Take a Chance by Witchiepoo

Chapter 31

Twenty minutes into this impromptu breakfast, and not a word from Spike. If she hadn’t already cornered Connor last night, she’d think he had the inside scoop on the young lovebirds. But it wasn’t that, and this continued silence was making Cordy twitchy. She wasn’t going to push. When Spike was ready to talk, he would. Oh, who was she fooling?

“We’re having the wedding at a nudist colony.”

Oblivious Spike nodded absently at her patting her hand. Well, that didn’t work as planned. Cordy narrowed her eyes. She had it. Knew the one thing guaranteed to get his attention.

“All the groomsmen have to wear rhinestone cock rings. We’ll need to measure you.”

Spike blinked, his mind bitch slapping him to attention. “What the fuck did you say?!”

Cordy grinned cheekily. “Just trying to get your attention. Besides, I don’t think Buffy would let anyone get close enough to wrap a tape measure around little Spikey, there.”

Spike was still somewhat horrified if the pale tint to his face was any indication. He wasn’t beyond voyeurism, but the thought of Maria and Cordy seeing his dangling bits was disturbing.

“How did the size of my parts get into this conversation?”

Cordy shrugged. “Well, from the permanent grin on Buffy’s face, I’m gonna say it’s massive.” The devil was in her, he thought, the corners of his mouth crinkling in amusement.

“Some of us are blessed.” Spike’s grin was wide as he reached across the table to snare her hand. The mirth she saw in his baby blues slowly slipped away, revealing a flash of pain. She’d seen that pain before, when Dru and Angel had played with his heart. It couldn’t be Buffy. Cordy wouldn’t believe it. She wasn’t a bad judge of character, and she knew Buffy loved Spike beyond reason.

She smiled, squeezing his hand lightly. “So what’s up? Why the early morning call?”

Spike tapped his fingers on the table, desperately wanting a cigarette. Damn the no smoking laws. In situations like these, a guy needed a cig or two to drag on.

“Sandrine called Dad yesterday.”

Cordy’s face screwed up, confused. “Okay, that’s about as likely as Drucilla up and admitting she’s a crusty old whore.”

Spike snickered. Ahh…it was somewhat comforting to know Cordelia’s hatred for Dru would never wane. “Well, I guess we’ll hear that scintillating bit on the news because Dad told me last night dear old Mom wants to chat.”

He tried for flippant and failed. The coming morning hadn’t brought him any closer to a decision. Talking to Buffy had helped, but he needed Cordy too.

“What are you going to say to her?” Spike barely had time to react as Cordy plopped down in his lap, wrapping her arms tightly about his shoulders. Sighing, he let his head drop to her shoulder.

“Don’t know.” He mumbled, his breath hot against her neck. “I have questions, but I’m not sure I want to know the answers. You know what I mean?”

Cordy nodded. She ran her fingers through his hair, soothingly. “I do. You’re curious. She gave birth to you and she’s calling wanting to talk after all these years. Hell, I’d want to know what she wanted too.”

And he did. God help him, but he wanted to know. He wanted to rage and scream at her. Wanted to know why his dad and not her. Spike looked up, his eyes pale and shadowed. “I don’t want to hurt my Dad and Gram. They did so much for me, Cor. and talking to her seems like a betrayal to them.”

Spike felt Cordy sit up, her hands stroking his shoulders. “You don’t have to talk to her at all, you know. It’s up to you. It’s your choice, and I think that’s probably what your dad told her. You have a life of your own, and if you don’t want her involved in it, that’s your prerogative. She made the same choice 28 years ago.”

“She did, and now, I’m faced with the same choice.”

“Yep. And whatever you decide, you’ve got a whole lot of folks who love you dearly. Starting with me.”

“Thanks.”

He still didn’t know what he was going to do, but for the moment, all that mattered was the breeze coming off the ocean and his best friend. For now, that was enough to settle his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dru walked from one end of the bed to the other, studying the outfits laid out before her. Today was a very important day, not only for Liam, but also for herself. Whatever she chose needed to be versatile. The pale rose pantsuit would travel well, but the deep burgundy skirt had a lovely slit up the side that would attract and keep attention. But… she needed the ease of movement the pants gave her. Parker would probably need her help with Buffy and Darla. For all his strength and steely exterior, he was a man. He might let those fake blondes sway him into letting them go. She couldn’t allow that. She wouldn’t allow that. If she had to slit his throat as well, she’d do it. Tonight, she was going to have her revenge on all of them. They would pay for daring to… Dru paused as the voices inside her head screamed at her. She couldn’t tell what they were saying, what they wanted.

“Stop it!” She screamed. And they did stop, allowing Dru the opportunity to take a deep breath, just how Dr. Morgan had instructed her.

“Whenever you feel pressured, excuse yourself and find a nice, quiet place and breath deeply. Don’t concentrate on anything else, but calming yourself.”

“Mrs. Cavanaugh, is everything all right?” Dru’s head spun so fast towards the source of the question, she vaguely resembled Linda Blair in the Exorcist, minus the green goo. Maria jumped back at the wild-eyed look on her employer’s face, crossing herself before she had time to think about it.

“Maria, I’ve asked you not to come into my bedroom without knocking first. What part of that did you not understand?” Dru rubbed her neck, feeling a twinge in the muscles. Oh, great, she was going to have to visit her chiropractor. When would she find the time between the funerals and the interviews? She’d just have to make time. Taking care of oneself was very important.

“I apologize Mrs. Cavanaugh.” Maria had been in Dru’s employ long enough to know how to placate her extremely unstable mistress. “I should have knocked louder.” She quipped, though, she doubted Dru would have heard her over her own ramblings.

Dru was pacified for the moment. “Well, was there anything in particular you wanted?”

Maria started. “Yes. Mr. Cavanaugh wanted to let you know the car will be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Maria. Tell Mr. Cavanaugh, I’ll be down shortly.”

Maria paused in the doorway as Dru asked if Darla was downstairs.

“She is, Mrs. Cavanaugh. She’s been here for awhile.” Maria ducked her head, lest Dru catch the smirk on her face. It was common knowledge among the staff that Ms. Hanson and Mrs. Cavanaugh were not on friendly terms. There was even a pool going about when the shit would hit the fan between the two.

