of continual torment.

He couldn’t close his eyes, kept them on her and took her in. The abruptly snubbed nose, the glittering shine of jade-coloured eyes, and the plush plumpness of lips he suddenly thought looked kind of interesting. He wanted to see her at his demise, not focus on the stake that was arrowed toward his heart.

The softening of his facial features as he soaked in her scrutiny stayed her hand. Her knees squeezed his ribs as she lowered her pointy stick and she watched him closely as his eyes glazed at the sight of her mouth.

‘What the hell?’

Buffy had been stumped by this vamp before, but now his altered look of hunger was mystifying. His focus hadn’t even once drifted to her neck, and for some reason that reassured her of his lack of danger. Not to mention he’d gone down like a…like a…like a vamp with crippled legs! They seemed kind of flimsy right now, and his colour was paler than usual. He looked like he was verging into starved territory and Buffy started to wonder what it would be like to feed him.

It was bad, bad, bad. Slayer as vamp cow, had surely never been done, but he’d come straight to her, willing to go up against her when he obviously hadn’t done much therapy outside his wheelchair.

“Slayer?”

His call shocked her back into taking notice of the loosening of her thighs around him. Yet he had made no attempt to throw her off his body, instead had snaked his hands up to her waist and was subtly moving her backwards over the surprise erection he’d sprung under her preoccupied consideration of his face.

What did she see when she looked at him? He felt washed up, used and useless to his own family while they rutted like wilderbeast to a captive audience. But to her? She was the killer of his kind and yet he found himself in such an astounding situation—one that should never have been possible.

She sat fully on him, her heat seeping through her outerwear to scorch him with her brand. He could scent such beautiful surprises from her body, ones that did nothing to cool his confusion.

His hands had spanned her waist and now were heading to her chest, brushing hesitant fingertips against the nipples not quite hidden by the skimpy fabric of her top.

“Sweetheart, I’m thinking that if we aren’t going to dance tonight I might need a bit of help getting home.”

The unconscious licking of her lips near did him in and his cock twitched against her sodden centre, inflaming him enough to consider discarding sense. An abrupt nod and she was back on her feet, leaving his throbbing body bereft and colder than any undead man should ever have to feel. He sat up and tried to push himself to his feet, but without help it was hopeless, he was left to flounder like a banked snapper.

Before he could say the words that would humiliate him beyond measure she had him in a hold and yanked him back to his feet. An arm wound around his waist as his own settled on her shoulders.

“You’re weak and you aren’t feeding well. What are those morons doing to you?”

He couldn’t help but gawk at her in pleased surprise. Her concern knocked him for six but it brought back that small seep of feeling that had drained when she took her body away from his.

“Yeah, well, can’t take time out of our busy shagging schedule to feed the invalid vamp now, can we.” His pained gaze caught hers and he felt a momentary sense of shame for bringing up the poof’s activities. Her hurt affected him in ways he could never have anticipated and he felt like an arse for doing it. Still, she wiped his mind with her gentle smile.

“Would some top shelf from Willie’s help?”

Stunned into immobility, despite the lack of movement as of yet.

His eyes softened; he could feel his own rising affection for her concern and felt a knot in his throat prevent his voice from working. He nodded his consent and they slowly set off into the night—a slayer and her vampire.

Chapter 2

By the time he collapsed on the stool at Willy’s bar, he was struggling to stay upright. The Slayer had kept her arm around him the whole walk and had even given a few demons the evil eye as they made moves toward Spike. What kind of moves she didn’t wait to confirm. The first one who got too close lost an arm. Literally. After that, they stayed back and just wondered at this strange pairing sitting at the bar. One with glass after glass of blood chased with several shots of the good stuff, the other with an uncorrupted can of soda.

Once upon a time—and not so long ago—he would have thought sitting in companionable silence at a demon bar with his mortal enemy would have been the stuff of nightmares. Rather it felt peaceful; calm. Almost natural. As if two supernatural creatures created to destroy one another were the perfect drinking buddies. Even if it was the aim of one to not get pissed—or even have the hard tasting liquor pass her lips.

