Title:  Vacation, or Busman's Holiday

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  "Chiaroscuro" is mostly R and PG.  However, some content may be considered NC-17.

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

Thanks:  To DorothyL for the beta and for her wonderful friendship.

Notes:   This is a sequel to “Profundity."

        “I don’t like letting Fred go in there alone,” said Gunn.

        “Well, we can’t afford to pay covers for all three of us at each club,” said Wesley.  “And if any of those vampires are around, she’s safer in there than out here.”

        “How is she supposed to spot these vamps on the dance floor anyway?”

        “We think we have this group’s modus operandi down, Gunn.  Each time, they’ve attacked couples leaving dance clubs.  They must be picking them out inside and following them onto the street.  If we can just--”

        “They’re here,” said Fred, slipping out the door and coming to stand beside them.  “I’m sure I recognized two of them.  They were the same vamps we chased the other night.  And I think they’ve picked out the next couple of victims.”

        “How can you tell?” asked Gunn.

        “Well, Wesley says they’re drawn to sexual energy, and what I just saw in there makes this couple that’s getting their coats now the obvious choice.   I mean, like, beyond the obvious choice.” She gave a nervous giggle.

        “Really?” asked Gunn.

        “Oh, yeah.  They were dancing when I went in, and everybody was already watching them.  I think they had to turn the air conditioning up to keep the room from overheating.”  Fred was fanning herself at the memory.

        “All over each other, eh?”

        “Not at the end.  By that time, they were keeping a few inches apart from each other, and kind of giving the impression that if they did touch, it would be spontaneous combustion.  Kaboom!”

        “Kaboom?” said Gunn.

        “Here they are now,” said Fred, pulling the men back into the shadows.  “I bet that if we follow them, the vamps will be right behind.”

        A young couple emerged from the club, arms around each other. The man was slender and not very tall.  The woman was short and appeared almost fragile.  Both wore long, dark cloth coats.  The man had brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, and the woman’s head gleamed blonde under the street lights.  They were staggering slightly as they walked, as if slightly the worse for drink.  Every few steps, they paused to kiss, rubbing up against each other and giving the definite impression that they would be unable to wait to find a room before satisfying their libido.  They passed two or three dark buildings and ducked down an alley.

        Several shadowy figures followed them.  “We’ve got them,” said Wesley.

        “We’ve got lots of them,” said Gunn, his voice not nearly as happy as Wesley’s.  “One, two, three--”

        “Four, five, six--” continued Fred.

        “Seven,” said Wesley in a hollow tone.  “There are seven vampires.”

        “We can’t do seven,” said Fred.  “Not without Angel and Connor.”

        “We have to,” said Wesley.  “We can’t let those two—well, innocents may be an extreme term—those two victims become, well, victims.”

        Grimly, Wesley picked up the huge axe he had been hiding behind him in the shadows.  Gunn and Fred each picked up a crossbow, and the three advanced to peer down the mouth of the ally.  The couple was locked in an embrace about halfway down the narrow passageway.

        “Seven,” muttered Gunn.  “We’re supposed to take on seven?”

        As he spoke those words, a male vampire rushed towards the couple.  But before the three would-be rescuers could move, the woman in the alley turned away from her lover’s embrace, raising a stake in her right hand and running it almost casually through the vamp’s heart.  By the time her thrust was complete, her arm was moving through a cloud of ash.

        “Six,” said Fred.  “No, five,” she added as the man in the alley smoothly staked one of the female vampires.

        Another vamp rushed the woman, who spun around, gaining incredible height as she kicked.  She moved in for the kill.

        “Four,” said Gunn.  “Who the hell can fight like that?  Not even Angel--”

        The tallest of the vamps attacked the man, striking out forcefully with long legs.  None of the vamp’s kicks hit home, as the man blocked one after the other. Then the man moved in fast, knocking the vamp off balance.  Suddenly, there was only a cloud of dust where the monster had been.

        “Three,” said Fred.      

        The woman had lost her stake and was glancing around looking for a new weapon.  Her eyes fell on Wesley and the others.  She darted forward, smiled at Wesley, and said “May I?”  Before he could answer, she had snatched the axe from his hands and run back down the alley.  In spite of her small size, she had no trouble handling the huge weapon.

        Her companion was fighting with two of the remaining vamps, who had decided to gang up on him.  Given their superhuman strength, the two monsters should have had no trouble overwhelming him.  But the man was whirling around at amazing speed, successfully blocking the blows from the creatures on either side of him.  The woman rushed up with the axe, yelling, “Duck!”

        Her companion instantly followed her orders, and the axe blade whirled in a speedy arc.  Two vamps were decapitated.

        “One,” said Gunn.

        As the dust settled, the man stood back up and looked down the alley.  He spotted the last vampire, which had decided to embrace stealth instead of violence.  It had crept towards the wall and was climbing up on a dumpster in order to jump over the back wall and escape.  “Bloody hell!  He’s getting away,” yelled the man.

        The woman instantly dropped the axe and jumped after the vamp, landing on the dumpster with a reverberating metallic thud and grabbing the creature by the shoulders just before it made a break for freedom.  She looked around for some way to dispose of it, and saw her companion standing below with an upraised stake.  She tossed the vamp down on top of the stake, watched the subsequent dust cloud rise, and brushed off her hands.

        “Now that,” said her companion in a voice that echoed up and down the alley, “was fun.” 

        He dropped the stake and raised his arms to catch the woman as she jumped down from the dumpster.  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist.  They kissed passionately.

        “Whoa!” said Gunn in combined shock and admiration.

        “Told you,” said Fred. “Kaboom.”