“Thank you, Maria that’ll be all.” Dru kept her back to the maid and picked up the pink slacks. She’d have to be careful not to get blood on these. She wasn’t entirely happy with her dry cleaners’ work.

“Yes, ma’am.” Knowing nothing further was required of her, Maria hurried out, closing the door quietly behind her.

Thought the she-devil was meeting us at the school. Dru thought, angrily shoving her legs into the pants. Or maybe that’s just what Liam wanted her to think.

“Come for a little quickie?” She asked to no one in particular. If she had, Dru might allow it, since it would be Darla’s last chance to get some dick.

She shook her head at the thought. “Not in my house, bitch.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you nervous?” Heller stifled a laugh as she heard the telltale sound of grinding teeth.

“Yes. Today is the real D-day. Not tomorrow. After midnight, it’s all up to the voters. My job is done. God, I need a cigarette.” She said, raking her fingers through her hair.

“You don’t smoke… Anymore.”

Darla’s eyes widened and she looked around guiltily. “Heller! Shush! Remember I’m a Republican consultant now.”

“Oh, yes, I remember, oh traitor to the cause.” Heller waited as her law clerk dropped off a legal brief. “Don’t get pissy. I’m just kidding. I really did call to make sure you weren’t going to be in need of a wig or Rogaine.”

Darla groaned, which drew Angel’s attention. If she hadn’t been so busy walking a hole into his Persian rug, then she would have seen the look on his face that clearly said he wanted to make her groan right at that moment.

Darla smiled. “Thanks, hon, but I’ll be alright. Now, if I call you in the middle of the night, screaming like a banshee, just have that gorgeous husband of yours commit me to the finest facility in San Diego.”

At Darla’s mention of Wes, Lee held up her left hand for inspection. It still astonished her when she felt the weight of the band on her hand, as if the surprise elopement had happened to someone else and not her.

“Will do. How’s everything else going?” In her role as Angel’s divorce attorney, Heller knew things weren’t progressing well in the counseling sessions with Faith. If anything, the chill that was already present in the Cavanaughs’ marriage was to sub-zero levels now. It was with a great deal of chagrin that Lee felt sorry for Angel, and a great amount of worry for Darla. Dru was a crazy bitch.

“That’s on the back burner.” Darla ruefully admitted. He has a nice back, she concluded, watching as the blue cotton stretched along Angel’s broad shoulders. That side trip into Angel ogling earned her a mental smack. There was no point in getting all worked up over Angel, when the happily ever after was intended for other people.

“It’s not going to be a pretty divorce. No divorce is. Well, unless you’re Britney Spears and take care of the nuptials and annulment in just under 55 hours.”

Darla snickered. “And it’s a sad day when Britney’s saner than Dru.”

“Uh huh. Hate to end this snarkfest early, but I’m due in court in 20 minutes. But… drinks Wednesday win or lose.” It was an order. There was no wiggle room for backing out.

Darla shook her head and smiled. “Aye captain, I’ll be there. Thanks for calling.”

“To quote Dionne Warwick, ‘that’s what friends are for.’ Bye.”

Darla continued to hold the phone to her ear as the minutes ticked by.

“Mrs. Cavanaugh will be down shortly.” Maria reported. Darla looked up just as the maid was closing the door.

“She’ll keep us waiting. Just to annoy me.” Angel rubbed at a spot between his eyes, feeling the faint stirrings of a headache. “Fletcher wants to have a sit down this weekend.”

Darla took a deep breath, blew it out. No point in dwelling, she reminded herself. No point. She had to get back to the business at hand. “What did you tell him?”

“What do you think? He’s the minority whip, Darla. It’s not as if I can refuse him. Or you.” Angel lifted his hand, his fingers bare inches from Darla’s head.

Darla stood as still as a statue, her muscles trembling with the effort to not react to Angel’s nearness. The heat of his body was stifling to her, enveloping her in its warmth. She felt burned.

“I know you’re right, Darla. We shouldn’t. It’s not the smart thing to do. It’s not the safe thing to do, but I need you. Every time I see you. I want you. In the office, in the car, in a restaurant. It doesn’t matter who I’m with, what I’m talking about. If I could, I would spread you out and worship you till we both fell out from exhaustion.”

Darla swallowed visibly, jumping as Angel wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Stop.” She uttered weakly.

“You don’t want me to stop.” Angel’s breath was hot on her neck. His hands clutched at her skirt, inching it up and over her thighs.

While that was true, there was the tiny voice within her head screaming “danger, dru’s on her way down, danger”.

“Angel, stop.. please.” Darla pushed his hands away, leaning heavily against the desk. Her breath was coming in pants, and her mind was reeling, trying to revive oxygen-deprived brain cells.

The woman’s a goddamn goddess and doesn’t realize it. The wisp of satin covering her mound was visible between thighs toned by years of aerobics and track. Her blouse was askew, a red lacy bra visible.

“I won’t apologize for wanting you, for needing you here”, a wave of his hand encompassed the room, his world, “and here”, that same hand over his heart. “I’ve been a fool. You asked me if I could give up all I’ve worked for to be with you and I hesitated.”

Darla remembered the conversation well. Remembered the pain that sliced through her heart, settled like a rotten apple in the pit of her stomach.

Brown eyes, brooding eyes that were far more intelligent than people gave him credit for, held her gaze.

“I shouldn’t have hesitated…because since I saw you, really saw you, I’ve known.”

“Stop.” Darla implored, her hand over his mouth, over lips that were hot and moist, and desperately wanted to be pressed to her body. This was happening too fast. She hadn’t… She didn’t dare expect this, and now she was scared shitless of what he was going to say.

“I’m scared.” She admitted.

“Me too.” He mumbled against her fingers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her mind was reeling. She’d known there was more between them, though the reality of them was too damn much. How dare they fool around under her roof. Did they have no shame? Of course, she didn’t count her trysts with Parker as being in the same category. That had been business and nothing else. What she’d witnessed had emotion, and that wasn’t right.

Thankfully, the kitchen was empty when she stormed in. Where in the hell did they keep the big knives? Where was Maria when she needed her? Dru rifled through the drawers, finally coming upon the large cutting knives. She admired her blurry reflection for a moment before selecting the king of the cutlery realm, the butcher knife. It would do nicely.