Once the fire of alcohol seemed a permanent burn down his throat, Spike felt his muscles relax and his legs go numb. By then, it didn’t seem to make a lick of difference that the girl perched beside him had deadly stakes stashed all over her body. Spike squinted at a portion of said body, intent on locating just one of the little buggers, and found himself leaning over far and landing in her lap with only the slightest thump against the bar top.

Her lap was nice. Soft and comfy with the most tantalising aroma that went straight to his goolies. When he felt the velvet softness of her hand stoking his face and then her fingers tangling in his hair he knew he was in trouble.

“I think you might have had enough, Spike,” she said to him and for a second his sloshed brain tried to tell him she was singing. Singing god-awful poetry, sure, but something tinkling and lovely and gleaming.

And bloody hell was her lap the most comfy place he had ever rested his head. It led to thoughts of other soft bits that might be comfy and in the shock of that moment, he shot up and hit his nose on the bench in his upswing.

“Ow,” he whined.

“Poor baby,” she comforted as she leaned forward and kissed it.

Both sets of eyes became as huge as saucers and immediate freakage took place.

“That so did not happen,” she almost screeched into the dead silence of Willy’s, her voice cracking in sudden fright at her impulsive actions.

“Bloody right it didn’t.” His eyes bugged even as other parts of him tingled. Her lips had been nice, felt warm and slippery as if she’d just licked them. He was hard pressed to keep his hand from swiping her taste from the tip of his nose onto his finger so he could hold it against his lips and sample what he felt a great need to.

They stopped and stared, words lost as they scrambled for some foothold in territory that had suddenly become foreign.

“’M gonna still need that help gettin’ out of here, luv. Legs are all wonky.”

That concern shot through her once again, bringing forth slivers of gold mixed with her calm green that he’d not seen in her eyes before. Not that he’d ever been this close to her and bothered to look.

“Can you stand?”

She held her hand against his waist as he slipped forward on his stool to test his weight on one foot. His knee buckled before he could find purchase against the surface and her brows crinkled in worry. She seemed frantic to land on a plan, her eyes darting back and forth between Willy and the numerous evil patrons who would love to take Spike out of the picture. Something seemed to click and her gaze settled on the bar owner with a ferocity steeped deep in Slayer legend.

“Clear the place. Now.”

Willy jumped; the cold force of her voice sent anxiety tripping along his veins as his blood pounded through his body.

Within seconds his fear motivated his feet to scuttle around the bar and he very effectively convinced every patron to leave with only minor grumbling along the way. He fidgeted in the middle of the room, eyeing the odd blond couple still perched up at his bar.

“Gimme your keys.”

The objection was immediate and without caution.

“Oh no. I’ve heard about your driving skills—of the ‘don’t have any’ variety.”

“And I’ve heard how easy it is to crack your skull. Go pull your car around the front then give me the keys. And Willy?” The weedy little man stood perfectly still, heart pounding with fear and a little irritation at being forced to give up his belongings because he was weaker.

“Yeah?” he asked hesitantly, a tiny shiver taking possession of his limbs.

“Make sure none of your customers are waiting outside because I will kill them all. Might be kinda bad for business.” She finished on a smile, catching Spike’s fingers in a random show of affection that left him gasping a breath.

Willy wasted no time leaving and they almost immediately heard the roar of some presumably ugly old clunker. Buffy felt her belly clench in worry, knowing that Willy wasn’t that far wrong about her driving skills. Thoughts of wrapping some big tank around an electric pole gave her icy fingers of dread circling her neck.


When she returned to the present—by virtue of a very yummy squeeze on her fingers—it was to see Spike’s head tilted to the side and a question in his eye.

“Why haven’t you staked me, Slayer? It’s why I came looking for you.”

She cringed at the reminder, being quite comfortable in forgetting that she had had him sprawled beneath her body and a stake ready to be thrust between his ribs. The image was suddenly abhorrent, despite the cruel jibes and the frightening promises of death. Honestly, she couldn’t answer his question. Nothing was making sense—except that he couldn’t fight back, and that seemed more of a crime than she should be wanting to consider.

