Part 25

Well, well, well, wasn’t this interesting?

Lorne checked his watch. Yes, indeed, it had been about an hour since they’d gotten to Sunnydale, and Spike had driven with one hand clamped on the wheel and what had felt like both feet and several weights jammed on the gas pedal. Now, he was ambling with loose-limbed giddiness to the car, accompanied by someone who could only be the Slayer, and she, too, was suspiciously loosey goosey as well. Spike’s hair was tousled, and to Lorne’s interested eyes, it was pretty obvious whose fingers had done it. As far as the Slayer herself, she was tiny and mussed, wallowing in huge sweats, hair wild around her face, and lips obviously just-kissed. Well, well, well, wasn’t this impressive. Back in town less than an hour, and they’d already gotten naked and--from all appearances--looked like they’d soon be going at it again. After the sterile confines of the Hyperion, it was rather refreshing in an unexpectedly vivid kind of way.

Both of them smacked up against the same invisible obstacle when they saw him. The body language was exceptionally interesting. Buffy, who had been glancing surreptitiously out of the corners of her eyes at Spike, tripped over a molecule, and thumped over her own feet, then flushed. Spike, who had been more or less blinking his long eyelashes non stop at the Slayer, stopped abruptly, probably at the same proton, and stared at him blankly as if he’d never seen him before. Comprehension dawned with visible slowness, probably at the same rate of speed as brain cells were repairing themselves, post orgasm. Lorne watched as the vampire visibly struggled for some clue as to his identity. He waved helpfully, hoping to disperse the almost-visible pheromones clouding around their respective heads. “Slayer,” Spike finally said, “This is Lorne.”

“Slayer,” Lorne drawled. “What an unusual name for a girl. Did this make your life interesting in the public education system?”

“Um, it’s actually Buffy.”

“Well, that’s mundane by comparison.” Lorne said. “So where are we going?”

They exchanged glances. “We?” Spike asked. “You’re not going anywhere with us. Right now. Because we have pizza to get.”

“Uh, huh.” He eyed the way their hands dangled too close together, as if they’d just been separated. “Sure, sweetness, pizza. Thirty minutes or you get a freebie?” He eyed the house, more than a little curious. “So, what’s going on here?”

“Slumber party.”

Lorne sadly reviewed his life; once the owner of a wonderful club with all sorts of interesting people, he now looked forward to a room full of teenagers. How art the mighty fallen? He smiled at the two of them. “Don’t be too long.” Just long enough so I can plot something, he amended. The three of them stood there and eyed each other uncomfortably, and he wondered, were they going to christen the car right there in the street or something? Spike opened the passenger side door, and Buffy gave Lorne a curious glance as she climbed in. Spike squinted at him for just a second over the roof before he got it. “You’re not planning on having any little sing alongs, are you?”

“What can I say?” Lorne asked. “I’m a musical kind of guy.”

Spike shook his head, but Lorne was too much of a distraction from Buffy, who was leaning over the seat and looking up at him. He slid in and started the car, pulling away from the curb with such haste he left rubber behind. Buffy settled into the seat with a sigh, and he glanced over at her. It suddenly occurred to him that they were alone, for a while. Not necessarily alone in hey-let’s-shag-again-alone, although that was a possibility. Alone as in no-need-to-worry-about-putting-on-a-fake-face-type-alone. Although there was the post-coital nervousness thing to worry about, the way she got all twitchy some times after the clothes came back on, which seemed to be what she was doing now. He sighed, wondering how long it would take this time.

Buffy stared out the open window, the breeze rustling her hair, suddenly confronted by more unnerving thoughts, on the order of, Oh, all alone, I see. No friends around. No need to deal with whatever this is, no need to pretend, no need to act. She had gotten so used to the pretense that its absence almost made her miss it. Now, that’s bad, she thought. My life has officially become a bad country song, although it’s going to be hard to work the whole vampire thing in there and still break the Top Ten. She glanced at Spike. Plus he definitely was not the country type. She had no idea what to do with worry-free time, and the idea of being worry free in Spike’s company was so recent an addition to her Theories of Life that she was still writing the play book out. Hm.

Uh oh, Spike thought. She’s thinking. This is not good. Thinking led to reasoning, which invariably involved not doing fun things, like shagging for hours, kissing where her friends might find them, and well, doing what they were doing right now, which might very well lead to more shagging. He stretched his arm out along the back of the seat and Buffy surprised him by turning her cheek into his palm. Her hair curled over his hand, and he found himself looking more at her than the road. She rubbed her cheek against his hand, and his fingers curled automatically, response to irresistible stimulus, feeling her skin flush even more against his hand as she closed her eyes and leaned her head against his arm. He kept glancing at her stealthily, which he knew was stupid, but he couldn’t quite do away with the fear of getting caught. She usually only let her guard down with her clothes, and for her to snuggle while dressed was a milestone.

They came to a stoplight, and the absence of movement made her open her eyes. She blinked at her, then, after a moment’s hesitation, scooted over the seat, and nudged her head into his shoulder. Do not say a word, he ordered himself. Do not say a word. Saying a word invariably meant he was trying to say something, but would wind up saying it in such a fashion as to cause words. Even Iloveyou---said at the height of passion, and really uncontrollable----had been known to get her dressed and gone. So he had to bite his lip every five seconds as yet another phrase would arise in his mind that seemed clever while merely a thought but would undoubtedly be disastrous if he ever dared let it out. These were in fact legion, but he refined his list while waiting for the light.

I love you. Best said while arguing.