        The woman raised her head and looked at the three watching figures.  “Hey, we have company,” she said to the man, pushing herself away from his chest.  He put her down reluctantly and trailed after her as she picked up the fallen axe and walked to the end of the alley.

        “Hi, Wesley,” she said, handing over the weapon.  “Thanks for the loan of the axe.”

        “You know this bloke?” asked her companion.  His accent was as English as Wesley’s, but from several steps down the social ladder. 

        “Sure.  Wes was my Watcher for--what was it Wes, about ten, fifteen minutes once?”  She had a disarming smile that took the sting out of her words.

        “Yes, until you fired me,” said Wesley.

        “Oh, be fair.  I fired the whole Council, not just you.  I never wanted you to take it personally.”  She smiled at Wesley’s companions.  “You must be Fred and Gunn.  Cordelia talked about you.”

        “Yes,” said Wesley.  “Fred, Gunn, this is Buffy.”

        “The Vampire Slayer?” asked Gunn in a disbelieving tone.

        “Not exactly the one and only, not any more, but yes, I’m the Slayer,” said Buffy. 

        Wesley looked at her companion.  The sight didn’t seem to give him much pleasure.  “And this must be William the Bloody.”

        “I answer to Spike,” said the other Englishman, his blue eyes gleaming under the streetlights.

        “Suits you,” said Gunn.

        “So,” said Fred, trying for a friendly tone, “What brings you to LA?”

        “Were you hunting those vampires?” asked Wesley.

        “What?” said Buffy cheerfully.  “Oh, no.  That was just good old fashioned Buffy bad luck.  We came to town looking for someone, and found out he’d decided to move far, far away just before we got here, so I thought maybe an old friend could give us some information, but I couldn’t find Cordelia’s home phone number, so we started looking for the hotel she told us about.  But then we passed by the club, and we got kind of distracted.”

        “By the vamps,” said Gunn.

        “Oh, no, by the music.  But when we were dancing, Spike sensed the vamps, and duty demanded we lure them out here and take care of some business.  Like I said, more Buffy bad luck.  All my parties seem to degenerate into fights.”

        Spike gave a lecherous laugh and pulled her close to him.  “Yeah, Slayer, but sometimes your fights degenerate into--”

        Buffy pushed him away, with a look that clearly said, “Later.”

        “Well, if you want to go to the hotel, we can take you,” said Wesley.

        “Are you sure?” asked Buffy.  “I kind of had second thoughts.  It seems rude to barge in on Angel like that.”

        “Yeah, stopping in on one’s ex without warning is definitely bad form,” drawled Spike.  “The kind of behavior we want to discourage at all costs.”

        “Actually, Angel’s not there right now,” volunteered the ever-helpful Fred.  “He and Connor went out on a job together.  And I’m sure Cordelia would like to see you.”

        “Well, if we could see Cordelia without bothering Angel—” said Buffy, clearly liking that idea.

They had been walking down the street as they spoke.  “Since that’s settled,” said Wesley with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, “Why don’t you hop in?”  He gestured towards the big, old car parked by the curb.

        Spike burst into raucous laughter.  “Oh, please, tell me this is Angel’s car!”

        “Yeah,” said Gunn, offended.  “It is.”

        “Of course it is.  Angel would own a convertible.”

        Buffy frowned at him.  “Spike, you own a convertible.”

        “Yeah, but I tan, I don’t burn.  What kind of stupid git would showboat around town in something that could only give him pain--”  Something in Buffy’s eyes made him stop there.  “Never mind,” he said.  “I’ve decided I like it.  What’s not to like, especially with this nice, big back seat.”  He grabbed Buffy around the waist and pulled her with him as he dove over the door onto the back seat of the car.  Squeals and giggles emanated from the depths.

        “I think I’ll ride in front with you guys,” said Fred hastily, sliding into the middle of the front seat.  No one argued with her.

        By the time Gunn and Wesley had taken their seats, the giggles had subsided, to be followed by a forceful, “Not now!”  Buffy struggled to a seated position and leaned her arms on the back of the front seat.

        “Sorry, guys,” she said with a winning smile.  “We’re just still a bit revved up from the fight.  You know how it is.”  She looked from Gunn to Fred.

        Gunn had draped his arm across Fred’s shoulders, but at this he removed it and tried to sit as far from her as the close confines of the car permitted.

        The drive to the hotel was over mercifully soon.  Wesley made a brief attempt to ask Buffy about some friends of hers in Sunnydale, but her responses were punctuated by inappropriate giggles apparently caused by some activity taking place in the darkness of the back seat.  The fact that Spike did not sit up until the trip was over gave the residents of the front seat far too much latitude to imagine what he was doing.

        But when they reached the hotel, Buffy suddenly became very serious.  “You’re sure Angel’s not around?” she asked again.

        “I’m sure,” said Fred, walking ahead of the Slayer to open the door.  “He very clearly said that he and Connor would be gone until--” she opened the door, walked inside, and stopped.  “Oh, hi, Angel,” she said.

        Buffy turned around to grab Spike’s arm and head back towards the sidewalk, but it was too late.  “Buffy!” called Cordelia, running up the steps and pulling the Slayer away from Spike to give her a hug.  “You didn’t tell me you were coming to LA.”  She looked at the man standing next to Buffy with less enthusiasm.  “And you brought Spike,” she said in a flat tone.

        “Did you bring Dawn too?” asked Connor, who was standing by his father near the weapons cabinet.

        “No,” said Spike, strolling down the steps into the lobby and giving Connor a meaningful look.  “She’s back in Sunnydale.”  He turned around, looking the lobby over.  “Nice place, Angel,” he said, hopping up onto the concierge’s desk and seating himself comfortably.  His normal tone of voice was so tinged with irony that it was hard to tell if he meant it.

