Title:  Pillow Talk

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  NC-17

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:  A Spuffy story that starts in early Season 6 before deviating from canon.   A slight change in circumstances, a different decision or two, and you wind up with very different results.

Thanks: To Keswindhover and revdorothyl for the beta.

The story begins here. A list of links to the individual chapters is here.

Chapter 26

"I'm less mentally stable than my little sister, or a stupid robot!"  Buffy passed an order slip to George and swiped at the counter with a rag.  "Not to mention the vampire who commissioned the obscene thing!  I'm not coping nearly as well as a rewired sexbot because I don't grin and chirp while strangers decide if I'm good enough to take care of Dawn!  And that woman acted like I was the crazy one for not dating Spike." 

George pushed a button on the espresso machine and a delivered a shot into a cup.  "I hate to tell you, Buffy, but there are plenty of demons in Sunnydale who'd agree with her on that last one."

Buffy cut off her rant, and abruptly forgot about the insanity of social workers.  It never occurred to me there might be competition.   She looked more closely at George.  It wasn't a sight that hurt the eyes.  She wondered if the competition included her coworker.

George set a cappuccino topped with foam exactly to order on the counter, and smiled in a way that showed Buffy's thoughts were written on her face.  "Don't worry, honey.  He's not my type."

Buffy wondered what George's type was.  Then she wondered what George was.  She still hadn't been able to decide, and it seemed like the dorkiest question ever so she couldn't make herself ask.  Not that it mattered.  Pretty much everything, male or female, that came into The Hill of Beans looked at least a little happier when they caught sight of George.

She sighed and turned to take an order.  A good-looking guy smiled at her, asked for a latte, and then looked at George.  Case in point.  Buffy watched in amusement as the customer leaned over to add some fussy details to his order that apparently had to be communicated directly to the barista.  Several meaningful glances later, he received his cup with effusive thanks and went to find a seat with a good view of the counter.

"Is that your type?"

George shrugged.  "Could be.  I may wander over to bus the table next to him in a bit, so you don't have to bother with it."

"That's really generous of you."  Buffy looked around the café.  Everything seemed under control.   Not crowded, but there were only a few empty tables.  "I'm surprised there are so many customers already.  You'd think they wouldn't be up to whipped cream and chocolate cake so soon after the Eat, Drink, and Be Queasy spell."

"Humans in this town forget quickly."

"Well, then maybe you'd better go bus that table."

As she watched George turn flirting into an art form, Buffy remembered something that she hadn't quite forgotten in the first place.  Something she was ashamed of trying to forget.  She slipped into the back room and picked up the phone.

"Hi!  Willow.  How are you? … I'm sorry about the not talking earlier, but you were sleeping, and then there was the thing with the social worker, and then this thing with work, which is still kind of going on, so I can only talk a moment— … Oh …  Really?  I didn't think you'd feel like partying tonight …  Amy?  ...  Oh, Amy the rat! ...  She's not a rat? … And you're going to the Bronze. … Sure…  Sure…  Have a good time."

Buffy hung up the phone and went to deal with the next customer.  That's just weird.  Not like Willow.  When Oz left, she was miserable for ages.  What could make her feel like partying this soon?  When the most likely thing occurred to Buffy, she broke a pencil writing down the order.  Oh, please don't let there be magic involved in this.  Please.

But one glance at the next customer made her forget Willow again. 

"That's not a bad look for you, pet.  But I think you should try going all black.  Maybe with leather.  Always liked you in leather."

"Spike, what do you want?"

Hands buried in the pockets of his duster, he looked at the ceiling for a moment, as if wrestling with a difficult problem.  At last, he said, "A mocha, triple shots, heavy on the whipped cream, with some of that hazelnut stuff in it, and chocolate and cinnamon on the top."

“Of all the reasons for vampires being up all night, a near-lethal dose of caffeine never occurred to me.” Buffy looked up from her pad. "Okay.  Unless you’d prefer something sweeter?"

"I would, but do you know, they don't have those little tiny marshmallows here.  I've talked to Nancy about it but she can't seem to understand that not having them in stock is a serious fault in her otherwise excellent establishment.”  He leaned over the counter and said in a confidential tone, “Sometimes, I get the feeling she doesn't like me.  Maybe you could talk to her.  About the marshmallows, I mean."