As she stalked back to the living room, she thought out her defense. A woman scorned, she’d snapped upon seeing her husband en flagrante with his campaign manager. With her past history and Dr. Dick as her witness, she’d get off with diminished capacity. Hell, she might even get a medal for ridding the world of another womanizer.

Deciding surprise was on her side, she flung the door open, only to find… nothing. Nada. No partially clothed husband. No dye-job blonde with her legs around said husband. She found nothing. The knife was pressed into the dip of her back as she stepped inside the room.

Her nostrils flared, trying to sniff out the scent of recent sex. Going from past memory, Dru had to admit Liam hadn’t had enough time to blow his nut. Even his quickies usually took at least twenty minutes, and she’d only been gone for five. Fine. She huffed.

“Did Fletcher get a hold of you?” She asked innocently. The surprised look that passed between Darla and Liam gave Dru enough time to whip the knife in front of her. It was shielded completely from their view, allowing her to hide it behind a potted fern.

“Umm…yes, I spoke to him, Dru. We’re meeting day after tomorrow.” If there was one person on this earth who knew and understood Dru, it was Angel, and her off-hand remark about Fletcher was more than just an innocent question.

“Good. You’ll need him on your side if you want to push forth your agenda.” Dru fought to keep the smile off her face. They were jumpy. She found she rather liked that. It gave her a little thrill to be able to shake their foundations. If they thought this was bad, they’d seen nothing yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was not wired for patience. Sitting around waiting for Angel and Dru to arrive was about as exciting as watching paint dry, and she was talking the bland, eggshell color too. But like her mom always said, “there’s no point dwelling on the negatives, you have to accentuate the positives”. And she would. She just needed to remember the positives outweighed the big honking negative of not being around to snuggle with Spike this morning. She allowed herself the pout to end all pouts and a grumble that was not necessarily due to hunger to spill from her lips. Okay, enough with the pity party, Summers. Time for the Stepford response. Everything’s great. Everything’s good. You’re not really waiting for your boyfriend’s ex and her husband to arrive. You’re covering the news for Newsweek or Time. Yeah, that’s right. That’s what you’re doing.

Whatever.

She knew she was lucky to get the assignment as the political junket was like a country club. You had to pay your dues to get inside. Someone up there really liked her and her work. At least, she hoped that was it, and not some lame ass plan of Dru’s to beat her down.

8:08

“Representative Cavanaugh and his wife will be arriving shortly. They thank you in advance for your patience.”

Yeah, whatever. Buffy smiled at a photographer from the LA Times as she walked over to the doors of the cafeteria. When she saw him turn as if to follow her, she quickly pulled out her phone. She thought about calling Spike to see how his morning was going, but opted not to. She didn’t want to smother him, but she did want to talk about his mother. So instead, she was going to call her mother.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Buffy, what a pleasant surprise. Didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you until later.” Joyce laid her pen down on her desk, picking up her cup of cooling coffee instead.

“Well, the almighty Cavanaughs are late to their own party. We’re just sitting around picking our noses.”

“That’s attractive, dear. Have you spoken to Dawn?”

Buffy shook her head. “Nope. I knew it was going to be a long conversation, so I thought I’d save it for tonight. Why? Did something happen? Did they have sex?”

Joyce laughed nervously. God, she hoped not. Dawn was her baby, and she’d like for her to stay that way for a little bit longer. It would make living with Hank so much easier. “She didn’t say, but I take it the weekend was a success. She was practically bouncing off the ceiling when she called last night. Do you think she did?”

Buffy was quick with her answer. “No, I don’t. Dawn’s mind is pretty much set on waiting until the right time. She’ll come to us when she’s ready, Mom.”

Joyce pressed her hand against her cheek. Her daughters were amazing women. There wasn’t much more she could do to help them in their growth. “I know. So how are you? Not too tired, I hope.”

“Not tired at all. Bored. Mom… I need to talk to you about Spike.”

Joyce had been expecting this, from either Buffy or Spike. Rupert had been very forthcoming about his past with Spike’s mother. Joyce had felt sympathetic to all parties involved. She remembered being young and foolish, and didn't know if she wouldn’t have made the same choice Sandrine had. She’d been lucky and no pregnancies had resulted from her youthful indiscretions, though. She had met Hank her freshman year and they’d been together ever since.

“I was at the Magic Box yesterday. Is this about the phone call?”

Buffy sagged with relief. “How do I help him?”

Joyce had pondered that question all day, but then, she remembered a bit of wisdom her father had given her upon the death of Hank’s mother. “Listen to him, Joycie. He’ll need to talk about her now more than ever.” It would seem that advice was universal.

“Listen to him, Buffy. Just listen and love him.”

“I can do that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wasn’t there a saying about kids being able to spot a faker? If that was so, why weren’t these kids running, screaming for the hills?

“I know I would if I had the dragon lady breathing down my neck.”

Wonder if the parents knew it would be Show and Tell w/ a psycho when they sent the kiddies off to school today. Buffy felt Dru’s gaze brush over her, pause, as if sizing her up, and then move on.

“Give it a rest, Drucilla.” She muttered.

For god’s sake, the woman acted as if she were the wounded party, instead of Spike. And that right there was a testament to the insanity that was Dru.

Because if her eyes didn’t deceive her, and they rarely did, unless she was deluding herself, Dru wouldn’t see the end of the year as the senator’s wife. Buffy tried to summon pity, but she wasn’t that noble or talented. Dru had brought all of this on herself with her lies and deceptions. If the same was happening to her now, it was all in the name of karma.

Buffy shifted on her kneepad, angling to get a better shot of Angel reading to the children. Buffy could see the attraction. Tall, broad shouldered with soft brown eyes. Not what she would normally go for, Riley Finn notwithstanding. Nope, she liked her men lean, toned, blue-eyed, English accented… Okay, drifting. In short, Angel Cavanaugh wasn’t her type.

Druscilla made a nice statue, pale and thin, standing at Angel’s side, looking for all the world like an attentive wife. You’d almost believe she was human. Almost. The breathing thing was a nice touch for the queen of the living dead.

“The End.” Angel closed the book with a flourish, gracing the kids with that devastating full mouth grin of his. They ate it up, and a small part of Buffy thought it was cute too. It in no way compared to the tongue-nipping, sin in a bottle grin of Spike’s, but she could see why it got Angel the girls and the votes.