The whole animal thing. She could climb him as nimbly as any monkey, ride him like a rocking horse, but if he ever wanted her to do it again, he’d best keep it to himself. Although the mental image was fun, and accurate, dammit, he sincerely doubted his ability to turn any reference to a primate into a complement.

Her bounteous bottom. It wasn’t that it was huge, it was just curved, and lush, and there was no way on earth he could say that without putting parts of him in jeopardy.

Any reference whatsoever to the way he adored her super Slayer strength in terms of duration or enthusiasm. One thing hadn’t changed in a century; (as if William would have known) Never, ever, imply, or infer, or suggest, or somehow indicate, speculate or otherwise give the slightest impression, that any woman anywhere at any time or in any place might have been to bed before with someone else and learned how to do a few things properly. Or improperly, which was actually better, once you thought about it, and oh, Christ if he was thinking about it, it was only moments till he was blurting it out.

The light changed, and he stamped on the gas with more enthusiasm than necessary, startling Buffy, not a good thing, because it was possible she might suggest driving herself.

Which he promptly forgot as Buffy snuggled closer, his arm around her waist, her arms around his waist, and sighed in his ear. Bloody hell. She pulled closer still, till her head was on his chest, and he got a brief chance to bury his face in her hair before he yanked the wheel over to the curb, and pulled her as close as he could without actually donating any organs. Her hair smelled like mint and strawberries, and just that Buffy smell that she had, which invariably went straight to his nerve endings. She twisted in his arms till she was curled up in the opposite direction, almost on her back in his lap, too easy to kiss not to, tasting his mouth while she touched his face with the slightest of fingertip touches. He spread his legs for her so she could wriggle into his lap and be that much closer, and then, not coincidentally, put her bottom right where he could fit it into his hands. It wasn’t a demand, he wasn’t trying to seduce her---any more than usual, that is----he just loved the way her bottom fitted his hands.

“Pizza.” Buffy murmured between kisses.

“Request, order, comparison, observation?”

“Mm.” Buffy gave one of those little sighs. “Reminder.”

“Bugger the pizza.” He slid his arms around her waist, and tightened till she squeaked. “Kissing takes precedence.”

“Kids waiting at home.”

“Eating you out of house and home, no doubt.”

Well, hell, he thought, that did it. “It’s worth it, because Dawn’s so happy.” She sounded injured.

“Is she?” He stroked her hair again, and she laid her head against his left arm. Pieta with Slayer, he thought. Interesting concept.

“Oh yes.” Buffy smiled at the thought of she and Dawn on the back porch, arms linked, grossing out at the thought of Sex. With. Boys. Or boy vampires, she thought, trying not to giggle outright at the sudden thought of a vampire in a Cub Scout uniform. Spike raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Well, your name came up in the conversation.”

“Probably in vain.”

“Hm, dramatic much? No, this was the Talk.”

“The Talk?” He heard the capitals, and wondered what sort of initiation rite he’d missed.

“You know, the Talk. Sex came up.” He raised an eyebrow again, and she was torn between envy at his eyebrow skills and…well, more envy. She’d always wanted to be able to do that. “Sex with you.”

“You talked about sex with Dawn?”

“Actually, it was more like the other way around.” She made a gesture of collision. “I didn’t know what hit me. Train wreck time.”

“Not fun, was it?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’ll turn her loose on you when we get back and you’ll see. “ He gave her one of his Spike looks, which mixed skepticism with just plain sex, eyeing her so challengingly that she leaned up and kissed him.

“Oh, hell.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

“Why?” She wriggled against him, deliberately, he was sure.

“Pizza, you said. Sooner we get back, sooner I can get you alone.”

“In a houseful of girls?”

“Worked before.” He pointed out silkily.

Well. That was what was called an irrefutable argument right there. “Pizza then.” She sat up sulkily, sticking out her lower lip. He gunned the motor, then leaned over and kissed her lightly.

“Pizza.” Buffy sighed, in the way of reminding him.

“Pizza,” he agreed, but he didn’t stop kissing her.

“Pizza!” Buffy gave him a small shove, and he sighed, with great patience and pulled away. Domino bastards, he thought, and pulled out into traffic.

Lorne ambled around the perimeter of the house, picking up fragments of conversation within, and nips of the scent of garlic. Garlic? Now that was interesting. It wasn’t present in the house any longer, but there’d been so much of it at one point that the scent lingered on. How interesting. Spike had said she didn’t love him, but he believed she felt something for him, and at one point at least, that feeling had been fear.

He came around the back porch, to find a voluptuous blonde sitting on the top step with her chin on her knees. “Oh,’ he said, startled. “Pardon me.”

She sagged visibly, as if he were the final straw, the last indignity. “Oh, God.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Another demon?”

“Well!” He snapped, affronted. “I’m not just another demon. Allow me to introduce myself, sweetness. I’m Lorne of the Deathwa clan, and my goodness, how you must moisturize. I’m impressed, especially in California.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you know, this dry air.” He waved his hand through the air as he said this, as if to specify this air rather than other air. “It does just terrible things to my pores, and I just don’t think I packed really well for this trip.”

“This trip?”

“Oh, you know, I thought it was just going to be an overnight thing, maybe, but well, I’ve seen the hotels around here, and all I could think is, the only way two people ever get in one of those showers together is if one of them is Norman Bates.” He added thoughtfully, “Would have done him some good, you know.”

“Showering is definitely good.”

“So, uh…” He looked around, searching for further conversational forays. “Known Spike long?”

“Spike!” She smiled suddenly. “Oh, you’re a friend of Spike’s! Oh, that explains a lot.”