“The night is still young, Spike. Let’s move your ass outside and get you home before I change my mind.” And so she filled him up with some of her empty threats, unknowingly sparking a trend of forgiveness and tolerance that seemed unexplainable.

He gazed at her in wonder and she shuddered under the intensity of his consideration. Her tongue seemed suddenly incapable of words and instead she grabbed his arm, slung it round her shoulders and bared the majority of his weight as she half-dragged him to the doorway.

Willy practically threw her the keys, caught in the graceful hand of the evil vampire she had hanging bare centimetres from her exposed neck.

Their eyes clashed in uncertainty, steps fumbling a little confusion. Buffy could feel her own body reacting—completely without her permission. Her fingers gently massaged the wrist of his arm slung around her neck as if he were someone special—if not her boyfriend. Her other arm gripped him around the waist, catching on his jutting hipbone. His thinness and pale colour did little in making her happy to take him back amongst the monster pit.

“You have to, pet,” his voice soothed her secret worry. “They don’t know I’ve gone an’ besides, I’ve nowhere else to go.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to refute that, to offer her own basement as a nice dark cubbyhole in which to heal—and be available for whatever reason Slayer’s needed evil soulless vamps free in their homes.

Instead she nodded, bundled him far too carefully into the passenger seat, and contemplated the controls in the car for a full ten minutes before jerking and sputtering to a laughable roll into the street.

Finally confident she had it worked out, she chanced a quick glance to the side and nearly screamed at how corpselike Spike looked.

“Jesus, Slayer. Who in the fuck taught you to drive?”

The Slayer just smiled and drove on.

Chapter 3

It was no surprise when they rolled to a stop about half a metre over the curb outside the mansion. The entire trip had been fraught with terrifyingly sharp corners, stalled intersections—at least those where the stop sign hadn’t been completely ignored—and the parking half-on half-off the road. Even Buffy was gripping the steering wheel in a clasp a crowbar would have trouble prying loose.

Neither moved as she turned off the engine, eyes filled with fear staring straight ahead.

“Bloody…hell!” Burst past Spike lips, the panic finally finding release in the expulsion of his breath. “You won’t be done in by one of us, pet. You’re destined for a car wreck. I’m tellin’ you now, drop me off and bleeding well walk home. You won’t be lucky attemptin’ to get this thing back to Willy’s.”

Ordinarily Buffy would have shredded him with her tongue, challenged him with perfectly thought out barbs. Not this time though. This time her knuckles were white and she was still seeing the strange blue colour of that car she had almost slammed into.

An emphatic nod indicated she thoroughly agreed with him, hair all springy as it bounced around her shoulders. She found the prospect of walking home past a multitude of cemeteries bursting with vamps infinitely safer than climbing behind the wheel of this ridiculously powerful engine again.

“Stupid dumb car,” she mumbled, the words barely squeezing past her pout.

It was captivating, Spike found. That lush lip distracting him from the reality of being back ‘home’, despite the front door being in plain view. And much bloody closer than any other car could have gotten him without the Slayer being behind the wheel—barely even stopping for the footpath.

The tension was released as he barked a laugh. They’d made it, all in one piece and only a couple of bruises to show for it. He could feel the stirring tingle in his gut as she joined his mirth with a reluctant giggle.

“Don’t think it was the car, luv. Get the impression that puttin’ you behind any kind of machinery just might be askin’ far too damn much of the Slayer.”

Her eyes sparkled when she finally looked away from the windscreen, her glance falling on his face and watching the interesting shadows cast by the street lamp.

“Was the widdle vampire scared of the Big Bad Slayer?”

“Who are you callin’ little?” His voice was filled with so much inadequacy that it made Buffy wince.

Completely impulse driven she slid across the seat, lifting a gentle hand to rest against his cheek, her palm feeling so warm she was afraid of chafing the skin of his gorgeous face.

“Don’t let them win, Spike. You aren’t unimportant, or even weak. She’s stupid. He’s stupid. And right now, you have me.” Her lips slipped over his in the most gentle caress he’d ever experienced. Warm moving sensitive flesh rubbed sensually over his and he was silent, allowing his own to fall apart so as to receive her fully. His tongue brushed lightly against the inside of her bottom lip and he felt the first stirring of personal esteem since he’d found himself confined to a wheelchair.

