Buyer Beware by Just_Sue

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Chapter 15

Information is power.

Willy, once called The Snitch, had used this as his motto for many years. He’d traded in information, gossip and whispers to further his standing in the demon community and make a bit of bunce on the side. But times had changed and Willy, never one to let the grass grow under his feet, had changed right along with them. Adaptability was high on his list of desired attributes, right alongside survival.

When his usual clientele had started to disappear with the advent of the Initiative, Willy had quickly made preparations to move his establishment to a safer location. Surprising even himself, he’d also been instrumental in encouraging the moderate demon element to put aside traditional differences and form a council. So far it had proved a benefit to all the resident Hellmouth demons, and to more than one transient being fleeing before the regular patrols. The Hellmouth Council had been careful to only assist those who would not bring down the Slayer’s wrath upon them; no vamps, no Polgaras or suchlike would be aided and abetted. Any information on that type of demon was swiftly passed on to the Slayer for her to take action as she saw fit. So far it had worked a treat.

The Slayer would be surprised if she knew how many eyes kept track of her movements and reported back to Willy. The demon grapevine extended around the world, sending news of rumours and events back to Sunnydale with startling rapidity. The latest happenings had been ominous enough to prompt Willy to call for a meeting of his fellow council members.

From the moment Angel had departed LA, and had been confirmed to be moving in their direction, Willy had had one of his bad feelings. The fact that the souled vampire was now ensconced as the CEO of a demonic law firm, with close links to the organisation intent upon imposing absolute control over all demons, had never sat well with him or his fellow councillors. It seemed too much of a coincidence to have another vampire with a personal interest in the Slayer about to hit town, and the black van keeping Angel company on the road indicated more than a social visit.

Whatever was heading the Slayer’s way might well be too much for her to handle without backup. Wolfram & Hart were not to be underestimated. In a gratifyingly short amount of time, the Hellmouth Council had come to an agreement; they’d send out the call and make themselves available should the Slayer need them. She was the only one standing between them and the human threat to their kind. They needed her.

***

The journey to the most exclusive restaurant in town – well, just out of town if a person wanted to be picky – was conducted in near silence. After trying to engage Buffy in small talk, admittedly not his forte, Angel had rapidly concluded from her monosyllabic responses that conversation was not currently on her agenda. He contented himself with manoeuvring his fine automobile along the twisting road leading up to Sunnydale Heights. The unexpected closing of the door in his face earlier still rankled, but Angel was determined to stay calm and direct his concentration to his mission for the evening. Reclaiming Spike.

Now and again he let his eyes drift over to rest on his silent passenger, checking out her body language and assessing her current mood. She seemed to be relaxed and intent on watching the view from the window as it changed with each turn of the road. Perhaps this would be easier than he’d anticipated. And if it wasn’t? That eventuality had been covered too.

Content with his strong negotiating position and confident of success, Angel relaxed enough to hum a little Manilow.

***

This was going to be even harder than Buffy had imagined, and for a whole set of different reasons. Just being in his company again was doing all sorts of strange things to her slayer senses, not least of which was a strong desire to growl. She was fighting to keep from vocalising her inner reaction, which had flared up when Angel had left her to get into the car by herself… It was one of those courtesies a girl sort of expected when being taken out to dinner – even if it was more of a business meeting. Or maybe she was just looking for any small excuse to add fuel to the fire burning towards eruption inside.

She’d been somewhat surprised by his choice of venue for their tete-a-tete about Spike. The last time they’d been on the Heights together he’d told her it was the man inside that didn’t deserve to go on. Had he forgotten that? She hadn’t.

The Sunnydale Heights had caused a lot of conflicting views amongst the denizens of the town. Some said it was a blot on the landscape, others that it provided a welcome venue which overlooked the sparkling lights of the town at night. To Buffy it would always remind her of two events in her life: the dawn it snowed and stopped Angel from meeting the sun after the First Evil had played havoc with his head, and the day Willow was talked back down to earth by Xander after Buffy had stopped her from killing Warren, the leader of the Nerd Trio. One of the many things she could give Xander credit for.

The scarcity of cars parked to the side of the mock Gothic structure bore testament to the relatively early hour; soon the fashionable eatery would be catering to the wave of nouveau rich now coining it in from the renaissance that was Sunnydale. Buffy didn’t wait for her door to be opened, unclipping her belt and leaving the car as soon as it pulled to a halt. She didn’t wait for Angel either as she made her way to the entrance, not acknowledging the vampire when he fell into step beside her, almost within touching distance. Her skin wanted to crawl away, be elsewhere. Be near her vampire.