        “Glad you approve,” said Angel insincerely.  He looked at the Slayer with something like shyness.  “Hi, Buffy.”

        “Sorry to intrude,” she said.  “I wanted to ask Cordelia something, and I didn’t think you’d be here.”

        “Oh, well, sorry, we didn’t mean to mislead anyone.  Connor and I went to stake a place out, but when we got there it had obviously been abandoned.”

        “And torched,” said Connor enthusiastically.  “Big kaboom.  It was awesome.”

        “You got to see it?” asked Buffy.

        “Yeah.  I’d never seen anything that big blow up before.”

        “I blew up a high school once,” said Buffy.

        “Really?”  Connor regarded her with awe.

        “Perhaps,” said Wesley, “you two could share tales of exploding ordnance at another time.  We of Angel Investigations should be, well, investigating this new development.”

        “I don’t think we can, Wes,” said Angel.  “Not until the site cools down.”

        “Still,” said Buffy, “I shouldn’t be intruding on your operation.” 

        “No, no, don’t apologize.  There’s no reason for us to avoid each other,” said Angel stiffly.

        “Yes, there is,” said Spike. “The two of you make bloody poor conversationalists.  All you do is say how sorry you are.”

        “Shut up, Spike,” said Buffy, in a tone of voice that indicated this was a comment she made several times a day.

        Fred wondered if it ever worked any better than it did now.  “The kid’s more fun,” said Spike.  “Let’s talk some more about blowing things up.”

        “Let’s not,” said Cordelia.  “So, Buffy, is everyone okay back in Sunnydale?  And what brings you to LA?”

        While Buffy updated Cordelia on what was happening with friends back home, Angel listened with what he obviously hoped was a casual air.  Spike smiled in what Fred thought was a menacing way and pulled a battered silver flask out of his coat pocket.  He was about to take a swig when he noticed Fred standing nearby and held out the flask instead.  Startled by the tacit invitation, she shook her head emphatically and went to stand by Gunn, who had come no further into the room than the top of the stairs by the door.

        “So that’s the Slayer,” said Gunn.  He sounded surprised and not very pleased.

        “She’s not what I expected,” whispered Fred.

        “Yeah,” said Gunn.  “From the descriptions and Angel’s attitude, I kind of had this impression of Joan of Arc.”

        “Me too,” said Fred, “but she and this Spike guy are more like Bonnie and Clyde.”

        “I was going to say, Sid and Nancy,” said Gunn.

        “Maybe she’s changed,” said Fred.  She looked at Spike and moved closer to Gunn.  “And I understand that he’s been through some changes.”

        Gunn nodded.  “He’s not what I expected either.  For one thing, I thought he was supposed to have become human.  I’m not sure that what we saw in that alley was human.”

        “Cordelia told me that he kept his vamp strength and then some,” said Fred.  “But I don’t get it.  He was supposed to have earned his soul and his humanity.  He looks more like someone who would earn a five-to-ten year stretch.”

        Angel and Connor opened the weapons cabinet and started putting away Wesley’s axe and the armaments that they had taken with them on their abortive stake-out.  Spike hopped off the counter and strolled over to examine the contents of the cabinet with a knowledgeable eye.  “Not bad,” he said. 

        “Not bad?” repeated Connor indignantly.

        “Well, you know, Buffy’s got the hammer of a troll god,” said Spike.  “It’s kind of hard to beat a collection like that.”

        “One item does not make a collection,” said Angel.  “Check this out--”

        Cordelia rolled her eyes and pulled Buffy towards the kitchen.  “Come, on, lets leave them to play with the toys while we go get some tea or diet soda or something.”

        “So,” said Cordelia, “how long will you and Spike be in town?”

        “We came looking for something, so I suppose we’ll be here until we find it.  We thought it would be easy to find and that we’d be able to enjoy ourselves a little, but now Spike’s contact has skipped town, and I don’t know what we’ll do next.”

        “I’m sorry to hear that.  Not that you’ll be here for a while, but—”

        “I get it,” said Buffy, grimacing.  “I know it’s awkward, and not the best way to repay the favor Angel did for us, but we really need to find this thing.  You guys just know this town a lot better than we do, and we were hoping you could help.  As soon as we get what we need, we’ll remove ourselves.”

        “It’s really ok, Buffy.”  Cordelia seemed sincere.  “I don’t mind you being here.  I know that it’s over between you and Angel.  And as long as you can keep Spike under control, I can put up with him too.”

        “Spike controls himself, Cordy,” said Buffy.  “I told you that.  I wish you wouldn’t keep talking about him like he’s a monster I walk around on a leash.  He’s a lot less likely to turn evil again than Angel.”

        Cordelia’s expression hardened.  “Angel will not become evil again,” she said.

“No, no, I’m sure he won’t,” said Buffy hastily.  “I just meant that Spike isn’t under a curse or anything, so he wouldn’t lose his soul just because a spell got broken.  He didn’t change the same way Angel did.”

“Yeah, I noticed the lack of improvement personality-wise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?  I happen to like Spike the way he is.  And do you really think that the way Angel broods and spreads gloom when he’s good is a personality improvement?”

“Over tearing out people’s hearts and eating them for breakfast, yes.”

“Well Spike doesn’t eat people either,” said Buffy.

“Maybe my standards for a guy are a little higher than just not eating people.”

“My standards are pretty high, too, Cordelia.”

“Do they include him showing any actual remorse for having eaten people in the past?”

Buffy stood up and her voice lowered ominously.  “You have no idea what Spike feels.  And there’s a difference between feeling remorse and spreading gloom over every room you enter.”

Cordelia stood up too.  “Angel is not that gloomy anymore.  He smiles two or three times a day now.  Of course, we don’t want him getting too cheerful, but he does just fine.  And he’s a great father.”