The kiss stirred him from his near slumberous participation and he couldn’t help but move his hand to tangle in the length of her hair. Another arm snaked around her waist and quite by accident he found her abruptly in his lap. Her tongue was stroking his now, his body feeling alive and pumping blood more forcefully than when he had most recently fed—life leaking from one failing body to the animated one.

Her lips slipped and slid against his, her tongue seeking out the coolness of his mouth and he could feel the heated imprint of her hands as they weakly braced against his chest. Her fingers were curled; he could feel the sharp edge of her nails as she clutched at the t-shirt covering his flesh, and he couldn’t hold back the little hungry growl deep in his throat.

It worked better than mere memory that she was in the lap of a vampire who had been hellbent on depriving the world of her existence a few short months ago.

“Was that an ‘I want to eat you’ kind of growl, or an ‘I want to eat you’ kind?” Buffy asked him nervously, her hands already strengthening against his chest for the possibility of having to get away from him fast. The cheeky smirk of his lips was enough to relax Buffy’s guard, but only a little.

“Definitely the second one, pet. Your lips are some very fine cuisine. Give ‘em back.”

Buffy watched his eagerness for her in wonder, not even thinking of the weirdness for a second. But already her fingers had relaxed and as her brain ticked over an answer her hands had taken on a mind of their own by tracing a repetitive pattern over his heart.

“You know this is wrong, don’t you? Me Slayer, you Vampire,” she emphasised with a jab to each of their chests, her own obviously lacking the oomph she stacked behind the finger that connected with Spike’s person.

“It’s naughty, Slayer. Not wrong. You helpin’ me ‘cause I’m weakened shows what a caring and fair girl you are. An’ if you didn’t know it, I appreciate it. Now, you on my lap, the kissing, feels all sorts of good to me, and that is something life has been more than bloody short on lately. So, yeah. Got the titles down right, luv. Jus’ can’t help thinkin’ how fun it would be to play.” He emphasised his hope of play with a sultry heat to his voice and roaming fingers that teased at the buttons of her shirt. His lips curved in a smile when she started to squirm, broadening when he sniffed the reason out as one other than an urgency to remove herself from his evil clutches.

The night surrounded them, hiding them within the loaner car as he continued to fiddle with the buttons that kept her protected from his eyes. Slowly she covered his persistent fingers, halting his action before he could succeed and the burning in her belly got in the way of her stopping him before he could touch her warming skin underneath.

“Spike,” she warned, her voice husky with unwanted repression. “We can’t. We have to get you back inside before it gets much lighter.”

Both of them were drawn back to look across the front wall to the door of the mansion. With a resigned sigh, Buffy released the catch and pushed the car door open, stumbling gracelessly from Spike’s lap into the road. He caught her just as her knees were about to hit the tar.

“Careful, Slayer,” he growled low, the deep reverberation lodging in her lower body and making her itch.

Quietly she helped him from the seat, the proud set of his straight lips the only sign of how very much he hated being at her mercy and whim for help. By rights she should have dusted him. He’d stumbled his way into her path so there would finally be an end to his struggles. He should have bloody known that all his plans went arse backwards. Particularly the ones where the Slayer had a starring role. The infuriating chit was too unpredictable.

Yet he made sure his arms drew her warm body closer as she helped him up the small step and through the gate. She bore the majority of his weight, and for that alone he felt less of a man.

Gone was the anger and furious desire for retribution towards her. It might be her fault he was in this chair, but her generous heart had helped him home. He should have been left defenceless out there to the other demons—if she hadn’t planned on taking him out. Instead, she’d brought him back.

The grunting he’d been attempting to escape still bounced around the stone walls of the mansion, making him grit his teeth in disgust. The hurt had faded just a little, and again he found himself being grateful for the Slayer.

She half-dragged him across the room until he finally fell soundlessly into the hated chair. The expression on his face immediately hardened to one of stoic bravery. The subtle shift of his head as his chin nudged her shoulder was the only indication of how much this situation hurt him and Buffy wondered again if this was the best place for her to be helping him settle in.