She stood slowly, trying not to go into heaven reaching, toes curling stretch. Damn. Being on her knees usually wasn’t this painful. That might also have to do with who she was doing, though.

“Representative Cavanaugh will be available for 5 minutes only for questions, then we have to let the kids have their cafeteria back.”

Buffy gave Darla Hansen a quick look over. She didn’t have fake written over her. She had an open, honest face and a killer wardrobe. Any woman who could pair Jimmy Choo slingbacks with a Gucci skirt was her kinda gal. Nope, she seemed like a pretty decent gal, and Buffy had to wonder what brought her into the freak show that was politics.

Probably the same reasons she took up photography and Spike writing, it was fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Faith turned under the showerhead, rinsing her hair under the stream of warm water. A sigh escaped her lips. A sigh that quickly turned to a moan as her thighs protested that small movement. She smiled. Her mind going back three hours to Lorne kissing her goodbye. He had to be at work early for a meeting, and didn’t want to risk missing it. Faith had been too sleepy, too sated to do more than mmm into his mouth. She should have protested, insisting he stay for the usual morning after routine, but they were adults and while that was cute, she didn’t need it.

Faith stretched her arms above her head, aroused by the warmth of the water, the heat of her memories. She felt renewed. Who knew a good, sound fuck was all she needed to feel better about herself. Even as that thought passed through her mind, the analytical part of her brain was piping up with a “hey now”. It was wrong to categorize Lorne like that. What they’d done last night and early this morning was more than fucking. It was an intimate act between two people involved with one another. That’s right, people. I’ve got a boyfriend.

Taking the towel in hand, she patted her hair, deciding to let it air dry. The urge to call up Lee and squeal was stamped down. If she didn’t get her butt in gear, she was going to miss her nine o’clock. The sight of a police car stopped outside drew her attention to the partially opened window. They’d slept with the window open, the breeze a welcomed relief and addition to their nocturnal excursion.

Water rained down onto her shoulder as she cocked her head to the side to fluff it dry. Her mind was preoccupied with Lorne and work, but a part of her brain still functioned, and it recognized the man and the car parked dangerously close to her home.

“Oh god.” Her hand covered her mouth, silencing the scream that lay on the tip of her tongue.

Richard. Parked directly outside her bedroom window.

If she could see him clearly, he could see just as well inside her bedroom. Oh, god, she was going to be sick. How long had he been watching her? She felt violated, exposed as she stumbled back, tripping over the edge of her bed. She sat, sprawled on her butt, scared shitless.

She debated calling the condo association and alerting them to his presence, to ensure the cops would be called each and every time he pulled a stunt like this. There was nothing to stop her from alerting the authorities, nothing except a healthy dose of guilt.

Though, as she sat there, a well of fury rose up in her breast, stamping out the revulsion she previously felt. How long was she meant to suffer for her mistake? How long was Richard going to hold her to a promise made when she thought herself in love with him?

She heard the muffled jingle of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony and smiled. She picked herself up, grab her robe, knotting it tightly and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Hey.”

“Hello, gorgeous. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I did. Wish you’d been here to scrub my back, though.” She put as much of a pout in her words as possible. Thoughts of what was going on outside the confines of her home were nearly forgotten. Shoved away to the farthest corner of her mind until she could bear to examine them.

“Don’t tempt me.” Lorne leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the desk. The shine from his shoes gave him the opportunity to check out his smile and hair, two of his weapons in the fight against mediocrity.

“Just finished a god-awful meeting, and all I could think about was you. I was crazy to leave you this morning.”

Faith nodded because she was thinking the exact same thing. “They’ll be other mornings.”

“Oh, most definitely. My new addiction is you, Dr. Morgan. Want a checkup tonight?”

“Yes.” Desperately. She thought. I want to lose myself in your scent, your touch.

“Good. Why don’t we try my place tonight? I’ll do the cooking, and then we’ll see how the evening progresses.” Although, she couldn’t see it, Lorne waggled his eyebrows. He figured if he was going to be seductive over the phone, Faith deserved the full treatment. Lorne leaned forward as the husky sound of her laughter captured his attention. That, and he saw his archenemies strolling towards his open door. Damnit.

“I’ve got to run, but I have another break around lunch. I’ll ring you up then, Sweetcheeks.”

The endearment was totally inappropriate for a woman her age and profession, or so some would say, but it left her feeling cherished, and she needed that. Needed Lorne’s pure and lustful affection to push away what was becoming increasing obvious: Richard’s sick obsession.

“Catch ya, later. Lorne?” She asked breathlessly.

“Yes.”

“Last night was wonderful.”

Lorne grinned, not only out of supreme male pride, but also because he could completely relate to what she was feeling. “I can honestly say you rocked my world.

Faith felt a warm flush wash over her body. “Thanks.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It hadn’t been his intention to fall asleep outside Faith’s place. He only stayed to make sure HE left, but when it became obvious the dinner was turning into a sleepover, Richard moved the car to the backside of the complex. And watched as Faith and her new lover barely made it to the bedroom. He’d been mesmerized by the sound of laughter coming from Faith as they rolled around on the bed. The first time had been quick. They were still clothed in their tops. How barbaric, Richard thought, even though, his stomach had clenched pleasantly at the sight of them. He’d been a willing voyeur. His view afforded him the delightful sight of Faith, sweaty and glowing, wrapped around the lean waist of her new lover. It was a bewitching sight. One he would not soon forget. For it was one thing to relieve his moments with Faith, but quite another to see her welcome a new lover into her honeyed depths.

He stayed hidden in the shadows until the lovers exhausted themselves. Then dragged his tired, stiff body back to the car. He only intended to close his eyes for a moment to relive the sight of Faith on her knees, her breasts, heavy and full, bouncing lightly against her chest with each lunge, but he’d fallen asleep. And until the moment when the tap of a baton against his window had awaken him, he’d been mired in a dream of such clarity, even now, he felt his pants tighten across his dick.

Because he didn’t have the look of a drunk sleeping off a bender or a druggie coming down off a fix, the officer let him go with a warning. Richard was only half-listening to what was being said, intent of hiding behind the officer, lest Faith should observer him from her window.