“Such as?”

“Well.” Tara was stumped by that one. “Your sudden appearance.”

“Good save,” he said admiringly.

“Well, I thought I recognized you, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Oh, really?” He gestured at a spot next to her, seeking permission, which she granted with a nod. “Spike has a lot of demon friends from my clan?”

“Well, demon friends, at least.”

“A lot?”

“Well,” Tara thought. “There’s Clem.”

“And…?”

Tara thought about it for a minute. “There’s…Clem.”

“He’s a very popular boy, our Blondie, isn’t he?” Lorne said thoughtfully. They sat in silence for a few minutes, long enough to hear a burst of giggles in the kitchen, plus what was unmistakably an adult’s voice. Tara froze at once, darting a startled glance at Lorne, and then jumped up. Brushing off his pants, Lorne followed curiously to the door, where he saw several teenage girls in their pajamas, plus another demon, of a type he couldn’t place. He and the demon stared at each other for a few minutes, while the girls exchanged nervous glances. Then he remembered his manners. “Lorne.”

“Halfrek.” They shook hands, and Lorne had to shake off an uncomfortable feeling of invasion, as she held his hand far too tightly, and peered into his eyes.” How nice to meet you.”

Dawn bounced up to him, sticking out a hand and shaking his vigorously, freeing him from the uncomfortable scene with Halfrek. “Are you a friend of Spike’s?”

Well, well, well, Lorne thought, watching Halfrek stiffen. Really, these humans---or former humans---were so obvious sometimes. From Buffy, stealing virginal glances at Spike, to Spike, hovering next to her, to Halfrek acting like she’d just seen Bill Clinton when she was busy with someone else, they all might just as well have been wearing signs.

He thought about Spike, and what he’d told him; that sometimes there was so much of another person in the singer’s thoughts that he could pick up impressions of that person. He thought about Angel, long since over Buffy, but not likely to react well when he heard the news of precisely who she’d moved on to. And he looked at the demon in front of him, a former human like Spike, who, unlike Spike, radiated waves that reeked of demon, and eyed the coltish little girls around her like a hungry cat.

“What a lovely speaking voice you have,” he tsked at her. “I bet you sing divinely.”

Part 27

Part 28

Buffy trudged back to the house, to find the kitchen full of bright-eyed girls who wolfed down pizza with what seemed like several hands apiece. None of them showed any sign of conking out, and she wondered what it would take. The last thing she needed was to be confronted by cheerfulness. She was feeling distinctly uncheerful, and she had a sneaking suspicion that she was actually right in feeling that way.

How badly had that little scene gone? She really wanted to be the angry one, but she was back to being ridiculously tired again. She avoided Dawn’s eyes, snagged a pepperoni slice, then had to avoid Tara’s glance as well, as the witch suddenly shot a glance at her. I’m depressed, she thought, I’m entitled to cheat on my diet. Besides, they’re eating me out of house and home. She sighed and then glanced around, hoping no one had seen that. Maybe they’d get so exhausted by cholesterol they’d fall asleep and she could….? Dawn caught her eye. “Where’d Spike go?”

All eyes were on her. “Um…he went to get some stuff.” She glanced down, to find a plate in front of her with an obscene piece of pizza on it. She looked up at Tara, who looked half concerned, half amused, and Willow, who just looked confused. “My theory about men….” Tara said. Post adolescent ears perked up. “Not that it’s worth much, you know.”

Buffy looked around frantically, wondering if any of the girls had gotten that reference. None of them looked interested in the slightest, which was the proper approach to some boring adult saying anything about theories. “Yes?” This fulfilled her basic minimum of conversational requirement for the evening, she hoped.

Suddenly every eye in the kitchen was poised on Lorne, hovering in the doorway, and a bit flummoxed as to his status. As the guest of a guest, he was suddenly feeling rather at sea. “Want some pizza?” Buffy asked.

“Yes, I do.” He looked around, scooping up the biggest slice with impressive speed, and an adept wrist flick. “So where’d Spike go?”

“Stuff,” Buffy mumbled. She demolished half her slice at once and discovered that everyone was eager to avoid looking at her when her mouth was grotesquely full. “Tara?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, right.” She took another bite---as a delaying tactic, Buffy saw----and then chewed delicately and swallowed. “Well, see, you ever notice that---“ They all turned and looked at Lorne as the representative sample. “It’s just that, well, you remember how in school, all the girls always grew up faster than the guys?”

“Tell me about it,” said one little blonde creature, managing to pack a lot of bitterness in that phrase. Buffy was suddenly glad again that she’d tossed Hallie out of the house.

“Well, I just think that’s true most of the time.” She glanced around, deflating. “That’s it. That’s my theory.” They all looked at Lorne. He was patting his chin with the handkerchief he’d pulled from his breast pocket, a paper towel spread over his lap. “A lot of guys.” She added.

Hoo boy, Buffy thought. “You know, let me get some of those boxes out of the way.” She collected the remains of previous boxes from the counter, and headed out for the garbage cans. She dumped them in, picking up the pizza box Spike had tossed away earlier so they could be alone.

“Hey, Sweetness,” Lorne said from the porch. “You want a little advice?”

“On clothes?” She eyed his ensemble skeptically.

“On men.” She cocked her head at that. “Men, vampires, demons, whatever.” He dismissed inter species differences the same way he’d dismiss white shoes after Labor Day. “Tara was right, I think. Hm. Maybe disinterest is the key to understanding something, because that girl did have a point. Should have known. She never paid the slightest bit of attention to this suit.”

