Buffy’s breathing came in hard, ragged gasps. Her back was pinned against the rough, bare concrete; Spike’s weight pressed down on her, and as she strained against the vampire, rivulets of sweat traced sticky, ticklish trails between her breasts. She reached between them, her hand gliding teasingly down his hardened length to cup and gently squeeze his balls. His sharp intake of breath and throaty moan were her cue to action; with a quick burst of speed she flipped them, coming to rest straddling his stomach. Her knees locked tightly against the vampire’s ribs, one hand on his throat pinning him down and the other fisted above his heart.

“I win,” she announced smugly.

“You cheated.” Spike’s sullen pout quickly transformed, a scowl creasing his brow and his eyes hardening as he glared up at his mate. “That better not be how you win all your fights,” he growled.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You’d prefer I got eaten?” she challenged.

“Only if it’s me doin’ the eating, pet,” he responded, his tongue curling behind his teeth as his eyes trailed from her face to where their bodies joined.

“Spike!” She slapped his chest, blushing deeply, and made to climb to her feet, only to have her progress halted as strong hands gripped her hips. Her mouth opened to chastise him, to remind him that her mother was just up the stairs, but the words died in her mouth as the leer faded from his face, his features softening as he watched her.

“Feeling better now, love?”

He continued to watch her intently; his eyes boring gently into hers, leaving her feeling naked and exposed under his knowing gaze. Not for the first time, she wondered how this vampire, who until only a few days ago had been her enemy, had come to mean so much to her—and not just because of the mind-blowingly great sex. He seemed to understand her in ways that no one, not even her mother or her best friends did; Buffy found that realisation to be both comforting and more than a little terrifying.

She nodded slowly, afraid to trust her voice.

In one of his typically rapid changes of mood, the mercurial vampire nodded sharply in return, his face splitting into a teasing grin as he released her hips, swatted her swiftly on the backside, and bucked his hips upwards. “Well up you get then, best go see what the research brigade have come up with. Oh, and, Slayer? Try an’ play nice with the Watcher’s new pet; there’s something about him…” His voice trailed off and he frowned briefly before shaking off his concerns with a sharp shake of his head. He offered her a crooked smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Besides, the bastard might not be so bloody uptight if he’s getting a bit.”

“What?” Buffy’s eyes widened in horror as Spike’s words sank in. “No. It’s not… Giles isn’t… You’re wrong!” she added emphatically, glaring at her now-laughing mate.

“We’ll see, pet. We’ll see.”

*****

Giles ran a hand through his hair, then pushed his glasses back on his nose with a weary sigh. Between the physical and emotional stress of the last few days, and poring over the books all day with little idea of what he was looking for and so far absolutely nothing to show for it, he was exhausted. All he wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep for a day or two; unfortunately, circumstances would not permit such a luxury. The watcher glanced across the table and was struck by a wave of nostalgia; Ethan’s eyes flicked over the text, his lips moving silently as he read. He used to love to watch Ethan read. Each week he’d visit the second-hand book store on Charring Cross Road, bringing home a new pile of musty, stained and dog-eared classics; enchanted by the other man’s almost innocent delight as he devoured the stories within.

Strangely, he harboured no ill feelings toward his kidnapper; if anything, he felt he’d got off lightly. He’d never meant to hurt Ethan, but hindsight being what it was, he now realised how much his actions would have affected the highly sensitive chaos mage. Abandonment and betrayal from the one person Ethan had thought would never hurt him had been the catalyst for the warlock developing his once-latent powers; considering the extent of those powers, and the hurt and rage that had been festering for so many years, Giles considered himself a very lucky man indeed.

Once again he found himself studying his former-lover’s face, knowing that he was responsible for a good many of the lines now etched deeply into the once-smooth skin. Ethan looked up, meeting his gaze, and Giles started guiltily, offering a brief, sad smile before turning his attention once more to the books in front of him.

*****

Ralph quivered under his master’s harsh gaze. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he stammered, his eyes downcast as he bowed respectfully. He’d been so excited that he finally had some news to share, that he’d burst into Master Angelus’ chamber without knocking—and without giving a moment’s thought to the fact that the news he bore might not be all that well received.

“Well don’t just stand there, you idiot.” Angelus growled quietly, his voice no less menacing for its lack of volume. He climbed out of the bed, careful not to disturb his now-sleeping childe lest she resume the keening that had all but driven him insane the last couple of days.

Misinterpreting his master’s words and thinking that he had been dismissed, the terrified minion mumbled a further apology and backed towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

The words stopped him in his tracks and he risked a glance at his elder. Angelus’ face was dark with fury as he stalked naked toward him. Swallowing hard, he tried to think, unsure of what was expected of him. The thick fog of fear clouded his mind and he found himself rooted to the spot, his mouth flapping open and closed silently. “I thought... I’m sorry…” he finally stammered.

“Do you have news for me, or don’t you?’