No soon than the officer turned to walk away, Richard had the car started and was pulling off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Veruza Oz listened with no small amount of disbelief at the story being told to her. Add to the fact the man telling the story dared to smoke in her office, and she was about ready to call the federal marshals to boot his ass out the door. The only thing keeping her in her seat was the names he tossed about.

“What do you want?” She asked, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Me?” Parker asked, attempting an innocent look and failing miserably. “I’m doing my civic duty by bringing a murderer to justice.”

A thin, dark brow rose in amusement. “Cut the bullshit. You’re here. Your lawyer is here. And you’ve brought evidence. So I ask again and for the last time. What. Do. You. Want?”

Parker wiggled his brows. He licked his lips, his eyes undressing the woman sitting behind the desk.

Veruza was used to being leered at, and wasn’t in the least bit impressed with Parker Abrahms.

“My client,” Edgar spoke up, “would like the federal racketeering charges dropped. Barring that, he would like to negotiate a reduction in sentence, maybe to time served with probation.”

Veruza laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. She’d have to be the head of the Gambino crime family for me to risk my job on that kind of deal.”

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty, Veruza. PR like this doesn’t come around everyday. You bag this fish, and the right people will start to take notice.” Edgar could wheel and deal with the best snake-oil salesman, and dealing with this young, ambitious federal prosecutor was no different.

Veruza ignored Edgar, instead giving Parker her full attention. He was smug, and she could easily dismiss him because of that, but there was also no mistaking the hard, cold edge he exuded. Make no mistake. Parker was a killer. Her counterparts hadn’t been able to successfully pin a charge on him, but she knew. She could see it in his eyes. If he didn’t have charges hanging over his head, those two women and Rayne would be dead. And she’d be powerless to prove he’d done it.

“You’re coming to me rather late in the game.”

“What can I say?” Parker shrugged, leaning forward to put his cigarette out in her coffee cup. Veruza gave him a weary smile, knowing there was nothing she could do to him. They needed each other, and while she really wanted to knock that smug smile off his face, Buffy Summers and Darla Henson needed him out on the street.

“Parker!” Edgar whispered tersely. Parker turned his head lazily to the side. Edgar gave him a look that clearly said ‘quit fucking around’. A slight nod was all the acknowledgment Parker gave Edgar.

“Look, Ms. Oz, the bitch is crazy, but she’s not stupid. She kept her plans to herself. She only let me in on them a few days ago. And she patted me down for a recorder. But I was smarter.” He told her, grinning.

“When are you suppose to meet her?” Veruza pulled a notepad out from under a stack of folders.

“Tonight at the campaign offices before she kills Rayne.” Parker patted gently on Rayne’s arm with false sympathy.

“Doesn’t leave us much time.” Veruza muttered under her breath. “You’ll have to wear a wire.”

“I’m not wearing a fucking wire. She’ll kill me if she sniffs it out.”

”Then make sure you keep your clothes on. Then she won’t have anything to sniff.” Veruza pressed her hand over the receiver. “Let’s be honest, shall we? Your evidence won’t survive an evidentiary hearing. You want a deal. I want an agent to verify what’s being said.”

She heard the clicks as extensions were being made.

“Hold for the Special Agent-in-charge.” The operator chimed in. “Agent Digler, Ms. Oz is on the line.”

“Yes, I’m going to need a team pulled together ASAP. Murder for hire at Representative Cavanaugh’s office. Tonight.” She answered tersely. “I don’t think he’ll be able to put off the contractor. She wants it to coincide with the election.”

Edgar shifted in his seat, uncomfortable and wary. He’d suspected Dru’s plans, but until Parker confirmed them, not even Edgar had thought she’d go this far. Maybe have them beat up, threatened, but nothing so far as murder, and especially not his own. Hadn’t he given Dru everything she’d wanted over the years? At one point, he’d even packed his bags, cashed out some stocks to take her away to Costa Rica. All to bask in her pale glory. But that hadn’t been enough for her. Dru had to have it all.

“Cunt.” He grumbled, glaring as Parker’s chuckle reached his ears. If Ethan didn’t have a tight hold on Parker’s leash, he had no doubt, he’d be dead by the end of the night. But when you rolled in the muck with criminals like Parker and his ilk, you learned a few tricks of the trade. He had recordings. He had documents. If anything happened to him, and it remotely stank of Parker Abrahms, there wasn’t enough money in the world to keep Parker from the needle. Parker knew it. Edgar knew it. That knowledge leant an air of grudging trust to their partnership.

Parker stretched out, linking his fingers together over his stomach. He was satisfied. Everything was going according to plan. He’d have his “get out of jail free” card. He didn’t particularly care what happened to Druscilla. There were no warm fuzzies, only a warm pussy. And those were a dime a dozen.

“They are here in my office. Yes, I’ll have them escorted down. Thanks and keep me informed.” Veruza stood as she hung up the phone. “These marshals will escort you to the FBI office.” She told them, opening the door. Two young men stood at attention.

“What about our deal? I told you I wouldn’t do or say anything without a deal. In writing.”

Veruza’s smile was cold as ice. “There are people I have to answer to. You’ll have your deal or something we can all live with by the time you finish with the agents. In or Out? But know this. We have enough information to convict you if anything should happen to Ms. Henson or Ms. Summers. See you soon, sport.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike sighed, rolling his eyes as he felt Cordy’s on him.

“Cordelia.” Blue eyes gazed lazily at her.

Cordelia groaned, caught up in his amused stare. “Sorry. Sorry. Ignore me.” She said, flushing. She wasn’t sorry, though. She was turning into her mother.

“Pet, I’m fine.” He said, linking his fingers with hers. “Not going to wilt away. Not going to hole up in the basement of the high school and rant and rave like a crazy loon.”

“I know.” She agreed, running her fingers through his hair. For a man who swore he wasn’t channeling Ryan Seacrest, he had the best hair. “Okay,” she said, standing up, “if you’re going for the stoic English demeanor, I’m going to start making calls. The festival isn’t going to organize itself.”

“Do you still want Ghost to play a set or two?”

Cordy leaned against the bar, regarding Spike. “Are you sure you still have a band?”

From the look on Spike’s face, he didn’t.

“What have you heard?” Spike’s voice was soft and even, which was deceptive, because Cordy could see the tenseness in his hands.