“Maybe she has cataracts or something?” Buffy pointed out helpfully.

“Always good, trying to cope.” He sat down on the porch and gestured for him to join him. I should just live out here, she thought. The only thing I haven’t done out here is…”What? I’m sorry?”

“Men are always such boys.” Lorne sighed.

“Sure you want to tell me this?”

“I figure you could use my perspective.” He stared off into the back yard as if there was something fantastic and exotic there occupying all his attention. This was technically true; he’d never seen quite as decrepit a selection of lawn furniture as that which was arrayed before him now. “I’m not, after all, a friend of Spike’s.”

“Then whose friend are you?” Buffy asked skeptically.

“Technically, Angel’s.”

There was a long pause.

Buffy tried to decide what that meant. The truth was, she didn’t really care. So Angel got a full report about her goings on? She was starting to think that if people cared as much about her as they claimed to, they could start demonstrating it in a more concrete fashion. She thought about Angel, trying to conjure up the old feeling, but all that surfaced in her mind was the feeling of effort. They’d had one tense meeting since she came back, and she realized that the thought of him finding out about her and Spike bothered her less than thought of Xander or Giles finding out. Damned if she was going to regard it as some sort of infidelity.

“So what you going to tell him?”

“Well, that’s sort of the problem. I don’t know that he won’t ask, but I don’t think it’s his business.” He found himself absurdly pleased by the firm look of approval Buffy gave him. “But if he asked?”

“I’d tell him, you have a lot to deal with. I’d tell him that perhaps, you have too much to deal with. Too many worries, not enough money. And then I’d see what he’d say. I can’t help it, Ms. Slayer, but the big buffoon is my friend. You can’t help but have your friends.”

“What if they stop acting like friends?” Buffy asked soberly.

“What if they don’t know they’re not acting like friends?” Lorne countered. “Sweetie, I can’t tell you much, until you sing, but I can tell you this; I’ve seen a lot of heartbreak in my day----“ Here, he examined his buffed nails with a certain pride, then returned to the topic at hand. “----and the only thing I’ve learned from it, is, that there’s only one way to find out what’s wrong.” He leaned closer. “And that’s why you have to ask.”

“Great.” Buffy muttered. “Wonderful.”

“Oh, and your vampire?”

“He’s not my----“ Buffy said automatically, then caught his look and dropped her eyes.

“Then who is he?” Lorne prodded her gently. “Of course, you may toss unstable vengeance demons out of your house on a regular basis for vampires you don’t like, but I think that’s a pretty good indication of something.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, here’s the deal….” He said. “Why don’t you sing for me and we’ll find out?”

It was almost worth the trip to see the look on Buffy’s face.

The worst thing, the worst thing about America was the alcohol selection. Granted, her travels as a vengeance demon exposed her to lots of different cultures, but she remained convinced that England still had had the best vintages. Nothing she’d tasted since then----and that’d included the heart of a Republican politician---had had quite the flavor of the things she remembered from England.

“Gimme a rum and Coke.” She snapped at the bartender.

Even though she wasn’t in game face. Hallie could still be pretty ferocious when she felt like it. And now she definitely felt like it. How dare that little Slayer throw her out? And how dare Spike----what a ridiculous name!----not die! Although, technically, he had died, since he was a vampire, obviously, but he wasn’t supposed to be so…so…

…human?

No, he was supposed to have died an ignominious death, or at the very best, arisen and become someone she could safely hate with all the fervor she had. Somehow she’d always felt obscurely guilty for hating him, which of course, had made her hate him all the more. For a brief while after his demise, she’d forgotten about him, as she settled into the new job and everything, but then remorse had arisen about him, and she was appalled at the way he refused to stay dead. Just like a man.

She knocked back half her drink in one swallow, earning her raised eyebrows from the barman, who then blinked rapidly like a cornered rabbit, and whirled around so he could wipe his glasses in peace. She patted her lips delicately, and looked around. Really, the place was a dive, but what else was open in this little human town? Even demon bars had to close, though, and closing times were usually ripe pickings for vengeance. She licked her lips, trying to look approachable. She’d had awfully good luck that way, pretending to accessible, prying details out of unsuspecting men, and then visiting their exes. Of course, though there were some humans here, the clientele was mostly demon. Which meant they tended to cut out the middleman, so to speak. Why wish for vengeance when it was right at your fingertips?

She finished her drink and artfully slid the glass behind her so that she could accept if someone offered. Except no one looked like they were going to. She faced away from the bar on her stool, and licked her lips as she surveyed the room. Of course, all the demons knew what she was, but the humans didn’t, and they weren’t even doing the ogling thing she’d punished so many men for. She waited a few more minutes, hooking one foot over the rung of the stool, and placing the other one on the floor so her breasts jutted out more than usual. Not so much as a flicker. With a disgusted humph, she turned back to the bar.

“Gimme vodka.”

The drink appeared with flattering speed, and she gulped this one back, too. The bartender was watching with extreme nervousness, putting another shot in front of her without being asked. “Did someone buy me that?” She asked coyly.

“No, I figure you’d need it. We’re closing in ten minutes.” She gave an exasperated sigh. Maybe it was Monday or something.

“Fine,” She snapped. “Just fine.” God, humans, what stupid little rules they always had. Unwilling to give the impression of being the last person to leave the bar, she got up and with careful steadiness, headed for the door. She managed the door, but the motion of the heavy door yanked her out with it. She paused in the door overhand for a moment, befuddled. Stupid American vodka, she thought, terrible tasting and strong.