“Are you implying that Spike wouldn’t be?  He’s been helping me take care of Dawn, you know.  And at least he’s not terrified of the PTA ladies, like Angel was.”

        The volume of their voices was rising steadily, but suddenly Cordelia slapped herself on the forehead and stopped the escalation of hostilities.  “Oh, my gosh,” she said.  “Will you listen to us?  Are we really sitting here arguing over which of those two ex-evil non-geniuses is the best significant other?”

        Buffy grimaced in sudden self-awareness and sat back in her chair.  “This is just great.  They’re arguing about who has the best toy and we’re arguing about who has the best guy.  Are we really that much better than they are?”

        Fred poked her head around the door.  “I don’t want to intrude,” she said nervously.  “But Angel and Connor have taken that big bow out of the storeroom.  You know, the one they found in that giant’s lair.  The one that Charles and Connor broke three windows with the last time they tried to use it.  Angel is having a—a sort of discussion with Spike about which one of them is strong enough to string it all by himself.”

        “Does that answer your question?” said Cordelia to Buffy.  Her voice had returned to its usual mildly querulous tone; the real anger was gone.  “I swear that vamp testosterone is worse than the normal kind.  If those guys wreck the lobby again, I’ll ram one of the arrows that go with that bow up somebody’s butt.”

        Buffy stood up.  “I can take this one, Cordelia.  Unless you really want to do the arrow thing.”

        Cordelia gave permission with a wave of her arm, and Buffy went back to the lobby, trailed by Fred and Cordelia. 

        Spike, Angel, and Connor were standing in front of the weapons cabinet looking at the huge bow that Angel was supporting carefully.  Gunn and Wesley were standing off to the side with the air of men determined to retain their status of innocent observers.  Buffy invaded this tableau ruthlessly.  “Hey, look at that.  I bet you could take out a whole nest of vamps with that thing.  Of course, you’d have to get them to line up nicely first.”  She took the bow away from Angel without asking permission and carried it over to the staircase, holding it in one hand.  She took one end of the string, propped the weapon against the lowest step, and climbed up several risers so that she could reach the top of the bow.  She easily bent the bow and strung it neatly.  She stood for a moment, admiring her work, and then looked over at the men watching her.  All but Spike looked stunned and a little sheepish.  Spike was smiling with pride and amusement.

        “You know what?” said Buffy in a confiding tone of voice.  “This is probably an outside toy.  What do you say we put it away and take it out again sometime when we’re going to the park, or a battlefield, or someplace like that?”  She reached up and unstrung the bow.

        “You’re probably right,” said Angel, walking over to take the weapon from her.  He had to use both hands to steady it as he carried it back to storeroom behind the lobby where it normally resided. 

        “We should be getting back to our hotel,” said Buffy when Angel returned.  “It’s late.  But first, I was hoping maybe Wes or Angel could give us a lead on this thing we’re looking for.”

        “Of course,” said Angel.  Wesley looked less than thrilled, but he nodded briefly.

        “Where are you staying?” asked Gunn.

        Spike mentioned the name of the hotel, and Fred wrinkled her nose.  “That’s not the best place,” she said.

        “It’s what we can afford,” said Spike.

        “But it’s crazy for you to be spending good money to stay in a place like that when there are so many empty rooms here,” said Fred.

        There was a moment of frozen silence.  Angel finally spoke.  “Yes, that’s right.  Buffy, why don’t we just let you use one of the rooms here?”

“Oh, no,” said Buffy.  “We couldn’t do that.  We really, really, couldn’t.”

        But then, both Angel and Cordelia were insistent, in a somewhat horrified way, that Buffy and Spike should accept their hospitality.  Spike said nothing, but seemed to be enjoying everyone else’s discomfiture.  Buffy finally agreed, admitting, “We’re kind of short on cash and we’ve been saving our money for a special project.  I’ve been worrying that the hotel will cost too much, especially now that we don’t know how long it will take us to find this thing.”

        Gunn offered to drive them to pick up their luggage, and Spike accepted the offer.  Buffy stayed behind, saying that she still needed to ask Angel and Wesley some questions about the mysterious object she was seeking.

        When Buffy went into the office, Fred inched over to Cordelia.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I shouldn’t have been the one to make the offer.  I didn’t think.”

        “That’s all right.  It was your idea, so I’m giving them the room next to yours,” hissed Cordelia.  “It’s far away from Angel’s suite.”

        “You’re putting them by me?” asked Fred.  She read her friend’s expression uneasily.  “Why is that such a bad thing?”

        “You’ll find out,” said Cordelia with a secret, nasty smile that made Fred very nervous indeed.

        Spike directed Gunn to a down-at-the-heels hotel and went in to collect his bags.  Gunn could see the concierge’s desk from the car, and he watched Spike lean over it and have a conversation with the middle-aged desk clerk.  The woman finally smiled and handed Spike some money, which he shoved into his pocket.

        “You got all your money back?” asked Gunn in surprise as Spike dropped some bags into the back seat. 

        “No problem,” said Spike, hopping into the passenger seat.  “Just took a bit of talking.”

        “And threatening?”  Gunn started the engine.

        Spike looked offended.  “I’m one of the good guys now.  I wouldn’t scare a lady over a bit of cash.  We had a chat about her family and how much her feet hurt, and then I asked for a refund, and she gave it to me.”

        Charm was not one of the traits Gunn would have expected of Spike, but he remembered the clerk’s parting smile and began to believe this story.  He negotiated the car around a construction area and had to take a short detour down a narrow street.

Suddenly, Spike sat up and yelled, “Balls!  A vamp!”

Gunn slowed the car and looked around.  The street seemed deserted.  “Where?”