“Well,” Cordy said, not wanting to betray the rest of the band. They’d come to her not only as their de facto manager, but also as a friend. “You’ve got a lot going on in your life, Spike. When you started the band that whole disaster with Dru had just happened, you were branching out into your writing. Things were different. I just wonder if it’s still the outlet you need.”

 Cordy resisted laughing when she saw his eyebrow arch into his hairline. Bingo. Knew he was pissed.

“You were wondering or the guys were? I haven’t missed a practice. I’m still writing songs. What more do they want me to do?” What was he feeling? Offended for one. Guilty for another.

“Hey, you are not allowed to get pissy. This is me. The one who can read you like an open book. Besides, Buffy, of course.” She conceded, shaking her head. “You’re here with the band, but your heart, your soul is with Buffy and your family and the book and everything else that goes on in William world. And that’s okay. The guys understand. They aren’t angry. They just want to know if you want to continue. In end the decision is yours.” She placed a soft kiss to his forehead and walked off leaving a pensive Spike to ponder his next life choice alone.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel glared as Dru laid her head on his shoulder. He desperately wanted to shove her away, but she was in some kind of touchy-feely zone. The photogs were gone, yet she continued to cling to him like a blood-sucking leech.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Angel whispered harshly in her ear. “Why are you all on me?”

Dru reached up, placing her hand on his cheek. How she wanted to rake her nails down his face, blooding him. “I’m doing all of this for you, Liam. The least you can do is play along. If we’re going to convince people we’re the perfect couple, we have to start with our own staff.” Though she was speaking to Angel, the comment was definitely directed at Darla. Especially when her black eyes glared harshly at the blonde.

“They’ll go out and spread the word. You know how family oriented the party is. So smile nicely. Don’t worry, your little bitch will still want you with my scent on you.” With that said, she grabbed him and pulled his lips hard on hers. She bit his lip, nearly drawing blood before pushing him back. The force wasn’t enough to stagger Angel, but his eyes did burn, but not in lust as they once would have for Dru.

“I hope you got what you wanted from that little display, Dru. Because if you ever do anything like that to me in public…”

“You’ll what, Angel? You’ll do what? Hit me? Spank me? Swear at me? You’ll do nothing, Liam. You’ll play along because that is what’s expected.” He wants to kill me. Dru mused. She could see it in his eyes. If they were alone, she’d be dead. Or at least one of them would be. She wasn’t as easy to get rid of as he thought.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She wondered absently, as she stepped away from him, her blood boiling with a mixture of lust and hate, what pissed him off more? The fact she touched him and he reacted or that his beloved Darla saw it? Didn’t matter. If blood could still rush to his cock for her, she’d use it to her advantage.

Darla had watched and felt her stomach churn. They were a striking couple, dark and dangerous. She could feel, could sense the emotion between them. She coughed delicately.

“Excuse me, Angel, you have a call from the Governor.”

Angel started, surprised by her appearance. He hoped she didn’t witness what had occurred, but from the way she avoided his eyes, she knew she had. Fuck.

“Darla, a word please.” Dru called after her. She motioned for her to follow, knowing it would irritate Darla to no end.

Darla wanted to tell Dru to shove it where the sun don’t shine, but she didn’t. In front of the press, Dru was to be treated with respect and deference. Darla wouldn’t make waves, not now. Not when they were so close to being out of each other’s lives.

“Yes, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

Dru examined her nails. In her mind, she could see Darla, her blonde hair streaked with congealed blood, lying motionless on the floor. The thought of what was to come cheered her. Soon, Darla would know who was the boss.

“What is it, Dru?” Darla asked impatiently.

Dru held her tongue. She’d give her that one. Isn’t that what they did to the condemned? Gave them their hearts’ desire before they killed them.

“Liam and I have been invited to dinner at my parents’ club. We won’t be able to assist you with the phone roundtable. I assume you’ll be able to handle it on your own? That is why we’re paying you so much? For your… skills?”

Darla tilted her head, wondering why she didn’t put her fist through Dru’s face. Not worth it. She had to remind herself. Not worth it. You’ve got Angel’s heart. She’s only got his name.

“Yes, you are paying me quite a bit for my skills. They are second to none.” She resisted the urge to kiss Dru Teresa Russell/Black Widow-style.

It cost Dru to keep her joy hidden. “You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t doubt your dedication to my husband. That dedication will take you places.” Dru wagged her finger in Darla’s face. “Oh, the places you’ll go.”

Darla stumbled as dread gut punched her. What had Dru done? She knew that look of satisfaction. It spoke volumes. The last time she’d seen it, Buffy Summers’ studio had been vandalized. Frightened for the woman, Darla scanned the thinning crowd for her. Darla spotted her, calmly packing up her.

“Is there a problem?” Angel asked, coming up behind her.

Darla smiled, then caught herself. People were watching. There’d be time enough for them later. “No. Just Dru being Dru. She’s up to something, so be careful. If she tells you, she’s pregnant, don’t believe it.”

Angel rested his hand lightly on her back, needing the contact with her to get him through the rest of the day. “I wouldn’t put it past her to spin a tale. I’ll be on guard.”

Darla nodded, stepping away when the warmth of his hand threatened to shatter her shaky control on her emotions. Their morning kiss, grope for better word, was still fresh in her mind, on her body. His words afterwards were cloistered securely in her heart, where they would remain until she could take them out and revel in them.

“She told me about the dinner tonight. Not exactly the best time for a family get-together, but”, she said, seeing the rebuttal in Angel’s eyes, “it’s important. The Hayes are influential.”

“Saxby snaps his fingers and off we run.” There was no bitterness. There were things one had to do to succeed, and he’d do it. Even if his heart burned to continue what had occurred in the library. “

“Let’s wrap this up and head on to the factory. We’ve been lucky so far with Dru and Buffy. Let’s not tempt fate.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the moment, Dru was not on Buffy’s radar. Tara and Lorne were.

“Tara… calm down. I’m sure there’s a very good reason he didn’t call and give you a blow by blow account of last night.” Buffy juggled the phone and her bags, cursing the fact she’d left her earpiece on the front seat.

Tara shook her head, tsking softly into the receiver. “Buffy, this is Lorne. He didn’t call to say anything. Last we heard he was going over there for dinner. I called him this morning and he brushed me off. Me? I’m only the girl who gave him his first hummer in the backseat of his daddy’s Buick. The least he could do would be to share the details with me.”