A smiling doorman ushered them into the reception area where a dinner jacketed maitre d’ smoothly checked the booking before guiding them to a discreet table for two beside a window with a panoramic view of Sunnydale. Buffy had to admit the twinkling lights were pretty. Within moments of being left alone, a waiter appeared with menus and enquired about drinks.

“Buffy?” Angel leaned towards her, his brown eyes taking in her undisguised interest in her surroundings, but unable to quite fathom her mood. She’d always been pretty impulsive in the past and he wondered if she had learned to temper that side of her nature. If so, he might be facing a bigger task than he’d anticipated.

“Mineral water, please. Still, not sparkling,” she addressed the waiter directly, bestowing a slowly widening smile when she recognised him. Buffy couldn’t remember his name although she’d seen him several times at Willy’s. If her memory served, he was a quarter Brachen demon whose only outward sign of his demon heritage lay in a small blue birthmark on his upper arm.

“Would madam prefer French or domestic?” Only by the small crinkling around his eyes did Walt betray he knew her - a model of discretion.

“French, thank you.” Buffy listened as Angel ordered a glass of red wine, momentarily wishing that she could do the same. A clear head was called for, and later would be soon enough if she were still in the mood. Placing the menu on the table, she studied him closely for the first time. His navy silk shirt would have suited Spike and she had to admit he looked good, if she chose to ignore the gelled hair. He was studying her in much the same fashion, glancing at her with a small smile playing around his mouth. A mouth which had once been intimate with her own.

Now. Attack.

“Spike. You can’t have him,” she said firmly, watching with interest as the smile disappeared and his jaw tightened. He opened his mouth, so she ploughed right on.

“Who are Wolfram and Hart?”

***

Spike wanted to kill something. He wanted to smash and bash and…solve the mystery of modern laundry.

After indulging in a brief fantasy where Buffy freely allowed him access to her lips, he’d snapped out of it and grown restless. Not ready to join the ladies he could hear chanting above – he didn’t think they would appreciate the erection pushing against the zipped fly of his jeans – he’d paced about the basement with energy to burn before settling on the notion to actually do something for the Slayer; so far it was more than apparent he was providing little in way of assistance to her. She was the one going out of her way to protect and care for him and, nice though the novelty was, he wanted to be a part of her life – not a burden upon it.

With that thought uppermost, he steeled himself to open the chest which still occupied space at the bottom of the basement stairs, knowing only too well most items within had seen service on his body at one time or another. What he was searching for was easily found – a ball gag. Carefully replacing everything back as he’d found it, Spike crossed to his bed and slipped the gag under the pillows. Much as he had found solace in her closeness last night, Buffy needed to rest properly…and he didn’t trust himself enough to stay within the bounds of acceptable behaviour if she made it a habit to place her warm, tempting body so close to his. It would become another form of torture, one he could well do without. Time to get used to being alone. More than time he began facing his night demons on his own.

It was then he had the bright idea of going into the small laundry room and seeing if he could throw anything through the washing machine; take care of a chore to help out. He could almost feel his demon smirking at him, but felt no sense of real resistance to his intention. It seemed to agree with the notion of making himself useful in whatever way he could.

Ten minutes later the vampire was cursing his good intentions…and sudden impulse. He’d found sheets and towels waiting to be washed, the intense scent of the Slayer permeated the cloth and his cock had hardened painfully. Groaning to himself, Spike had loaded the machine and was about to add the powder when his nose twitched. Peering back into the linen basket revealed a single pair of white cotton panties.

His hand trembled as he leaned down and pulled them out, holding them as far away from his body as possible before dropping them in to join the rest of the load, the urge to bring them to his nose and inhale her delicious, intimate aroma almost more than he could resist. It took all his remaining willpower to toss in the powder and start the cycle, quickly exiting the small laundry room and throwing himself down on his bed.

Which brought his head into contact with his pillows, which in turn… Spike groaned.

God, it had been so long since he’d… And thinking about it was not going to help. Gone were the nights when he could reach out, secure in the knowledge of his own power and superiority, and just take whatever he had a fancy for. Gone forever when he’d lost whatever good sense he’d ever possessed in his obsession with the Slayer.