“You better go, pet. They won’t be happy if they see you here. They’ll be too strong for you on your own and I’m too gammied up to help you.”

The sweet sincerity of his desire to help her despite his frailty made her gasp, so unexpected it threw her whole worldview out the window. But she nodded, knowing he was right and had to face the monsters in the other room without her still present. If she were caught, it could only lead to worlds of bad.

Feeling newly brazen, Buffy kissed the corner of his mouth and sighed against his soft lips.

“Good luck,” she whispered sadly, and then the Slayer was gone.

And Spike was an invalid once more.

Chapter 4

She couldn’t leave. The changes in mood and attitude Spike had displayed over the hours she had spent with him were so lightning fast that she could feel a steady thump at the base of her skull. Yay, she was in for a headache. Staring at Willy’s tank disguised as a car didn’t help to dim any of the tension either. So, casting her eyes around, she found herself searching for a window that would help her to spy on Spike. For no other reason than to make sure he didn’t wheel himself into a fire or something. That the grate was free of flame was so not the point, Buffy conceded with a humph.

It looked like she’d left him alone in the chair just in time, as he was soon set upon by his vampiric claim to family. It was funny how those few hours watching him get drunk, watching him slowly accept that she wasn’t about to stake him while he couldn’t even stand, gave her an alarming ability to read him. Know the nuances of his lips and the glitter of his eyes when he was in pain but masked by sarcastic bravado.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected the treatment had been for him to be so resolute in seeking his death. Sure, losing his love to his long lost grandsire wouldn’t have made him want to do wheelies while singing in the street. But even if Drusilla was a fickle bitch, she couldn’t see that the woman who had previously enjoyed the loving devotion of William the Bloody would be intentionally unkind to him. But the callous acts being performed in front of Spike would be more than enough to make the blonde vamp decide to end his torment. Seek a permanent release from his pain.

It was horrific. It was awful and so deliberately cruel. Not to mention gross and disgusting. No way was she putting up with this.

Without questioning why she felt so strongly about taking Spike away from this kind of daily life, Buffy spun away from the window and headed for back-up. And a plan. And a shred of commonsense.

She didn’t even give Willy’s car a second glance as she blurred down the street.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He wasn’t ready. Not bloody ready to return to the persona that belonged in this chair. Become the beaten down childe that didn’t deserve anything but the stalest crumbs tossed his way.

Before he’d prepared his heart for it, before he’d resolved the kiss with the Slayer in his head, they bombarded him with their carnal scent. Skipped around his chair with cruel delight as they resumed their play with each other. The only thing he was grateful for was that the distraction kept them from smelling danger on him. Smelling small traces of betrayal and discontent.

Dru’s voice was a nasty trill as she giggled and sung the praises of her most special Daddy and his meaty schlong of terror. Spike hurt his eyes by rolling them back so hard at the waggling appendage of his grandsire and wondered if he could chip his teeth with a superhuman jaw clench. Good thing for vampire healing her of Spike’s nice shape or that little thing would fall right out of Dru’s slippy tunnel of love. But if Dru’s new thing were to throw hotdogs down her hallway, he’d find blonder pastures to stretch out in.

She slunk over his lap, her head swaying and body nude as they sung a serpent’s song, her eyes far away and dreamy and in no way focusing on him as she writhed her pussy against his jeans.

For the first time, the hedonistic act made him feel ill. Made him wish he hadn’t wasted the strength in his legs earlier in seeking the Slayer out. Made him wish he had waited for this repulsive moment to grow a set and seek some comforts instead of eternal damnation.

It wasn’t even that the sojourn into the Slayer’s lap had his mind casting for alternatives to take his mind off his current humiliation. Wasn’t that her lips had whispered a promise of other ways to exist. Wasn’t even that her maniacal driving scared the shit out of him and the life back into him.

For some fucked up reason, it was her hair. Shining gold that he would love to just fold in his hand; let his fingers smooth with a gentle touch while perhaps curled up in front of the telly.