She heard the voices just a second too late, turning in the darkness toward them, but her reflexes were just a second off. She realized that she hadn’t had enough pizza to absorb the alcohol. There was a strange burst of light, green with flashes, and then she slumped to the ground.

“Cool.” Warren said. “Let’s get her tied up.”

“Just a few words.” Lorne coaxed.

“No.”

“Just a phrase.”

“Not a chance.”

“Why not? What are you afraid of?”

Are you afraid I’m gonna..? Buffy remembered suddenly. She closed her eyes, and felt him, not the sex, but the afterward, or the before, all the moments beside sex that didn’t have names. I’m afraid that the world is way more complicated that it used to be. I’ve never felt this way, and I’m afraid to find out what it is. I’m afraid I feel something toward this---this---vampire----that is utterly wrong. I’m afraid I don’t. I’m afraid I do. She looked at Lorne. “Everything,” she said simply.

“So…Do you think it’ll be better if you stay ignorant?”

“Well….” Buffy said briskly. “I know this much, I felt lots better just before I opened the checkbook and found out how much money I didn’t have.”

“Yes, but did you suspect something was wrong before then?”

He had her there. She’d dismissed the niggling feelings haunting her as being byproducts of being so recently dead. Once she’d confronted the whole debt issue, some of those feelings had cleared. Wonder if that would work with certain vampires?

“Wouldn’t you rather know than not?” He asked gently.

I already know, she thought. It’s not him that’s wrong, it’s me.

“Just a few words, sweetie. I’m not asking that you go all diva on me. This isn’t ‘Behind the Music.’”

“You’re not going to set me on fire, are you?”

Lorne blinked at this. “I’m out of marshmallows.”

“So what do you need?”

“Just sing a little, okay? Doesn’t have to be loud-or long-----just so long as you sing.”

“And what should I sing?”

“Anything.” Lorne assured her. “Absolutely anything.”

Anything? Buffy wracked her brain for something, and drew a blank. She leaned back on her hands, and tried to think.

“Honey, you’re not auditioning, just belt something out, okay?”

Still nothing. She was very conscious of him looking at her. She wondered if he was surreptitiously checking his watch, while she wracked her brain to find something that wasn’t too out of date, too hard, or too stupid. Unfortunately, everything she came up with was at least one of those things. Be dead a few months, and you get hopelessly behind on your hit songs, she thought.

“Look, honey, would you just blurt it out? I need to get ready to leave sometime soon.”

Startled, she blurted out, “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream….” And was interrupted by a sniff from the doorway. They turned, and found Dawn and several of her friends crowded into the doorway, staring down at them with identical expressions of disdain. Buffy cringed, and then resented them for making her cringe. Hey, I’m the Vampire Slayer. I just tossed a demon out of this house. So..why did the disapproving gazes of a bunch of teenagers make her feel old, out of date, and unfashionable?

“Uh, Buffy…we’re going to bed, so could be quiet?”

“Sure,” she answered with her best but-I’m-a-cool-older-sister-dammit!-look, then sagged with relief once they were gone.

“Tough night, huh?” Lorne asked sympathetically.

“You bet.” They both stared into the foliage. “So…?”

“Well….” He surprised her then, by wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and squeezing her. “You certainly hit the ground running, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Well, this is the deal, sweetie. I can you when you sing, but sometimes it’s just potential that I see. Like one of those Polaroid negatives.” He shuddered for a moment. “What an appalling name for a retail product. It just sounds like something that you need to treat with prescriptions and pads. Anyway, where was I?”

“Grossing me out?”

“No, I was talking about potential.” He looked at her, and she was rather disarmed to see the kindness in his eyes, despite the horns, the green skin, the neon suit, he looked at her, and for a moment, there was so much compassion being directed at her that she could feel it. She had to blink and look down. “You haven’t much luck with love, have you?”

“No,” She whispered. “Except for Angel.”

“Really?” Lorne looked down at his hands and considered his words carefully. “Because the guy’s my friend, but I have to tell you, I wouldn’t be ready to put him into the plus column.”

“But…?”

“Hear me out, sweetheart.” He braced himself. “Not a good foundation for a relationship there, was there? How old were you? How old was he? Knock off two hundred years and you’ve still got a problem; actually, knock off two hundred years and you can maybe see the problem clearly. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s over, but it casts a shadow, doesn’t it? Because he left. For you. “

“Yes,” Buffy said.

“Or for him?” Lorne asked quietly.

“For him?”

“What did you want?”

“I wanted him to stay.” Buffy said softly. “Are you saying..?”

“I just want you to think about it, sweetie. Maybe it might help to get another perspective. You need to let it go.”

“I’ll think about it. What else?”

“Well, this is the real dilemma, isn’t it? You and Spike. You’re afraid of that, and I can’t blame you. You’re a vampire slayer, but you’re not exactly Miss Chatty Cathy, are you?”

“You guessed.”