He’d lost sight of the absolute need to be aware of what was going on around him, hadn’t smelt any other scent but hers - and she had been far enough away that the faintness of her on the breeze shouldn’t have distracted. Certainly not from a handful of military types closing in from behind.

The punishment for that lapse was still being paid for; a harsher lesson than any Angelus had visited upon his undead flesh those long years ago. Perhaps it had taken all this time to learn to pick battles he could win, resist until it became a matter of survival not to. And then make the last choice. Do I survive…or not?

Spike could almost feel a round of applause reverberate inside him. A rueful half-smile curved his lips as his hand absently stroked across the evidence of his desire, his hopeless desire for the Slayer.

Having learned the lesson, he’d still buggered it up enough times to have been on his last chance of unlife at the auction. The Slayer was his salvation. She’d overwhelmed him with her consideration, thrown him into more confusion than he liked and…had shown nothing more than the annoyance expected between equals when he’d let his temper get the better of him. But she’d never want him as a partner in her bed.

And he’d better accept the limits, or sour the affection he was being lavished with. Not something he was prepared to lose.

The vampire tried to convince himself to get over any thoughts of making his waking fantasy a reality, told himself that her actions were nothing more than her inherent goodness being spread a little further to encompass an undead thing within its protective umbrella.

Knowing his Slayer was in the company of her only vampire lover set his stomach roiling with a mixture of emotions. Jealousy and concern battled.

He acknowledged, however reluctantly, that reaching for the Slayer, for Buffy, would be trying for the unattainable. A battle he couldn’t win. Not unless a miracle occurred…and Spike believed he’d already used up his current quota of miracles just by being here now.

But it didn’t mean the thought of Buffy in the company of any male – other than him – would ever sit well. Especially Peaches.

Pushing himself to his feet with a sigh, Spike took his cue from the lack of chanting to guess that the bit of magic practice upstairs had finished. Time to make with the social graces and see if they had everything they needed.

Starting up the basement stairs, he wondered what his Slayer was doing, what she was feeling right now. And would he like it if he knew?

***

A cold fury was building inside, taking away the burning anger and replacing it with something far more deadly - more righteous. Lush surroundings had long since faded to the edges of her awareness; Angel had her absolute and undivided attention.

At first he’d tried to argue with her about Spike. Buffy had found it easy to refuse to discuss it with him; Angel wasn’t having Spike, end of that question and answer session. Now she wanted the answers to a few questions of her own; she had a list in her purse, but doubted it would be referred to. Not the sort of questions she’d forget so quickly. And Angel was just providing her with more.

What had been going on in LA, and why had no one – anywhere – thought to tell her about it? Did Giles know?

Buffy listened in gathering amazement as Angel casually informed her that he was now the CEO of a law firm. Which had led to more questions. More - almost unbelievable - answers had been tossed to her from the relaxed vampire opposite her. A vampire she thought she’d known, had once loved with all her passionate young heart, was sitting opposite and smiling, smiling, as his words blew holes in everything she’d believed where he was concerned.

That he didn’t even realise he was doing it was even more astounding. Angel let drop disturbing titbits with the pleased aplomb of a magician pulling rabbits from a hat. Cordelia in a coma, and being cared for by the law firm he now directed. Wesley…gone, who knows where. Gunn, gone. Fred, back in Texas. Lorne, whereabouts unknown. His whole team had dissolved, gone their separate ways, and instead of brooding Angel gave every appearance of being undisturbed, even a little smug. This was an Angel she neither knew nor understood.

Her slayer senses were complaining at being in his presence without doing her duty, making her physically uncomfortable at being so close. And he wasn’t helping her control. Not a bit.

Not when he chose to try again to put his case for taking Spike off her hands, ignoring her decision and choosing instead to try and sway her. Add that to the almost condescending grin which had attached itself to his mouth, and Buffy was getting close to the point of violence. Something she had wanted to avoid, but which now looked a more attractive proposition by the minute.

“Buffy, we really need to talk about Spike.” Angel wanted to get this negotiation back on track. Nice as it was to catch up with what had been happening in his unlife since they’d last met, he had a mission tonight and pleasantries would have to wait until later. He toyed with his glass of claret, admiring the bouquet and colour. “He’s family, and it’s my responsibility to take care of him. Surely you can see that?”