The image brought a smile to his lips, and as out of it as Dru was, she took the sign as intended for her and slipped all over him some more. Her clammy skin made him colder and he found his mind wandering to warmer places, seeing other horizons.

Dru’s hands wandered to his pants, despite the lack of solid behind the zipper. Before she connected with metal, however, Angelus had torn her off Spike’s lap with a fist twisted roughly in the woman’s hair. She whimpered a little before her usual insane cackle grated in Spike’s ears.

A little shake of his head may have released him from the images of the blond out of his reach—‘and with bloody good reason’ he thought with a confused frown—but even the intricacies of his long-time lover had his teeth on edge. For the first time in over a hundred years she failed to captivate him. Just plain out failed, and that set a more desperate fear in his heart than the thought of meeting the business end of the Slayer’s stake should have.

Angelus shoved his conquest face forward across Spike’s lap and he cringed back in his chair in the face of understanding. Once upon a time he would have had his dick in her mouth, being sucked to a blissful place while she was pleasured from behind. But this act was designed to hurt, designed to keep him in his place by an Angelus with a point to prove. Her hair brushed against his crotch as she moaned and writhed above him, Angelus pounding into her sopping hole with all the vengeance of a hundred year craving for freedom.

What could he do but zone out? So Spike put himself back there, returned in his head to the role of invalid wishing for a savior.

Wishing for Buffy.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It wasn’t until she got to her Watcher’s door—pounding on it like the hounds of hell were after her brand new Jimmy Choo knock-offs—that she realised that Giles was going to look at her like she’d been turned. The thought of it nearly made her giggle, and probably would have if she’d not remembered the scene she had just run from.

A groggy middle-aged Watcher opened the door to her and at once Buffy was inside. He closed the door in a haze of confusion.

“Sorry for the early wake-up call, Giles. I forgot that not everyone else is up killing demon’s like me,” she told him, the small shot of sarcasm for once not intended but established nonetheless with his grimace.

She looked impatient as he retrieved a pair of glasses from the pocket of his robe and gingerly placed them upon his nose. He squinted at her, his eyes still in the land of nod even if his brain was ticking over slowly.

“I kinda need the gang’s help. But yours most of all, ‘cause… you know…you’re the man with the car.”

Giles’s brows hit his hairline in a sudden premonition that he was in for something he wasn’t going to like.

“Indeed,” was his reply as he snapped his glasses from his face and began to rub them nervously. “What happened, Buffy? I will try and help you if you need it. Of course I will.”

“Okay,” she started, her mind finally catching up with her motive and wondering if he would think she had gone around some shaky bend and crashed into a pesky hidden wall. “I kinda need your help in rescuing someone.”

The blank expression on his face immediately was replaced with active concern and he was racing for his room to get dressed. “Of course,” he tossed over his shoulder as he retreated into his loft. “Just let me throw on some clothes and get the keys. You can explain along the way. Will you need anyone else?”

Buffy nervously eyed the lightening sky—freezing out the image of Giles’s inevitably incredulous expression when they arrived and she explained her purpose—and smiled. It would be much easier to rescue Spike with a big stake, a bigger cross, and a confused but loyal watcher watching her back. That made her giggle quietly, not wanting Giles to hear and suddenly slow and not see any urgency in the sitch if she was laughing in the midst of apparent disaster.

“Nah, we should be able to do it on our own.”

He returned, scruffy but covered a little in tweed. Buffy grabbed his small bag of stakes, holy water bottles and cross and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Giles? Grab a thick blanket, too.”

His expression puckered as he contemplated the blanket, an uneasy feeling settling over his shoulders as he followed her into the approaching morning. As he unlocked his car—noticing Buffy’s flinch as the key lodged in the ignition—he asked for directions, wondering at her street by street by-play as he rumbled closer and closer to the mansion.

Once he realised the final address, he groaned and waited patiently for the reason he was sitting parked outside the home of their latest worry. One look at Buffy’s determined face told him he wasn’t going to get one that was rational, and instead of questioning her, instead of doing anything that might prolong his return to his bed, he crept along behind her.

Ready with resigned breath to watch the latest folly unfold.

Chapter 5

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