“When did Willow leave?” Buffy asked. She knew Tara’s horny babble, and this wasn’t it. This was “my soulmate is gone and I’m having to sleep alone. Or with Xander in Tara’s case.

“This morning on the red eye. She won’t be back until Wednesday. I hate this. I fucking hate this.” Tara was near to tears, which was not only a by-product of Willow’s absence, but also PMS if the calendar was correct. “And don’t you dare tell me she’ll be home soon.”

“Isn’t that what you told me when Spike was on tour?” Buffy teased lightly.

Tara snickered. “Bitch. I’m in pain and you’re throwing my words back in my face.” There was no heat to her words.

“Yeah, yeah… but it got you to stop moping.” Buffy parried back.

“That it did.” Tara sniffed. “Sigh… I hate when she goes away.”

“I know.” The memory of that first separation from Spike still smarted. Here she thought she was independence girl, and four days without him, without being able to lay her hands and eyes on him, and she was ready for the nut house.

"So, do you need me to come over tonight and snuggle?" Buffy asked, grinning.

"No, I have Xander. He's quite handy for stuff like that."

"Good. I need to be home for Spike tonight."

"As opposed to any other night?" Tara quipped, tying a bow around the bouquet she was working on.

"Yeah, he's having some family issues. We'll talk okay. I've got to run."

Tara said goodbye, trying to shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Her call had a two-fold purpose: To make sure Buffy was alright and to whine about Willow. Mission accomplished, she supposed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s avoiding me.

Giles pushed the thought away for the tenth time that day. But unbidden, it returned, settling in the back of his conscience till he was jumping every time the phone rang.

“He’ll call.” Anya alternated between rubbing her aching back and Giles’.

He thought about denying it, but from the look in her eyes, he knew she’d know him for a liar. “Just thought he’d need me. That he’d want to talk.”

Anya turned, easing between Giles and the counter he was leaning on. It was a tight squeeze, but she needed her husband’s undivided attention. She needed him to remember a few things too.

“Did I ever tell you I almost didn’t show up for our first date?”

If Giles’ eyes bulged any bigger, they’d be stuck like that. “What…why? Was it my age?”

Anya laughed, her hands stroking the crisp front of his shirt. “No, it wasn’t your age. You are a very sexy and virile man. No, I was worried. Even called my mother.”

Giles cupped her face gently, raising her chin so he could brush a kiss across her lips.

“I was insanely jealous of your relationship with Spike. You were so close. I didn’t think I stood a chance with you, and I very much wanted a chance with you, Rupert Giles.”

Giles chuckled. “I was terribly afraid you wouldn’t want to date a man with a grown son.”

It was now Anya’s turn to chuckle. “Are you kidding me? I wanted to jump you the first night I met you, but Spike was there. And he’ll always be there.”

Her brow quirked, staring into Giles’ eyes until the dawn of realization entered them.

He bowed his head till their foreheads touched. “You’re an amazing woman Anya Jenkins Giles. I’m a very lucky man.”

Spike stood hidden in the back room, reluctant to interrupt the moment, but also heartened by what he’d witnessed. Anya was envious of him, but right now, he'd give anything to have her life. To have everything calm and controlled, to know from one night to the next what was going to happen.

“Did you… is that how it feels?” Giles asked, his expression one of wonder.

Anya nodded. “Yes. She’s got great legs. Like her Momma.”

Giles grinned as he ran his hand over her stomach, around her back to stroke her bum. “You have great legs.”

Spike figured he was about to be scarred for the second time today, so he raced over to the door, slamming it extra hard for appearances.

“Dad!” He called out. Just to give them that extra bit of warning.

Giles was feeling very emotional. He took a deep breath before calling out to Spike. “William, you should feel this!”

“Yes, Spike, feel my belly.” Anya gestured him over, patting her belly. “Go ahead. I want you to because in a few months, when I’m not feeling as beautiful as I do now, I won’t want anyone other than your father to see me.”

Spike stifled a snort of laughter. He winked at his dad as he placed his hands on Anya’s stomach. She grasped them lightly, positioning them to the place where she knew her child’s feet lay. “Give her a minute. She may be worn her out.”

Standing next to his dad, seeing the look of contentment and undeniable pride in his eyes, it suddenly all made sense. Everything. All the questions in his mind about his mother, the band, even his book, were clear as cut glass. And he smiled.

“Have you decided on a name yet? Guinevere is a good English name, and she was a queen, no less.”

“She was a Druid. Didn’t they sacrifice babies?” Anya commented, scrunching her nose up in disgust. “Besides, I don’t want people making fun of her come school. I want her to hold her head up high.”

“Saffron?” Spike queried, his eyes widening as his sister let her opinion be known. “I think she likes it.”

Giles shook his head, joining Anya at the table.

“It’s either that or gas.” Anya squeezed Spike’s hand affectionately. When he looked at her, there was a look in her eyes that conveyed her feelings. She’d be there for him and his father, no matter what Spike decided.

“I know.” He whispered, bending down to kiss her lightly on the brow. “So did Gram have any suggestions?”

“I believe I speak for Mother when I say “no Saffron”. I’m dreadfully afraid people will call her Spicy Giles or some other rubbish.”

As his head tipped back to laugh, Spike caught his father’s gaze on him. Blue eyes met blue eyes, and a quiet understanding passed from father to son. Now wasn’t the time to discuss the past. There was the future, a new life to be born into their family. This was a happy time. One to be savored.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air smelled of motor oil and sweat. While the thought of dozens of men covered in oil and sweat got her off, her nose was too delicate and too discerning to ever mistaken the sweet coconut smell of tanning oil with Havoline 10W30.

Dru sniffed, taking a step back from the offensive smells. She couldn’t go far, trapped as she was on the platform.

“Dru, you’re scowling.” Angel informed her, all the while smiling and shaking the hands of factory workers as they filed by.

She leaned in, deliberately bussing his cheek as she whispered. “It reeks in here, and if your nose wasn’t so far up Darla’s ass, you’d noticed the smell.” She blushed on cue, pressing her hand to her warmed cheek as a woman passing by giggled at the sight of the cuddling couple.

Oh, it would make his year to toss her onto the metal press behind him. Instead, he decided the high road and some distance were best for all of them at this point. Leaning over to his right, he spoke loudly into the plant foreman’s ear. “Is it possible to get a tour before we leave? My grandfather used to work a press in Ireland.”