Buffy’s outward composure belied the voice inside which whispered ‘liar’ in her mind. “You don’t like Spike. You’ve never liked Spike. Why would you want him when I’ve already made it plain that I intend to keep him? Don’t you trust me with him, Angel?” She awaited his answer with interest.

“Of course! I just think he would be better off with me.” He’d anticipated this response from Buffy, knew a little persuasion would be required. “I just don’t think you remember how much you hated him. I’m doing this for your sake more than his.” Leaning forward, Angel looked at Buffy with all the sincerity at his command. “You need someone better than him at your back, someone who won’t let you down the first time your life is on the line. I couldn’t rest easy if I left him to hurt you, Buffy, knowing I had it in my power to prevent it.”

Angel didn’t understand for another five minutes the enormity of his mistake. The waiter arrived to take their dinner orders, but Buffy waved Walt – that was his name – away with a small smile, asking him to give them more time to decide. Interruption over, she turned to her opponent – no mistaking that now – and tossed another one from her list his way.

“How was Spike,” she asked sweetly, “the last time you saw him?”

***

Spike had just passed two mugs of herbal tea over the kitchen island; red and blonde heads nodded their thanks as they sniffed the wafting aroma appreciatively. Taking his warmed blood from the microwave, he’d just settled on a stool opposite them when the phone rang. After a moment’s hesitation, Tara rose and answered it.

“H…hello?” Tara listened for a moment before turning and holding the handset towards Spike. “It’s Willy, for you.” She shrugged when the vampire frowned in confusion. “He said it was important and asked to speak to you.”

Every instinct in him screamed danger. “Is that mojo you did working? I have a bad feeling…”

“We’ll check,” Tara assured him, wasting no time before grabbing Willow’s hand and leaving to do a quick inspection of the wards they’d only just finished setting.

Spike lifted the phone to his ear. “Yeah? What is it?” His telephone etiquette had obviously been lost.

“Trouble heading your way. The moment the Slayer left a van pulled up to the end of Revello and some shifty types got out.” Willy stared out the window at the black van parked opposite.

“They’re hanging back, surrounding the house. It looks like they’re waiting for a signal.” Willy waved to the latest arrival; about twenty large demons now occupied the kitchen and living room. “I’ve sent Clem to get the Slayer.”

“How many?” Spike didn’t have time to question the reliability or motivation of the untrustworthy barkeep; he couldn’t take a chance with the wiccans lives and needed to know, fast, what they might be up against.

“I counted six, but that don’t mean there ain’t more.” Two demons shook their heads emphatically. “Nah, looks like that’s it. That’s the latest intel.”

“And you’re telling me this…why?” The vampire waited, listening to the even breathing on the other end of the phone; he heard no sign of fear or anxiety.

“So that you know,” Willy paused for effect. “So you know we got ya back, Spike. We don’t want anything happening to the Slayer. And that means her friends and property too.”

Spike winced inside. Property. Now he was some thing lumped under personal possessions. Wanting to be clear, he asked, “And that would mean what exactly?”

Willy chuckled. “That would mean if they move a muscle nearer, you’ll find out just how well thought of the Slayer is in these parts. Girl’s had her moments…but she’s grown into one hell of a woman.”

A statement Spike, silently, but whole-heartedly agreed with.

“Thought you should know, just in case. Things could change fast and I might not be able to warn you.”

The vampire was fast amending his impressions of Willy and thought he’d have made a top class minion…back in the day, when he did that sort of thing.

“Thanks. You said someone has gone to fetch the Slayer? How long?” Spike couldn’t deny he would feel better, so much better, once she was back home where she belonged. With him.

“Should be no more than thirty minutes, tops. Gotta go, Spike. See ya later.” Without waiting for a response, Willy hung up and turned to welcome three more demons. “Guys, drinks and nibbles in the kitchen. But getting drunk can wait until after the show. Capiche?”

Satisfied that they understood, Willy picked up the phone again. He needed to call Walt back and let him know the latest.

***

He didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. It had played out so perfectly in his head, and the best team of advisers money could buy had endorsed it enthusiastically. Angel had explained how he’d seen William in the brothel some weeks ago – all had agreed that there was no hiding all the evidence that he’d been there. Best to admit it freely, turn it to his advantage. But try as he might, she hadn’t shown one iota of belief in his story. When he’d told her he’d been called in to help with Spike’s suicidal tendencies, his self-mutilation, Buffy had stared at him with what – if he hadn’t known better – appeared to be contempt. Then she’d smiled humourlessly. No, suddenly, things didn’t look good.

