Title:  Accommodations

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.  Lyrics by Cole Porter.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Thanks:  I would never have started writing this without the encouragement and beta of DorothyL. She introduced me to the concept of fanfic and discusses BtVS with me endlessly.  I owe a tremendous debt to her insights.

Notes:   This is a sequel to “As You Weren't."

Buffy looked down at an enormous, hairy corpse and sank to the ground.  Xander sat next to her on the grass and looked at the body with equal distaste.  “These guys aren’t getting any prettier.”

“There’s sure not much here in the way of sex appeal,” agreed Buffy.  “But the good news is that these particular ugly things are rare.  Spike said they usually live in mountainous places, but this one was drawn to the hellmouth because of some quest.”

        “Quest for death, apparently,” said Xander.  “So where is the used-to-be-dead guy today?  How come he didn’t help you get rid of the yeti from hell?  It’s not like he can’t stand the light of day any more.  Did you guys finally reach the point where you can’t focus on anything besides the argument of the moment?”

        “No.”  Buffy grimaced.  “He’s on a much more dangerous mission right now.  I was going to go with him, but my yeti-slaying duty called.  I just hope he can handle this one by himself.”

        “Aliens,” said the man, rubbing his balding head.  He leaned over his desk and stared at Spike with considerable distaste.  “All day, I have to talk to aliens.”

        “Yeah,” said Spike cautiously, trying to avoid any hint of sarcasm.  “I can see that.”

        “Aliens.  One bizarre story after another.  Always wanting the same thing.”  The man leaned back and hitched his belt up over his full belly.  “All day long, they yammer at me.  Never stops.  It’s driving me mad.  What did I do to deserve it?”

        “Uh, take a job with the Immigration and Naturalization Service?” said, Spike, unable to help himself.  He had spent more than a century wandering the planet and had met thousands of demons, but rarely had he felt so disoriented or out of his depth as in this office.  The shabby room was filled with a dozen cubicles, only three or four of which were actually inhabited.  A long row of human applicants in every shape, size and color leaned against the wall or slouched in hard plastic chairs with the practiced resignation of souls who had spent millennia in Limbo.  The unprepossessing entity seated in front of Spike seemed to be the most competent worker present.  He was certainly more energetic than the woman two cubicles over, who was actually taking a nap at her desk. 

A few feet behind Spike, another woman had been staring at a computer screen for the past half-hour.  As far as he could tell, she had not touched the keyboard or mouse during that time.  Suddenly, she yelped as the phone on her desk rang.  She picked it up and yelled, “What?  Who?  Why?  Wait!” and slammed the receiver down on the desk, not bothering to use the hold button.  Then she went back to staring at the computer screen.  She was dressed in shocking pink pajamas.

The man who was supposed to be interviewing Spike sneered.  “She won’t last,” he said, pointing at the pajama lady.  “She thinks that because she’s been here ten years, she’s got it figured out.  But she hasn’t got the stomach for this.  I’ll bet she goes back to the IRS eventually.”  He finally focused on Spike.  “So, do you even speak English?  Habla ingles?  Anglais?  Angelsku?”

“Yes.  I am from England,” Spike pointed out.  “It’s my native language.”

“I can see that,” said the man irritably.  “It’s on the form.  England.”  He put a world of distaste into the word.  “So what do you want?”

With a Herculean effort, Spike refrained from pointing out that information was also on the form.  “A Green Card,” he said from between clenched teeth. 

“You mean a Permanent Resident Card INS Form I-551,” said the man coldly.  “Why does everyone insist on calling it a Green Card?  It isn’t even green, you know.”

“I can’t imagine,” said Spike, staring the government poster above the man’s head.  The heading read in large letters, “How to Apply for a Green Card.” 

“Hummph.”  The man slouched over Spike’s form, not touching it. He spent several minutes brooding over one side, then reached in a drawer, pulled out a pair of plastic gloves, put them on, and turned the form over.  A page at time, he went through the papers.  Finally, he looked up at Spike and sneered.  “And what am I supposed to make of this?” he said.

For a moment, Spike wished that he was matching wits with an insane hell god intent on torturing him to death.  That was a situation he knew how to handle.  He swallowed and said very carefully, “Is there any information missing?  Is the form filled out right?”

“As well as can be expected.  We’ll let you know.”

“You’ll let me know what?”  Spike fought to keep the edge out of his voice.  He kept reminding himself that threatening or killing this man would do no good for him or for the other lost souls lined up against the wall. 