Spike didn’t answer.  He jumped out of the still-moving car and down a side alley.  Cursing, Gunn backed the car up and saw Spike already doing battle with a shadowy figure.  He reached into the glove compartment for the stake he kept there and jumped out of the car.

Gunn reached the mouth of the alley as Spike kicked what appeared to be a tall woman in jeans and a white shirt out into the street.  She turned and growled, and Gunn saw that Spike’s instincts had been correct.  The vampire struck out at Gunn and backed away, pulling a long dagger from a sheath in her high boots.

“Oh, this is fun,” muttered Gunn.  Vamps were bad enough.  Armed vamps were worse.  He and Spike exchanged glances, then each moved carefully around her, boxing in the dangerous creature.  Gunn saw that Spike also held a stake.

Her back against the wall of a nearby building, the vampire’s eyes flicked back and forth, assessing the two men.  With little surprise, Gunn saw that she perceived him as the lesser threat.  He knew that she would try to break past him to freedom; few vamps saw much profit in trying to kill well-armed and well-informed prey when there were so many easy victims in the city.

The vamp struck out at Gunn with her knife, aiming only to wound or distract as she ran for freedom.  But Gunn had anticipated her move, and he dropped to the ground, spoiling her aim and swinging out one leg to trip her up as she went by.

        The vampire was too quick and agile to be taken down by this trick, but she stumbled slightly, and then Spike was on the attack.  By the time Gunn rolled back to his feet, the two were at it fiercely.  This creature was a far better fighter than any of the vamps Spike and Buffy had destroyed earlier in the evening.

        Spike was at a disadvantage, because not only was the vamp armed, her only aim was to escape, while he was fighting to kill.  But she failed to even scratch him with her dagger, while he forced her back towards the alley.  Gunn moved to one side, again cutting off the most obvious escape route.  Suddenly, Spike looked up at Gunn, nodded, and whirled high in the air, kicking the vamp in the midsection.  Gunn moved quickly as she reeled backwards, and she was impaled on the stake he held.

        Spike nodded at Gunn again.  “She would have gotten away if it hadn’t been for you.  Good kill.”

        “That was a pretty major league assist.  Wouldn’t have noticed her without you, either.  What was she up to?”

        Spike turned and looked back into the alley.  A young man staggered out into the street, holding on to his neck with one hand.  There was a smear of blood on his shirt.

        “What happened?  I met this woman at a bar, and she wanted to come out here, and—”

        Spike pulled the boy’s hand away from his neck.  “Barely nipped,” he said.  “She was just starting to play.  Go on home.  And stay there after sunset from now on, you silly bugger.”  Spike and Gunn watched him stagger off down the street.

        They got back into Angel’s convertible and Gunn started the engine.

“Stupid git,” commented Spike, putting his feet up on the dashboard and slouching down in an impossible position that he seemed to find comfortable.  “She wanted more than just a feed.  He almost gave away his soul for a kiss in a back alley.  Not that I can be too hard on him.  Did the same thing myself once.”  

“I once sold my soul,” said Gunn, surprising himself.  That wasn’t a tale he told very often.  He wondered why it was so easy to confide in this wild, profane creature. Of course, a fight like the one they had just won could create a bond of trust between people.  Always assuming that Spike qualified as a person.

“A woman or money?” asked Spike.  He seemed merely curious.

“A truck.” 

Spike laughed.  “Makes me feel better.  At least I was tempted by a pretty girl.”

“It was a very cool truck.  And I was really young.  Fortunately, my girl and my friends got my soul back for me.”

“Same here.  At least, my lady and her sister got me a soul.  Wasn’t exactly the same one this body started with, and it may not be top-of-the-line merchandise, but it beats the alternative.”  He pulled out his flask.   “Here’s to the ladies.”  He took a drink and offered the flask to Gunn.

        Gunn started to reject it, then took a swig.  He had only a few blocks to drive back to the hotel, and, after that fight, he felt that he had earned a drink.  “Single malt,” he said appreciatively.

        “Yeah, I’ve adopted the policy that you should only go for the best in whisky and in women,” said Spike.  “By the way, that’s a pretty fine lady you’ve got there yourself.”

        “Fred’s the best,” agreed Gunn, taking this in the spirit in which it was offered.  He also took some more spirits and passed back the flask.  “When she found out I’d sold my soul, she came rushing to the rescue.  And, can you believe, she wasn’t mad because of what I had done years before I knew her.  She was just mad as hell because I hadn’t told her.  How could I tell a girl I’d just fallen in love with something like that?”

        “That’s the thing about these heroic ladies.  You do something that you think they could never forgive, and then they just do.  No bloody warning, they just accept it and move on.  And then, they do get angry at you, but it’s for something that you did to try to protect them.  And then, they turn around and forgive you for that too.  What’s a man to do?”

        “Be grateful?” suggested Gunn.

        “I’ve been trying that strategy myself,” said Spike, passing his flask over again.  “It’s working better than I expected.”

        Buffy left the office and wandered disconsolately into the darkened lobby. 

        “What’s wrong?”  Fred, who had been about to go up the stairs, turned and looked at the Slayer in some concern. 

        Buffy smiled wanly.  “It’s just that Angel and Wesley don’t have any ideas about where we can find this thing we need.  They’re going to do some research, but I’m worried that we’re going to run out of clues soon.”

        “Don’t worry,” said Fred.  “If all else fails, we’ll take you to Caritas.”

        “What’s Caritas?”

        “It’s this club—”  Fred stopped.  Buffy had turned and was staring at the front door with an odd expression on her face.  She reminded Fred of a hungry animal that had suddenly sniffed its prey.

        The doors opened and Fred and Gunn sauntered in.  They both looked very satisfied with themselves, but Gunn seemed a bit unsteady on his feet.