“Hon, it took me five minutes to get you to sing; usually---“ He preened a bit, here----“I have to beat them off with a stick. Nevertheless.” He sighed. “What do you know about dealing with this? Nothing. There was Angel on your resume, again, a much older guy, but not a democracy there. Then there was the unilateral one-night stand guy. Sweetheart, don’t look like that, I’ve gotten dumped a few times myself. Now I just make everybody sing before there’s any nudity. It just solves so many problems, let me tell you. Anyway, where was I? Hm. Oh, yes. What a jerk.” He waved away a mosquito with his hankie, and for a second, Buffy thought he was talking about the insect. “It’s a shame he’s not a demon, isn’t it? Then you could slay him in exactly the fashion he deserved, and feel a lot better. Instead he’s going to keep doing his little thing with all sorts of girls, and what can you do?” Buffy nodded. “Sometimes, you can’t really slay the people that really need slaying. And this other guy, this soldier…Hm.” He smiled, and then explained. “Tara’s little theory. How cute. Not too far off, either. You just don’t have enough experience with men to tell there’s the crap that nice guys do, and there’s the crap that bad guys do. And when what you think is a nice starts pulling a bad guy’s tricks, it’s really confusing, isn’t it? And vice versa, too, am I right?” She nodded again, looking down at her hands.

“And now this.” Lorne said. “Now, I’m not supposed to tell you stuff I read off of someone else, but I don’t think telling you that the guy loves you will come as much of a surprise, will it?” Buffy shook her head again, not meeting his eyes. “Sweetie, don’t look like that. How often does a person get to be loved in their life? It’s not something you plan; it’s not something you fill out a job application for. It has no logic at all; you can make up shopping lists for what you want in a guy, but that doesn’t matter. You just don’t have any choice in the matter. C’mon, sweetie, you know you’re not afraid of what your friends think. Not really. If they’re really your friends, that is. Of course, if they were really your friends, they should have noticed a lot of stuff before now, shouldn’t they? You can’t use them as an excuse much longer, sweetie, and you know it. And---“ Here he answered a question Buffy hadn’t even been able to form: “Do I think this would have happened if they had been better at the friendship job?” He patted her hand. “I think so; you just stepped up the pace a bit. No, sweetie, it’s not them you’re afraid of. It’s yourself. You felt something wrong a lot sooner than Soldier Boy did; but what you’re feeling now isn’t a warning, sweetie. You know it and I know it. Who can really disapprove of you, anyway? Anyone else been in your shoes? Anyone else picking up your slack? No, then they don’t get to judge you, either.” Buffy took a deep shuddering breath at that. “Sweetheart, I don’t think it was ever them that you were worried about. You’re worried you’re doing something wrong. Either he’s right and you’re wrong, or he’s wrong and you’re right. “

“What?” Buffy said.

“You have this idea that you can only love good people, or at least, people who aren’t vampires. Simplifies things, doesn’t it? Except, sweetie, you don’t go about it like you’re looking for a new employee. It’s like roses and candles, and all that cuteness. That’s just exterior.”

“But, you know, what if I’m wrong?” Buffy asked softly. “I never felt like this before.”

“It’s just the whole vampire thing, isn’t it?”

“Well, no, it’s…”

“It’s the whole sex thing, isn’t it?” Buffy glanced away and Lorne laughed. “Sweetie, good girls have sex, haven’t you noticed?”

“No, it’s not that.” Buffy sighed. “It’s just that… it never was like this with anyone else.”

“That’s too bad.” Lorne said. “Hm. Are you Catholic?”

“No,” Buffy said dryly. “But Mom voted Republican a few times.”

“Nope, not quite. Uh, sweetie, it’s not that that’s the problem; it’s your previous boyfriends. Who knows why there’s a shortage of decent guys on the Hellmouth. If you really want to see a sorry bunch, though, you have to come to LA. Now, there’s a bunch of losers.” Buffy gave a little smile at that. “Not that I’m naming names, you know. Professional secrets and all that. But still….”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Buffy looking down at her hands. “Spike told me I’d never love him.”

“Recently?”

“Less than an hour ago.”

“That’s why he left? Ah. Tara was right. Seeing his ex who broke his heart? Such a guy thing. Girls cry. Guys mope. Even vampire guys. It’s universal. Ah.” He gave a deep sigh. “Ah, L’amour.”

Buffy eyed him sideways. “Oh, yes, I know, but I’m bored and I’d really like to go home now. I think I’ve done about all I can do here.”

“There’s a room full of teenagers in there who might disagree with you.”

“Uh, thanks, sweetie, but…no. I don’t need to read burning thoughts about, uh, some post pubescent hottie who has yet to shave or complete a thought. Can I use your phone?”

“Uh…” Uh-oh, Buffy thought. That sounded like long distance. But what could she do? “Uh, sure. How are you getting back?”

“Oh, I’ll just call Angel and see if I can’t badger him into wiring me some money out of petty cash.” He sighed deeply. “This should be fun.”

Part 29:

“You know we have to talk, right?” Buffy asked.

“Why? It was a hundred years ago!” Anya sulked.

“But this was now.” Buffy leaned in the kitchen doorway, and looked at Anya fidgeting at the center block. The ex demon looked distinctly guilty, and that was just fine with Buffy. Stay that way, she thought.

“Don’t suppose you ever thought Hallie might be a danger to us, did you?”

“Oh, no, that’s stupid. She didn’t even like the guy, and who knew you were boinking him? She was the one that rejected him and men don’t usually like that. Maybe the person we should be worried about is Spike.”

“Don’t even try that with me, Anya.” Buffy said icily. “What happened all this summer, when I was…dead?” She swallowed, throat suddenly closed. “You might be able to overlook that, but I can’t. I won’t.”

“Fine. Just don’t think he’s changed because he’s boning you.”

“Don’t ever say that around me again.”

“At least I’ve changed; Spike’s still a vampire.”

“A vampire who hasn’t hurt anybody in forever. The thing is, Anyanka,” Buffy said, deliberately stressing her former name, “if Spike’s changed, it’s because he’s changed himself. You got forced into it.”

“He was chipped.” Anya said scornfully.