Behind Spike, the woman in the pink pajamas picked up her phone.  “Hello!” she screamed into the receiver.  “Hello!”  She stared at the phone in indignation.  “They hung up on me!”

“She’s losing it,” muttered the man behind the desk.  He looked past Spike as if he were invisible and stared down the row of applicants.  “Well, who’s next?” he yelled irritably.

“You blew it?” asked Buffy.

“I did not blow it.  And I don’t know that I’m being turned down.  I don’t even know if he is processing the sodding form or using it to wrap his lunch.  Imagine a power-crazed dictator with a comb-over, wearing a polyester shirt with salsa stains on it.  Fellini must have spent time in one of those offices.”

“Did you threaten him?”

“No, I did not.  No threats, no violence.  I was on my best behavior, but frankly, love, I wish I had torn the place up.  It wouldn’t have made a bloody bit of difference, but I would have felt better about it.”

“Great.”  Buffy was trying to assemble dinner as she listened to Spike’s story.  “So now you may be deported.”

“Bugger that.  I’m not going anywhere on the say-so of some insane bureaucrat.  I don’t care if I have to go back to living in a crypt.”  He started hauling dishes out of a cabinet.

“Be careful.  Don’t break those; we can’t afford new ones.  Live in a crypt?  In case you haven’t noticed, I need your help out here in the daylight world.  Besides, you know there’s no way you can go back to that creature of the night crap.  We have to find a way to fix this.”

“Well, talking to that wanker isn’t going to do it!”

Buffy wrinkled her forehead.  “Maybe we should call Giles and ask him to fix it?” she said, then shook her head.  “No.  We’ll try to work this out on or own, first.  Or—at least we’ll get some help here.”

“From who?”

“We could ask a lawyer.”

“Calling in the forces of darkness?  Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

His joke made her laugh and eased some of the tension between them.  She reached up and linked her arms behind his neck, pulling him close.  “To keep you here, I would do even that.”

“Hmm,” he said, nuzzling her neck and sliding his hands along her back and down to the top of her jeans.

“Hi, I’m here,” said Willow cheerfully, coming in through the back door.  “Oh,” she added in dismay. “Oh, never mind.  Leaving now.”

“No, you’re not,” said Spike, stepping away from Buffy, his face the picture of frustration.  “I am.  I’m not hungry, Slayer.  I’m going to go on early patrol.”  He was gone before Buffy could protest.

“Sorry,” said Willow contritely.

“It’s okay,” said Buffy. Her expression was glum.  “The way things have been lately, it would be amazing if something didn’t happen to break up our only moment of non-argument all day.”

“That bad?” said Willow.  “I thought the two of you were getting along pretty well, in a sort of constantly fighting kind of way.”

“We were.  It’s just lately, that, well, it’s like the world is too much with us.  Something is always happening.”

“So you can’t get in any good smootchies?”  Willow looked sympathetic.

“No, that’s not it.  It’s the rest of the relationship; you know, the parts where you actually talk and have a life.  We still seem to find a way to fit in the—the smootchies part somehow.”

“Well, at least that’s still good,” said Willow doubtfully.

Buffy smiled in spite of herself.  “I know you never really got that part of Spike and me.”

“Well, I’m not sure I ever really got any part of Spike and you.  And I’m not the best judge, being gay and all,” said Willow.  “It’s obvious you’re pretty wrapped up in each other, which I couldn’t help noticing on account of the noise factor.  But I always wondered.  I mean, why you would want to be with him, after Angel and Riley—Not that I expect you to say anything if you don’t want to.  I mean, you’ve never really talked to me about it, so I just assumed—I mean, I haven’t been sitting around wondering or anything!”

Buffy grinned more broadly at Willow’s obvious discomfort.  “It’s okay.  And, no, I don’t feel comfortable with details.  But that isn’t where our problem is, Will.  In fact, that’s way not the problem.”

“Really?”  Willow was obviously still incredulous.

“Really.  I don’t know how to explain.  With Angel, well, it was only the one time, and it was my first time, and it was as good a first time as anyone could want, at least until he became evil and started killing my friends and trying to destroy the world.  That was a big negative.  But it was just the first time, you know?”  Willow nodded, and Buffy went on, “And with that jerk Parker, it was nice too, maybe a seven on a scale of one to ten. And with Riley, it was great.  I mean, I thought it was almost a ten.  He did everything right.  I could tell he’d probably read books on how to do it right.” 

“And Spike?” asked Willow hesitantly.

“About a thousand,” said Buffy ruefully.

“I thought the scale was one to ten.”

“It is.”

“Oh,” said Willow.  “Oh!”  She looked even more incredulous.  “Spike?  Really.”