        “Hello, ladies,” said Spike loudly.  His eyes gleamed eerily in the dim light.

        Fred frowned.  “Did something happen while you were out, Charles?” she asked uncertainly.

        “They’ve been drinking,” said Buffy.  Her tone was hard to read.  She walked over to Spike.  “And fighting.  They killed something.”  Her green eyes looked up into her husband’s blue ones.  He gazed back at her, and Fred was reminded of the moment in the club when she had seen the two dancing together.

        “A vampire,” said Gunn.  “We killed a vamp.”

        “You were drinking and fighting vampires?” asked Fred.

        “Not in that order.  And I only had a couple of sips.  Besides, there was only one vampire.  She was strong, though.”

        “She was old,” said Spike.  “Older than me.  Older than Angel.”

        “She was trying to make another vamp, too,” boasted Gunn.  “We saved the kid and sent him home.”

        “Our heroes,” said Buffy.  Her tone was not as sarcastic as Fred would have expected.  “But we’d better get them to bed before they lose the battle they’ve been fighting with Spike’s whisky flask.”

        Fred pulled Gunn into her room.  “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

        “I’m sure.”

        “You think it was safe to drink anything he had?”

        “It wasn’t blood, if that’s what you’re worried about.  It was really good Scotch, as a matter of fact.  And you can stop acting like I was out carousing for half the night.  We were gone less than an hour, and our only detour was to kill a vampire.”

        “Sorry.  I don’t mean to act suspicious.  It’s just that those two—did you hear what she said when you guys came back?  How did she know you’d killed something?”

        “I don’t know.  She knows him really well maybe.  You could tell there was something up with me, couldn’t you?

        “Well, yeah.”

        “And he’s not that bad.  A little rough, but I kinda like the guy.”

        Fred looked incredulous at this, but finally said, “She seems very nice too, in a strange sort of way.  Except—did it seem to you like she was excited by the fact that Spike had killed something?  Isn’t that kind of weird?”

        “Yeah, but that’s their business,” he said. 

        “Was it a really bad fight?” she asked.  She ran her hands along his chest, as if to reassure herself of his safety.

        “It was fast.   It would have been bad, if Spike wasn’t such a good fighter.  I was the one who staked her, though.”  His hands slipped around her waist and he pulled her closer.

        “So you got the vamp,” murmured Fred, her mouth moving under his.

        “Mmm,” he said, running his hands up under her shirt.

        “That’s my guy,” she said. 

        “And I’ve got my girl.”

She giggled, then frowned suddenly.  “There’s only one thing that worries me.”

        “What’s that?”  He was nuzzling her ear.

        “Why did Cordelia act like we’d be really sorry those two were right next door to us?”

        “This visit is obviously going to be all jollification,” said Spike as he and Buffy went into their room.

        “I know.  Cordelia really didn’t want to invite us.  And Angel can’t be too thrilled, either.  But Connor’s still friendly, and Fred and Gunn are nice.”

        “Yeah.  Wesley’s got something stuck up his nether regions, though.  Not the friendliest bloke in town.  I can’t decide which one of us he likes least.  No effort at manners there.”

        “And what about you?” said Buffy, trying to summon an angry look. “Could you have behaved any worse?”

        “Frankly, yes.  But I know I wasn’t exactly the perfect guest tonight.”  He grinned.  “Sorry, love, but it just feels so good to be out of that bloody awful Sunnydale.  The brakes came off a little.”

        “Really?”  Her hands were on his shoulders.  “It feels good?  You mean it?”

        “Yeah.  Really good.”  He stroked her long hair.  “Remember, I promised no lying any more.  Not even by omission.  And I thought you were having a good time too, love.”

        “I was.  You know, it was convenient that Wes was there to loan me his axe, but I could have done without company after that fight in the alley.”

        “Yeah,” he said.  “That was shaping up to be a perfect evening.  Dancing and a good fight.  All it needed was—”  His mouth came down to hers.

        “The night can still end that way,” she said after a minute of intense osculation.  “Especially since you’ve been fighting without me.  You know, I could feel the energy from that vamp you and Gunn killed before you even walked through the door tonight.”

        “So you want me to share?”  He gave a lascivious chuckle.  “You know, love, this is a hotel.”

        “Yes, I’d noticed.”

        “Well, I checked out the facilities here while Angel was busy rummaging around trying to prove he had the biggest whatever.  They have a bloody huge hot water system.  That means we can take a really, really long shower and not worry about anything tossing cold water on our bad intentions.”

        “Really long?”  Her eyes gleamed with anticipation.  “Well, you know what they say about cleanliness.”  She was already helping him off with his shirt and backing him towards the bathroom. 

        Fred and Gunn lay in bed listening to the pipes rattle in the walls.  “How long has this been going on now?” asked Fred.

        “Too long,” said Gunn.  “Do you think the plumbing will survive?”

        Suddenly, there was silence.  They waited for a few minutes, but the rattling did not resume. 

        “Whew,” said Fred. She turned over into Gunn’s arms.  “That was really distracting.”

        “Yeah,” said Gunn.  But as he started to kiss her, the floor and walls began to shake slightly.

        “Please, tell me that’s an earthquake,” said Fred. 

        Buffy giggled as she and Spike rolled over on the big bed, their limbs entwined.  She pushed him back against the sheets, shoving a bit harder than she had intended, and the headboard slammed against the wall.  Unhurt, he laughed and pulled her towards him, muttering encouragement as she climbed astride him.  Their hips began to move in a furious rhythm that made the elderly bedsprings creak ominously.  They were far too preoccupied to notice the noise.

        Fred and Gunn counted the seconds slowly.  It had been a full minute since anything had slammed, rattled, or shaken wildly.