George stepped back behind the counter.  "Hi, Spike.  The usual?"

"Yeah."  Spike returned Buffy’s stare. "What?"

"Your usual is something with enough sugar to make a Seventh Heaven screenwriter barf?"  Indignation grew.  "And you stay skinny?"

"I am not skinny, I am slim and athletic."  He looked her up and down.  "And you could bear to down a few yourself.  You're wasting away, love."

Buffy felt her teeth grinding. "That will be four-twenty-nine."

He stood up straighter.  "You're making me pay?  Doesn't knowing the help count for anything around here?"

She stared him down until he fumbled though his pockets and threw a couple of dollar bills and some coins on the counter.  She scooped the money up and counted it.  "Okay."  As he stepped past her station to take his drink from George, she slipped her hand in her pocket, pulled out a couple of quarters, and dropped them in the cash register.  He'd come up short, but she had the impression he really didn't have any more cash.  That makes two of us.  So far, all I've gotten out of this job is a backache and some tips.  Note to self: Ask for an advance until payday.

"Buffy."  

She jumped at the sound of Nancy's voice behind her, and the sight of her boss' face did nothing to reassure her.  "It's okay, really, I made sure he paid."

"What?"  Nancy's gaze swept the room and settled on Spike.  "Oh, your bloodsucker.  I'm not worried about him.  You need to cut your shift short.  There's some kind of green lizard demon wrecking a playground about three streets over.  It's eaten three dogs, at least one cat, and a pot-bellied pig. A friend who lives in the neighborhood called me, and he'd like it slain before it drives down the property values."

Buffy untied her apron as she listened to the directions.  "I keep some weapons at the Magic Box.  I'll grab an axe and head over there right now."  She stopped as she was about to turn away.  "Uh, are you going to dock my pay for this?"

Nancy looked very much as if she would for a moment, but finally said hesitantly, as if the words embarrassed her, "I'll pay you for your scheduled shift.  No overtime."

Feeling ridiculously relieved, Buffy stalked over to a table and took Spike's disgusting cup of caffeine, sugar, and fat away from him. "Come on.  We have a job."

"We do, eh?"  He reached for the cup.  Buffy leaned over and tipped it and its contents into the plastic bin George had been using to bus the tables.

"Hey, I paid for that!"  Spike objected as she grabbed him by the elbow and towed him out to the street.

She ignored him as she walked to the Magic Box.  As she expected, footsteps and cursing followed her down the street, through the door, and back into her training room.

"What kind of demon are we after?"  Spike asked when he got over his sulks. 

"Nancy's friend wasn't sure.  Big.  Lizardy. Green.  Likes pets."  She picked up an axe and tossed it at him.

He caught it easily and grimaced.  "Let's go get Godzilla, then."

It wasn't as big as Godzilla, and it wasn't even all green.  It had patches of ugly brown scales alternating with ugly green scales. 

"And blue blood," said Buffy when she'd managed to sever something artery-like.  "I wonder what its pedigree is?"

Spike crouched down next to the body.  "Unfortunately, it's a sallanard." 

"Which means what?"

"If we don't hack it up into small enough pieces and remove the heart, it will put itself back together and we'll have to do this again tomorrow night."

"Crap.  A Slayer's work is never done, but I'll be damned if I want a rerun of that."  She hefted her weapon.  "Good thing I brought my best axe."

Spike watched as she started hacking.  "You seem to have a lot of enthusiasm for the job."

"Just be glad this thing came along, Spike.  I'm in the mood for smashing something into little pieces, and since that stupid Buffybot isn't around any more, this will have to do."

Spike stepped a few feet back from her axe.  "The bot?  What brings the bot into this?"

"That social worker, for one thing. She liked it better than me."  She glared at him.  "You seemed pretty fond of it too.  Come on, are you going to help, or not?"

"Didn't like it better than you.  You know that.  It was just—"  He turned away to drop his coat on a nearby bench before picking up his weapon.  When he met her eyes again, he added, "I'd never do that now, Buffy.  You've got to believe that."

"Why? Because I wouldn't like it?"  The tail separated from the body with a very satisfying crunch.