With a cold hard glare at Dru that was hidden from everyone but her view, Angel jumped down off the platform to the cheers and claps of those workers around them.

Dru watched, actually intrigued and somewhat turned on by the show of animosity. It was the most emotion he’d shown towards her in months, and she eagerly looked forward to a time when they would take out their aggressions in bed.

Speaking of aggressive men… “How much longer till our party?”

Parker shifted uncomfortably, batting away the hands that were roaming over him, attaching hidden microphones to his person.

“There’s been a problem.”

“A problem? What kind of a problem?” Dru gritted harshly. She waved off the proffered assistance off the stage and walked briskly outside.

“Parker? What problem? Goddamnit, if you’ve ruined this for me, I’ll have your balls for dinner.”

“Calm down, Mrs. Cavanaugh. It’s nothing big. The package wasn’t delivered to Ms. Summers’ house. No one was home to sign for it.” In reality, the FBI had the package and would be redelivering it when Buffy arrived home later.

The rage took Dru’s breath away. The thought of those insipid blondes escaping her plan made her weak in the knees. It was unacceptable. It was unthinkable.

“I don’t call that nothing. How are we supposed to set-up Ethan if the pictures aren’t delivered until tomorrow? The plan hinges on that mouse receiving them.”

Parker sighed. Dealing with a lunatic was hard, patient work, and he was rapidly losing his patience. Not even the thought of banging her again could cheer him up. Maybe a nice vacation to Maine was in order.

“She’ll get the pictures later today. I called and pretendrd to be your bookworm lover. Told them I was in the shower when the driver came by. They assured me it was no trouble to drop the package off as he completed his route for the day. Are you happy now? Can your bitch go back to sleep now?”

Parker smiled as he heard her growl. The sound wasn’t much different from the sound she made when she came. The technician at dick level looked up, an amused gleam in her eye.

“Tread carefully, Mr. Parker.”

Dru eyed Buffy as she exited the factory, her tiny body weighed down by the cameras she carried. “I left a message earlier today with Ethan. Told him it was imperative we meet tonight. He agreed. I can’t wait. Perfect dessert after the main course.”

Parker glanced across the room to where Rayne sat, hunched over the plea agreements. “Just don’t come prematurely. He has to be alive after their deaths. If you kill him too soon, the gig is up, and the police will be investigating his death.” The Feds hadn’t clued him on the specifics of Ethan’s death, but he was certain it would be just as gory as those planned for the ladies.

“Aren’t you joining me?” Dru asked petulantly. She had visions of them screwing over Ethan’s dead body. There was something poetic about screwing over someone she’d once bedded with his replacement… of sorts.

“Of course. Maybe we can get something to eat before we hit Ethan’s. I’m usually famished after a job.”

“Take out can be arranged.” Dru drawled, her nail trailing the open collar of her blouse. “You don’t mind eating in the car do you. I find it to be quite the thrill.”

Parker laughed, genuinely aroused by the seemingly innocent talk. “No, don’t mind at all. I’m very flexible about where I take my nourishment.”

Unfortunately, this rather delightful conversation had to come to an end, as Darla and Liam exited the building.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot of Dunkin Donuts around 8. That should give you enough time to complete your tasks, correct?”

“They’ll be dead and starting to cool by the time you pull up.”

Dru smiled as she closed the phone, tucking it into her pocket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Darla felt a shiver race down her spine as Dru slid inside the car. She looked around as if searching for the answer to the riddle that was Dru’s good mood.

“Something wrong?” Angel asked, his eyes searching the same expanse and coming up lacking.

Darla shook her, feeling foolish for jumping to conclusions, for letting Dru rattle her. “Nope. Just thinking.”

“About us, I hope.” Angel whispered, grinning cheekily at her as she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, about us winning this campaign.” Darla replied, laughing as she stepped inside.

I’ll have the last laugh tonight. Dru happily mused as the door slammed, shutting the three into the black stretch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike leaned back, enjoying the nicotine filling his lungs. He didn’t advocate smoking, but to those nicotine-addicted like himself, this was a tiny slice of nirvana.

Of course, Buffy was going to scalp his balls for puffing up in the house, but he figured he was allowed a little leeway with what was going on in his life.

“Hello.” He said, blowing rings out as he did.

“If I ever tell you I want to go the news route, just pinch me because I’m obviously dreaming.” Buffy held the phone up to her ear with one hand and shoved her camera bags into the storage with the other.

“Pinch Buffy’s bum. Check.” Spike grinned into the phone as Buffy’s laughed.

“You have a one track mind, Mr. Giles.”

“I’ve been deprived of seeing your delicious body for over 10 hours, luv, give a bloke a break. All I can think of is you and me and the birds and the bees.”

Buffy felt her breath catch. Yummy thoughts, especially after the long day that she’d had. Witnessing first hand the disaster that was the Cavanaughs’ marriage was painful, even for someone who desperately wished ill on both of them for hurting Spike.

“I’ve got one more stop to make, then I’m all yours. And I mean all yours. I’ll see you in… 45 minutes. Hopefully less if I do an end run around Perry’s mouth. That didn’t sound good, did it?”

Spike chuckled. “No, it didn’t, but I know my tongue’s the only one tasting you, Ms. Summers.”

“Yes, it is, and if you’re lucky, and me too, then you’ll be tasting me in less than an hour. So bye!” Buffy knew she was blushing, but hey.. her guy was a master cunnilingus and it had been 30 days since they’d played.

“Buffy…wait.”

Buffy paused in the process of closing the door. “Okay, but the longer you keep me on the phone, the longer it’ll be before you have Buffy Cream Pie.”

Spike smirked. “I believe you’re open for business most days of the week, luv. I…I’m not in the best of moods. Just wanted to warn you.”

“Well, you’ve seen me PMS, and haven’t gone running for the hills. I’ll take you no matter your mood, so no warnings are necessary.” Buffy nibbled her lip, waiting.

Spike chuckled. Yeah, Buffy and PMS was not pretty, but he’d survived. His heart did the usual flippity flop whenever he thought of Buffy. “I love you.”

Buffy was caught off guard by the declaration, but didn’t hesitate to tell him the same. “Me too.”

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