        “Do you think they’re finally done?” she said at last.

        “We can only hope they’re asleep.  Or talking about what they’re going to kill tomorrow.”

        “Don’t go there, Charles.  I don’t want to speculate about what those two would consider pillow talk,” said Fred. 

        Buffy gave a sigh and rolled off of Spike, stretching out beside him on the big bed.  “Mmm,” she said.

        “Ow,” he said.

        She looked at him and realized that she had caught a strand of his long hair under her arm.  She laughed and sat up.  She reached down and pushed his hair back.  “Sorry,” she said.

        “No matter,” he said, chuckling, and quoted, “A mystic shape did move behind me and pull me backwards by the hair, and a voice said in mastery while I strove,  . . . ‘Guess now who holds thee?’ – ‘Death,’ I said, But, there, the silver answer rang . . ‘Not Death, but Love.’

        Buffy shook her head in amazement.  “You really do know the apt poem for everything,” she said.  “Even hair-pulling.”  She relaxed back on the bed and dropped her head on his chest.  “Who wrote that?  It sounds different from the stuff you usually recite.”

        “That was by a woman,” he said, putting his arms around her.  “Her name was—Elizabeth.”  He hesitated slightly over the name, but caught himself and went on.  “She wrote to the man who wanted to marry her, ‘I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.’”

        “‘The passion put to use in my old griefs.’ Yes, I understand that.”

“She also wrote that ‘grief may be joy misunderstood.’”

Buffy thought about that for a long time.  “How amazing that someone could come to believe that.  Tell me about her.”

“She was a very famous poet who had lost people she loved.  She was very ill, and she thought she was dying.  Everyone did.  But this crazy young poet came along and convinced her to try and live.  He told her he’d fallen in love with her while reading her poems and that she should run away with him.  At first she thought he was just wild and insane, but then she fell in love with him too.  So she started to get better, but her father, the person she loved most in the world, refused to let her get married.”

        “I don’t like this part,” murmured Buffy.

        “It gets better.  The two poets got married anyway and ran off to Italy.”

        “What happened then?”

        “Oh, they had quite a few good years together, and a child.”

        “And what happened after those years were gone?  Did they break up?”  Her voice was growing sleepy.

        “No.  She died, and then he died too.  He was still writing poems about his love for her up until the end.”

        “Did they get turned into vampires or zombies or anything like that?”

        “Not that I ever heard.  I think the only creatures to disturb their graves were poetry fans bearing flowers and bad verse.”

        “So they died happily ever after.”  Buffy snuggled into his chest and gave a sigh of contentment.  “I like that story.”

        “So do I.”

        “I love you, William.  I wish I could remember some poetry to tell you too.”

        “You just recited all the poetry I ever need to hear, love,” he said.  He looked down and saw that her eyelids were drooping and her breathing was becoming slow and even.  “Good night, Buffy,” he said, stroking her hair gently.  His hand strayed down to touch her belly for a moment.  “Good night, Joy,” he whispered.  He reached up behind him and turned off the bedside lamp.

        Fred and Gunn stumbled down the stairs the next morning, arguing about where to go for breakfast.  “I need extra food to compensate for the lack of sleep,” said Fred.  “I’m so hungry that I can smell it already.”

        Gunn stopped.  “I can smell it too,” he said.

        They stared down the stairs towards the concierge’s desk.  Buffy was seated at the desk with a plate in front of her, and Spike was leaning over the other side of the counter watching her eat.  They were dressed with odd similarity in dark jeans and red shirts.  Spike turned and looked up the stairs at the newcomers.  “Hungry?” he asked.

        “Well, yes,” said Fred, coming the rest of the way down the stairs.  “What are you eating?”

        “Spike’s version of a light breakfast,” said Buffy.  “Bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, pancakes, cantaloupe, strawberries, and orange juice.  I think there’s strange fishy stuff that he bought for himself too, if you’re willing to try something called kippers.”

        “I’ll get you a bit of everything,” said Spike, heading towards the kitchen.  “I’m getting Buffy seconds anyway.”

        “And whether I want them or not,” said Buffy in a resigned tone.  Judging from the state of her plate, her first serving had been very large.  She patted her stomach under her loose shirt and sighed.

        “Isn’t Spike eating?” asked Fred nervously.

        “Oh, he’s been up for hours,” said Buffy.  “He went shopping at dawn and probably had about three platefuls by the time I got up.”

        Spike returned and dumped heaping plates in front of the others.  “Does everyone in this place sleep so late?” he asked.

        “We tend to be up late,” said Gunn, realizing as he said so that the same was certainly true of these strange guests.   He took a tentative bite of his eggs, smiled at the taste, and started to shovel in food.  Next to him, Fred was doing the same.  Buffy began by picking at her second helping, but soon started to eat with more enthusiasm.

        “So, what are your plans for the day?” asked Fred at last.

        “I’m hoping Wes will have some good news for us,” said Buffy.  “If not, we’ll have to try to find some other source of information.  What about you?”

        “We’ll probably go help Wes and Connor check out that site the Skoryz blew up last night,” said Gunn.  “We need to figure out where they’ve gone now.”

        “What ever happened to demons with pronounceable names?” complained Buffy.  “What do these guys do?”

“Your basic mayhem and killing,” said Fred.  “They like stealing stuff, too.”

“Well, if you find them while we’re here, we’d be glad to help fight them,” said Buffy.  “It’s the least we could do in return for your hospitality.”

“Thanks,” said Fred a bit distractedly.  Her attention was fixed on Gunn’s plate.  She pointed at a lone strawberry.  “Are you going to eat that, Charles?” she asked.

“I think there are a few more in the kitchen,” said Spike.  “I’ll go check.”