Spike swung his axe.  The head fell off and rolled a few feet away.  "Well, yeah.  But also because—"

"Because what?"

"Never mind."
 
She started in on the thigh, wondering if the same strategy used in carving a turkey applied here.  "Spike, I do get that you've done good things.  But you only do those things because you love me.  And Dawn.  I know you love her too.  But—I remember something Tara said once about a moral compass.  You don’t have one.  You don’t even have ruler, or a map, or one of those weird half-circle things."

"Got to get the heart out in one piece."  He crouched down, staring at the beast's exposed belly.  "I'll admit to the lack of a moral protractor, love, but I do have a compass."  He looked up and gave her one of those meaningful looks that she hated because they made her insides feel like they were melting.  "You."

"I can’t be that!"  Her shoulders sagged.  "For one thing, it’s too much work." 

"You managed when you were dead.  Seems like it should be easier now."  He stood up and started scrounging through a garbage can.  "Besides, how many things do you do just because your mum said that’s the way it should be, or old Rupert droned on about a Slayer's duty?"  He moved on to the next bin.  "I don’t understand this conscience thing."

"That’s obvious."

He turned, holding up an empty plastic bag as if it were a trophy.  Or covered with something he didn't want too close to his nose or his clothes.  "I don’t even see why this soul thing is so bloody magic.  If it really worked, none of you humans would ever rape and pillage either.  At least I'm trying."

"It’s not just the killing, Spike.  Okay, you know I don’t want you to kill humans, so you say you won’t try—"

"More that that," he muttered.  His axe sliced sideways.  Blue stuff oozed.

She wasn’t sure she heard him right.  She stopped hacking at the second thick thigh bone.  "What did you say?"

"It’s more than that.  With humans.  I look at them now, and I think just maybe someone cares about them the way I care about Dawn and you.  It’s not that I care, mind.  It just—puts me off my feed somehow.  I mean, if I could feed, it would put me off."

She was about to cry bullshit, but when she looked at him, she couldn't.  His face wasn't in its lying mode, which involved an impossibly innocent expression and lots of puppy-dog style eye contact; he just seemed bewildered.  And his mouth wasn't in its lying mode either, because he wasn't talking way too much and too fast and contradicting himself every ten seconds.  He wasn't saying anything at all now.

After a stunned moment, she said, her voice weaker, "Okay, Spike.  But the killing is just part of it.  Some of the other things you do can be pretty creepy."  She watched him pull a switchblade out of his boot and use it to cut something big and nasty out of the lizard's gory chest.

He slid the heart into the plastic bag and wiped his blade on the grass before looking up at her.  "Well, I’m trying, Slayer.  But I don’t just know these things.  I can’t even figure them out.  I have to learn them the hard way.  Like, if you show the girl you love that her boyfriend is cheating on her, it’s going to hurt her, and you too.  And it doesn’t work to have a robot made of her, because it’s not the same thing, and if the real girl dies it’s going to tear you up inside just looking at the bloody bot.  And the whole stealing the clothes and pictures thing, I know now that was right off, but not until after I did it.  I wouldn’t do any of those things now."

"No, you’ll just do some other crazy-making thing."

"Well—yeah.  Probably."  He looked down at the bits of lizard at his feet.  "This refugee from a B movie is in enough pieces now.  Where should we dump them?”

Buffy shook her head.  “Don't bother.  Nancy’s friend can do his bit to protect his property values by doing cleanup.  Let’s just take the heart and go."

He stood up.  “What happened to that rigid sense of Slayer duty I remember?”

“It was slain by a 40-hour workweek and mucho housework.  Come on.”

He shouldered his axe, and the plastic bag with its nasty contents swung from his other hand   “Dare I hope that this eagerness to leave is inspired by a desire to pick up our nice little chat where it left off this morning?”

"Yeah, Spike, because rehashing the worst crap you've pulled over the past year is sure to make me want to jump your bones."  Except the crazy thing is, it kind of does.

She didn't hear his answer.  The sounds he was making reached her ears, but her brain wasn't translating them into words because it was busy making other connections.

When she turned back to him at last, he was apparently finishing up a long speech. "Well, Slayer? What do you say?"

"I say that whoever drives that black van over there has been spying on me."

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