I… Y… yes. I…”

“Well…” He placed a comforting arm around the now almost catatonic minion’s shoulders, waiting until their trembling lessened and the muscles relaxed before spinning the terrified vampire around and hurtling him across the room into the wardrobe. He waited until Ralph had extracted himself from the broken shards of the once beautiful timber wardrobe and scrambled hastily to his feet before continuing. “Why don’t you quit fucking me around. And. Tell. Me!” he finished loudly. Sighing inwardly at his loss of control, he glanced over to where Dru now sat up in the bed, staring blankly at him as she blinked away her dreams. 'At least she isn’t making that infernal noise,' he mused, before turning his attention back to the unfortunate minion.

“The human who runs the bar…”

“Willy,” Angelus supplied, waving his hand in a signal for the other to continue.

“He… he said that there had been talk… the Slayer’s watcher had captured Master Spike…” A loud growl cut him off and his trembling increased.

“Spike is not your Master.”

Angelus’ fist crashed against Ralph’s jaw and tears prickled the younger vamp’s eyes as he struggled quickly to his feet once more.

“Go on,” Angelus ordered.

“I... uh… he said that... um…” He shook his head to clear it, and then quickly rushed again when he saw Angelus’ eyes darkening with impatience. “Two nights ago Spike was seen by a couple of V’Lignar demons, he was in his chair over near the Bronze. They saw the watcher tranquilize Mas… him… and then wheel him away. Th… then yesterday the Slayer was looking for her watch… ” A loud keening cutting off the rest of his story and he cringed back against the wall, slowly edging towards the door and freedom while the master’s attention was elsewhere.

“My Spike is stolen from me…” Drusilla clawed at her face, rocking slowly as she keened. “Silken promises and forgotten dreams. Both my beautiful boys gone. Clever tricks that should have worked.”

Her eyes cleared, narrowing shrewdly as her voice changed from the shrill piteous whine to a quiet, knowing whisper. “Nasty light, it knows this time—won’t be fooled into thinking the sun shines where it doesn’t.”

The moment of almost-clarity faded. “Don’t let them take him from me,” she keened once more. Turning huge tear-filled eyes on her sire, her lip trembled as she continued to plead, “Don’t let them take my Spike away.

*****

“If we change the spell here,” Willow suggested, pointing to the line in question. “And modify the variable here. Then maybe we could…” her voiced faltered at the watcher’s frown. “Or… err… not,” she finished.

“What? Hmm…” Giles looked up from the page, taking in the uncertainty in the girl’s eyes. “…Oh, yes, indeed… That just might work… What do you think?” he asked, turning to address the other man.

Ethan narrowed his eyes at the oblivious watcher who had returned to studying the text.  Turning his most winning smile on the young redhead, he offered, “I think it is worth a try. It’s an inspired idea.” He watched as Willow timidly returned his smile. “Good work, my dear,” he praised. “Wasn’t it, Rupert?”

“Hmm?” the watcher enquired distractedly, glancing up to meet Ethan’s disapproving stare over the girl’s head. “Oh, yes. Quite. Excellent work,” he continued before turning back to the spell and snatching up a notebook and pencil.

*****

“Buffy, Spike, would you please set the table,” Joyce instructed the couple as they emerged sweaty, dishevelled and grimy from the basement.

Buffy blinked as her mother marched briskly out of the room and ordered those at the table to clear their books away and ready themselves for dinner. She glanced at her mate and shrugged helplessly, leading him over to the cabinet that housed the glasses, while she snatched up the required cutlery. “The best thing is to just do what we’re told,” she said with a regret-filled sigh as she thought about the nice hot shower that would now have to wait until after dinner. “When she gets like this…” she shuddered, “... trying to argue with her is really not pretty.”

They made their way into the dining room in time to see a rather sheepish looking Giles rushing to clear away a stack of books as Joyce turned and marched back into her kitchen.

*****

He began punching in the numbers; this time he made it as far as the second last digit before disconnecting with a sigh. Xander glared at the handset as if it were somehow responsible for all his woes. ‘A simple phone call, a heartfelt apology, a little pride-swallowing and all would be right with the world—or at least my little corner of the world… so why is it so hard?’ He threw the phone down in disgust and began struggling into a clean pair of sweats. ‘Because,’ he told himself angrily, ‘you stuffed this up in person and that’s how you need to make it right again.’

Xander headed out into the night, rehearsing lines over silently in his head and feeling decidedly better for having reached a decision—as long as he didn't chicken out at the last minute. His feet followed the familiar path from his house to Buffy’s while his mind was occupied with more important things—like how much grovelling was the right amount in situations like this, and hoping that, despite his best intentions, the words didn’t get stuck in his throat. Or worse, all jumbled up and coming out wrong—so that instead of making things better, he made them worse.

He wasn’t good at stuff like this, but he knew that he wasn’t gonna be able to make this better by laughing it off with a lame joke or two and a self-effacing smile; this time the apology needed to be genuine and from the heart. 

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