Buffy felt the last of her respect for Angel slip away.

Even when he’d been trying to kill her – especially when he’d been trying to kill her - Spike had remorselessly thrown every unpalatable truth her way. Sure, he’d added a liberal dose of taunting bullshit to get her riled up, but he’d never treated her like a fool. Keeping her eyes locked on Angel’s she asked her last pair of questions.

“I’ll take all that into consideration if you can just answer me this.” Buffy’s hand itched to take a stake from her purse. She fought the urge with difficulty.

“How did Spike get that bite under his arm? What’s stopping it from healing?”

***

He watched the blood drain from their faces when he passed on the news from Willy, noting the way their hands sought each other’s to bolster their courage.

“So, this mojo of yours, what’s it do exactly?” Spike wanted to know precisely what they had in the way of protection, hating the knowledge that he would be useless to do anything if the threat was human.

Tara blinked and opened her mouth to reply, but was beaten to the answer by her lover. “Oh, it’s a combination ward to stop eavesdropping and prevents admittance to anyone without a specific invite. We just haven’t had a chance to test it yet.” Willow tried to smile confidently but was let down by the uncertain twist to her mouth.

“Sounds good, ladies.” Spike could feel their fear and was glad he found no pleasure in it. He wondered if the spells would also stop other unwelcome things, like fire and bullets, but decided a negative response would just get the two wiccans unduly flustered when they all needed to be calm. “Got anything else in your bag of tricks to help repel possible boarders?” Wolfram & Hart might not be pirates, not strictly speaking, but they functioned under the closest thing to a skull and crossbones banner this town had seen of late.

Willow grinned. “Well, funny you should ask…”

The three of them settled once more around the kitchen island and talked tactics.

***

Angel laughed. “I bit him. What of it? You wouldn’t understand, Buffy. Only a vampire could possibly understand what was needed to help in the situation. I did it for his own good, to calm him down. And, yeah, it should have healed by now.” He shrugged, inwardly reliving the moment when he’d smeared the mild poison over Spike’s torn flesh as he’d hung unconscious from his chains. It had felt beyond good to be in a position to play with the monster he’d helped shape so long ago, to let go of his burdensome responsibilities as the instrument of the Powers and just be a vampire for a few stress free hours.

If everything had gone to plan he wouldn’t be in this position of having to explain himself; he’d be indulging in new ways to make his annoying relative scream. More importantly, he’d be a step closer to ensuring he’d be the only Aurelian left capable of fulfilling the prophecy, gaining his heart’s desire. It didn’t occur to Angel that his heart’s desire right now was focussed purely on the possession and slow destruction of the last remaining family member outside of his custody. That it just happened to be Spike, an eternal thorn in his side, was a bonus. A bonus he thoroughly deserved for all he’d done to help the weak over the years.

Catching the flash of anger in Buffy’s eyes he decided enough time had been wasted. “You don’t seem to be getting the point here, Buffy. I’m the Champion for the Powers and Spike is an evil vampire. Him being with you is all sorts of bad; trust me, he’ll do nothing but cause you trouble. The chip won’t stop him.”

Leaning forward again, Angel looked Buffy straight in the eyes as he delivered his coup de grace. “And here’s the thing. You don’t own Spike. The Council of Watchers holds the deed on his hide and I’ve already spoken to Giles, made him an offer he can’t refuse. Spike is as good as mine.” Satisfied, he leaned back and watched the shock settle on Buffy’s face.

For a painful moment, the betrayal she felt from Giles’ going behind her back – and with Angel - almost froze her. Almost. But, the fire of Slayer passion burned it away, and the anger she’d held in check for what seemed far too long was no longer to be suppressed. Her heart released the echo of love it had kept sheltered there, sighed softly at the loss but recognised its time had long passed – and the one to whom it had been given no longer existed. If he had at all.

She was free.

Taking a steadying breath, Buffy sat straight and glared into the mocking brown eyes of the stranger she’d once known. “I’ll say this slowly, one last time. Spike stays with me. The only way you’re gonna have a chance is over my dead body.” The surprise on his face brought a mirthless smile to hers.

“I sent you to Hell once, Angel. Don’t think I won’t do it again if I have to.”

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