“And you were stopped. Giles did it, and you weren’t happy about it. What made you change so much?”

“Xander.” Anya said quietly.

“Why do you think what you do with him is so different than what I do with Spike? Is that----“ she shuddered a bit---“boinking?”

“Because I never figured you’d be one to like the French maid’s outfit or the handcuffs…..?”

“Uggghh, that’s it, out. There will be no possibility of continuing this conversation. I just meant…” She had to look down to collect herself. “Is it just sex with you two? That’s all? Nothing more?”

Anya also looked away. “I had sex. When I was a demon.” She studied her toes. “That’s not what it’s like with Xander.”

“Then you know why I don’t want you to use that word about…Spike. And. Me. I just don’t like it.” She was struck by a sudden thought. “Is that all it was for you when you were a demon? Just…you know…?”

Anya shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“And Hallie?”

“Well, she plays the field a lot.” Anya said thoughtfully, considering it. “And then she levels it.”

“You don’t suppose…?”

“Suppose what?”

“Has she ever been in love?”

Anya looked puzzled at the idea. “No. Vengeance demons don’t love.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Anya crossed her heart. “Can I go now? We’re obviously not going to talk about sex any more, and I’m not real good at the other subject.”

“Who is?” Buffy asked sadly, and they looked at each sympathetically, a bit startled. “And….Anya…..?”

“Yes, right, I know. No telling Xander.”

Buffy watched her leave, uneasy. Having sex and making money were Anya’s two most favorite hobbies in the world; talking about sex came in third. How long would it be before she just forgot and blurted it out? It was too juicy a tidbit to keep to herself. She stared at the door as if it had caused her problems, the impulse to get up and slam it almost irresistible. She settled for glaring at it instead.

Crap.

Spike’s still a vampire, she thought.

Maybe I should’ve asked Anya how she liked being human.

Maybe I should ask Spike.

Buffy tiptoed through the silent house, easing by the sleeping girls in the living room, past Willow sleeping at the door, past Tara sleeping in the hallway. Tara mumbled in her sleep as she glided past, and Buffy smiled just slightly at the witch as she went past. She hopped up the stairs, avoiding the fourth one, which squeaked, and slid through her own door with a sigh of relief. She plopped down on her bed with a sigh.

After being tired all day, she was suddenly un tired; she was more than un-tired, she was positively restless. The little discussion with Anya had gotten her blood pressure up, and she couldn’t very well do jumping jacks to relieve the tension. Maybe she should patrol a bit. No, definitely not. Girls downstairs, and Lorne rooting through his pockets looking for Angel’s phone number, which she carefully avoided mentioning that she of course had. Not giving him Angel’s number meant A) she could avoid that whole subject; and B) have an excuse to ask Spike a favor. Not that she was going to, though. She absolutely was not going to go to him. Nope, not her. She was morally certain she was right, and defending Spike to Anya had really clinched the deal.

Dammit.

She couldn’t believe she’d actually defended Spike to Anya. But ‘boinking’? There was simply no way she could allow Anya to use that word.

Spike flopped down in his old chair and scowled at his TV as if it had personally offended him. The perils of not having cable. That was the only reason he’d gone to the door twice so far this evening, and both times had stopped as if slapped. Nope. He was morally certain he’d been right to go stomping out in a hissy fit. That woman had broken his heart---actually she’d stopped it, if you wanted to get technical, and he was going to have a little chat with Anya sometime soon as well. He might very well include Harris in it, as well; especially after finding out that not only had Anya played a part in his changing circumstances, but hadn’t even mentioned to him, either.

He started patting his pockets, looking for cigarettes, ignoring the one hanging, unlit, from his lips. Damn. No fags. He was just going to have to go get them, then. He stood up, scanning the area for his lighter, even taking the cigarette out of his mouth absently because he couldn’t see around it. Nope. No cigarettes. With a noticeable lightness to his step, he grabbed his duster and shrugged it on, heading for the door. Shame about the convenience store being so close to Buffy’s house, but…

Jamming his hands in his pockets, he encountered a small, hard object. He was just opening the door to his crypt when he pulled out his Marlboros, and looked down at them. Full box, too. Damn. He stopped, annoyed, then tossed the duster on its hook and flopped back down in his chair again

“Well…What are you doing in Sunnydale?”

“What, are you my mother? Just send me some money out of petty cash and I’ll pay it back to you.”

“Could you stop yelling?”

“I’m not yelling.”

“Well, could you stop doing whatever it is you’re doing? Because it hurts.”

“It hurts? Well….What was that you were drinking? I must try that stuff. Absinthe?” He rolled the word off his tongue. “It even sounds decandent. Now there’s something you don’t see everyday in a beverage.”

“It’s illegal.”

“You’re a vampire; I’m a demon. Don’t we get exemptions or something like that?”

Angel was either still extremely drunk or was just getting extremely hungover, but either way his voice sounded like something rattling over a gravel road. Even so, he sounded amused. “No, I’m afraid. No tax deductions for us. Hang on.”

I’m in Sunnydale, Lorne thought. Is there something else I could be doing except for lounging around this suburban kitchen, and critiquing the décor? He heard rattles, shuffles, papers crinkling, banging doors, and after each of these individual sounds, a slight moan from Angel. There was a completely silent pause, during which he pictured Angel standing motionless in the center of the room, letting the phone dangle, clutching his head with both hands.

“Hang on.” Angel whispered again.

“Still hangin’.”

“Well….we don’t seem to have any petty cash.” Angel said. “Just stay there. Where are you?”