But Gunn had already picked up the strawberry and was holding it out to Fred.  “Anything for my girl,” he said, and popped the fruit in her mouth.

Fred swallowed and said, “Mmmmm,” while smiling into Gunn’s eyes.  Buffy looked on tolerantly.

Spike came back with a bowl containing a handful of strawberries, and Buffy and Fred started arguing politely over their division.  Before this issue was resolved, the door opened and Wesley came in.

“Hi, Wes,” said Gunn.  The others turned to greet him briefly. 

“Have you had breakfast?” asked Fred.  “Spike’s cooking.  Everything’s really good, but the strawberries are almost gone.”

“No, thank you,” said Wesley, looking sour.  “Gunn, could I have a word?”

Gunn and Fred both came over and Wesley began asking them if they had talked about which neighborhoods to canvas first looking for the Skoryz.  The others were rather surprised that he seemed to want to make a secret of this issue, but they discussed it in a low voice for a few minutes before they were distracted by a laugh from the concierge’s desk.

Wesley looked over and saw that Spike was teasing Buffy to eat the last strawberry.  While the others watched, Spike held up the piece of fruit and popped it into the Slayer’s mouth, smiling at her as she ate it.

Wesley sneered.  “What a disgusting public display,” he said.  He noted Gunn and Fred’s embarrassed look and said, “You two would certainly never behave like that.”

The others looked away.  Before they were forced to respond, Buffy walked towards them.  “Hello, Wesley,” she said.  “Did you have a chance to look at those books you mentioned last night?”

“Yes,” he said.  “Only one turned out to be of potential use, and I was unable to translate it last night.  I brought it in to use some of the reference works here.”  He went into the office, the others trailing behind him.  “It is in Greek but the dialect is odd, to say the least.  I haven’t been able to do much with it yet.  Not a quick job, I don’t think.”  He looked as if the prospect of having them around while he labored at it was not very appealing.

“Greek?” asked Buffy, picking up the book he had dropped on the desk.

“Yes, Greek,” said Wesley, reaching for it.  “So unless your scholarly abilities have greatly increased over the past few years—”

To his horror, instead of returning the volume, Buffy tossed it to Spike. Her husband began paging through it with some amusement.  “You’d be at this a good long time if you were planning on using that lexicon,” he said.

“I beg your pardon,” said Wesley in a freezing tone.  “That is a very old and valuable book.”

“Not really,” said Spike.  “At least, it’s old, but there’s not much value in this information.  A day late and a dollar short, this is.”

“Are you pretending you can read that?” demanded Wesley.

“No need for pretense.  It’s not Greek, you know, although it uses their alphabet.  It’s Zmiansk.”

“Again, that pronunciation issue raises its ugly head,” murmured Buffy.

“The Zmiansk have been extinct for seventy years,” said Wesley.  “Their language died with them.”

“Yeah, well I got stuck in a pass over the Andes with a caravan of Zmiansk demons a ways back, and had to spend two months with the buggers until the snows cleared.  There wasn’t anything to do but eat the pack llamas and talk to the demons, and they didn’t speak anything but Zmiansk.  The demons, not the llamas.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Fred, fascinated.

“Oh—about seventy years ago,” said Spike absently as he turned the pages of the book.

“The reason for the extinction becomes clear,” said Buffy.

Spike looked up at her and grinned.  “Yeah.  Once I didn’t need their company to keep from going stir-crazy, I relieved my feelings a bit.  But there’s nothing on my conscience there, love.  They weren’t nice blokes.”  He looked down again and turned another page.  “Unfortunately, there’s nothing here but some of their rituals and some strategies for hunting Krapak demons.  I could translate those bits for you, Wes.  Now that the Zmiansk are out of the picture, the Krapak have been breeding a bit too much.  They’re not big bads, but they do have that nasty habit of running amok once every seven years unless they’re appeased with a sacrifice of billy goats.  If you should ever run into any of those wankers around the big city here—”

“Extremely unlikely since they only live at high altitudes,” snapped Wesley, grabbing back his book and stuffing it into a desk drawer.  “Provided, of course, that you weren’t just pulling our legs with that idiotic story.”

“This is important to us, Wes,” said Buffy.  “Spike wouldn’t make up these stories just to annoy you.”

“Really?” said Wesley.  “I wouldn’t be too surprised at anything you two might do.   Disappointed, perhaps, but not surprised.”

“What is your problem?” demanded Buffy.  “I know we came to town without an invitation and asked for help, but that’s what you do here, after all.  You help people with difficulties like this.  Why are you so unwilling to help us?”

“Because I don’t know what game you’re playing, and I’m afraid that it’s not only dangerous, it’s wrong, if not outright evil.”

Buffy looked shocked.  “You think that we’re planning something evil?  Why, Wes?”

“Because I’ve seen you like this before, Buffy.  Do you remember when I first came to Sunnydale?  You and Faith went on a spree and you acted just the way you’re acting now—as if being the Slayer were one huge party.  I don’t know if you remember how that party ended, but I do.”

“Faith,” said Buffy blankly.  “You think that Spike is influencing me the way Faith did, making me—”  She shook her head.  “You’re wrong, Wes.”

“Am I?  I’m supposed to believe that he—”  Wesley gestured contemptuously towards Spike, who was leaning against the doorframe and listening with a detached air, “has become something akin to what you are.  And therefore we should all trust him.   But Faith was a Slayer, and that didn’t stop her from turning evil.  It didn’t stop her from killing people, and it didn’t stop her from torturing me.  Why should I believe that because this freak can walk in the daylight he has changed fundamentally?  Why shouldn’t I believe he is still the same heinous creature he always was and that he is leading you down a dangerous road?”