“Uh….I’m at Buffy’s house.”

There was an eloquent silence, which, in the nature of guilty people, he felt compelled to fill. “I found her. Only person I knew, you know.”

“How, ah, did you get to Sunnydale in the first place?”

“ That’s over and done with. So how am I getting home?”

A voice in the background asked Angel something, and Lorne sagged against the counter in relief. The phone dropped to the floor with what sounded like a crash, and then a different voice came on. “Lorne?” Wes said. “I’ll come get you.”

“Angel doesn’t know anything.”

“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

Buffy rolled over on her side and stared at the window and was confronted by an all too vivid mental image. Spike climbing in the window, after she’d left it open. What a far cry from strands of garlic that was. She turned over on her back, and looked at the ceiling. This brought the mysterious stain into view, which was not exactly relaxing. She turned over on her other side, staring at the bathroom door, scene of far too many bubble bath extravaganzas with Spike. Well, now there was a restful thought. Cranky bastard.

She kept comparing and contrasting the two different faces she saw; private Spike and public Spike. That was the thing she kept coming back to, since that night--- The night that dare not speak its name. She sighed. He had this way of wrapping himself around her, cradling her head in the crook of one elbow, while he toyed with the strands of her hair with just his fingertips. And then there was the kisses, some of them so light she could barely feel them, or taste them, others so forceful they made her go limp and boneless and shaky. Too say nothing of everything else he did. It wasn’t even the way he moved when he was inside her, lost in it, driving into her, making her crazy, making her scream; it was the way he stared into her face, as if he was looking for something. She’d almost expected the sex to be the way it was; what she hadn’t expected was the man.

And her! That took some getting used to, as well. She had been so certain that both her faces were identical, that she was always the same Buffy, that this whole thing had come as a terrible shock. She had always been the same, before this, before Spike….Now she knew she was a different person in private, and the shock of what Spike had turned out to be like in private had scared her. She remembered her confusion the first night, the night she couldn’t think about too often. She could only think about bits and pieces; the way he’d actually glanced down as she came down on him, as if he couldn’t believe it; the way something more than clothing had seemed stripped away from him. She couldn’t shake the thought that she had seen him for the first time in years, and maybe he had as well.

Who could love someone like that? She thought. Not anyone she knew. And who could be loved? She went back to that thought. To be loved; that was something. You had to allow that, give consent to that. It was something that could be accepted…or not. And what came after?

Now there was a wonderful thought. She flopped back on her back, and crossed her arms, glaring at the ceiling as if it was the ceiling’s fault. Fine, then. She’d just have to go patrolling. She’d never have to think her way in circles before. He wanted to be that way, it was just fine…

She jumped out of bed, grabbed sweatpants and tee shirt, and yanked them on. He wanted to play games, well, good, that just wasn’t going to go over well with her, not after…She started to climb out the window, then found herself face-to-face with Spike, and jumped at the sight of him. They goggled at one another for a minute, and then he pulled himself through the window, while she backed up as far as the bed. He followed, reaching for her, reaching for her face, and the kiss dissolved all her irritation and made her liquid. “Mmmmm….” She sighed, a sound that went straight down his spine. Then she remembered that someone had to be the voice of reason.

“Stop.” This was somewhat contradicted by the way her arms climbed around his shoulders, and pulled him closer, even while her mouth continue kissing him.

“I will if you will.” True up to a certain point, but he was rapidly reaching that point, and Buffy actually got there before he did.

“People.”

“Yes, I know.” Fumbling her onto the bed, wiggling against each other, desperate for skin and sweat and friction, pulling and tugging clothes aside, stopping for a second as Spike shrugged out of the duster. Somehow he managed to do that and pull her sweats down, kissing his way back up her body and pushing inside her all at once. “Quiet. Quiet. Oh, quiet…” He braced himself, not daring to move, trying to imagine the consequences of being found in this position…But then she pulled him in, arms and body and motion, and he didn’t care if Angel himself found them, just so long as he could look down at her face and see every flash of pleasure across it. He rocked into her, barely moving, holding himself off of her, but she spoiled his self-control, shoving his tee shirt up, trying to find skin somewhere. “Shhhh….” He whispered. She pulled him all the way down to her, all the way in, and they rocked together, silently, Buffy panting in his ear, hands grasping at him as if she were going to drown. She struggled and wriggled beneath him, shoving away her sweatshirt, pushing his tee shirt up. They stared into each other’s eyes, willing silence, doubting it, starting to feel a shudder every time he surged forward, starting to wait for it. “Oh, God,” Buffy whispered. “Oh, oh, oh, oh…” She heaved under him as if she was trying to buck him off of her, but instead she was pulling closer, her arms tightening, all her muscles tightening. He felt it, felt it all along his skin, inside him, inside her, and black things danced before his eyes. It seemed to start at the base of his spine gathering strength, surging up his nerves. He stared into her eyes, thinking, I love watching you do that. She was clutching his face in her hands now, watching him shudder, feeling him, which only seemed to prolong it. He threw his head back out of her grasp, beyond all control now, shoving hard into her, feeling something break inside him, shatter and implode, breaking all his bones, blackening his vision. He sagged to her shoulder, blinking at the spots dancing in his eyes. He knew he was gasping for air like a beached fish, knew she must be, too, but his ears were so numb he couldn’t hear it. His head was throbbing, but he couldn’t understand why, any more than he could understand his fingers tingling. But some dim corner of his mind was aware that she was stroking his bare back under the shirt he still haphazardly wore, and that her other hand was twined with his.

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