Buffy nodded.  “I don’t know how to explain without, well, let’s say I can’t really explain, but it’s as if it wasn’t even the same kind of experience.”

“I guess I can kind of get that,” said Willow.  “I mean, it was great for me with Oz, and I thought it was everything I could have wanted, but then I met Tara and I found out that there was something else entirely, that was where I was meant to be, and what I really was.  But you’ve always been with guys, Buffy.”

“I guess,” said Buffy doubtfully.  “Parker and Riley were guys, but Angel was a vampire.  And Spike is—he’s whatever he is.”  She shook her head, afraid of where this train of thought was leading. “It doesn’t matter.  However good it is, there has to be more to a relationship than sex.”

“If you say so,” said Willow, but she sounded doubtful. “But, hey, Buffy, a thousand?  That’s got to count for something.”

“Thanks for your support, my dirty minded best friend,” said Buffy dryly.  “Now come on and help me make sure Dawn eats something tonight that’s from a food group that doesn’t include either popcorn or chocolate.”

“There’s no need to yell at me just because you and Buffy had another fight,” said Dawn.  She cranked down the window of the car.

“I was not yelling at you,” said Spike in an even, but quite loud, tone. His hands were tight on the steering wheel.  “I was telling you that you need to go to the Magic Box right after school, and you weren’t listening.”

“I was too.  You just don’t want to talk about what happened yesterday.  Just because you couldn’t make nice with that guy you had to go see.”

He ground his teeth, and took a turn too fast.  “It was not my fault.  He was an utterly daft xenophobe.”

“What, he had an irrational fear of large brunettes carrying chakrams?”

Spike glared at her. 

Dawn relented.  “All right, I do know what that word really means.  But you need that Green Card.  And you’re driving too fast.  You can’t wreck this car, especially since Buffy thinks we can’t afford it.”

“We need to be mobile,” said Spike.  “We need a reliable form of transportation that is not a motorbike.”

“I liked the motorcycle,” said Dawn. 

“You can’t put three people on a motorbike.  Besides, I stole it.”

“From a demon.  To save my life from some bikers from hell.”

“Yeah, well the drones at the DMV weren’t likely to accept that explanation when I tried to register it.  All the rest of this bloody paperwork involved with being alive is driving me crazy enough.  The last thing I needed was having some glorified meter maid arrest me for driving an unlicensed vehicle. So I sold the bike to another demon and put the cash towards this.  And I do grasp the financial situation, pet.  That’s why I bought something old and cheap.  Besides, I’m doing most of the work on it.  One advantage of having been around since cars were invented is that I had lots of time to learn what makes them work.”

“Gee, and we thought all you knew was how to hot-wire and crash them.  But don’t kid yourself, Spike.  I know you really bought this one because it’s a convertible,” said Dawn.  “And because it’s a cool car.”  He pulled up in front of the school.  “And, yes,” she continued, “I remember that you want me to go to the Magic Box after school.”

“Don’t play word games with me, Little Bit,” he said.  “I’ve been around too long to fall for that.  You will go to the Magic Box after school.”

Before she could respond, a woman stepped up to the driver’s side of the car and said to Spike, “Excuse me.  I wonder if I could have a word?”

Spike turned to her.  She was middle-aged and conservatively dressed.  “Uh, sorry,” he said.  “Is it against the rules to drop students off here?”

“No, no,” she said quickly.  “That’s not it.  I’m Mrs. Coe, the vice principal.  Hello, Dawn.”

“Uh, hello, Mrs. Coe,” said Dawn, looking nervous.

Spike gave Dawn a long, considering look.  She stared back.  He couldn’t tell if she was just exhibiting normal teenage discomfort in the presence of authority or guilt for some real crime.

“Is something wrong, ma’am?” Spike asked Mrs. Coe with considerable dread.

“It’s just that we have been keeping an eye on Dawn, you know, due to all the upsets in her family over the past few years.”

“Yes, I know,” said Dawn a bit sulkily.

“And we couldn’t help but notice that she’s been getting rides to school each morning from you recently.”

“Well, yeah,” said Spike, “It’s on my way, you see.”

“Your way from where exactly?” asked Mrs. Coe severely.

Spike and Dawn suddenly realized where this was leading and they exchanged glances of horror.  “You don’t think—” said Spike.

“Ewww,” said Dawn. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“I should bloody well think not,” said Spike vehemently.  “I’m—”

Dawn interrupted him.  “This is William, Mrs. Coe,” she said.  “He’s my sister’s, uh, my sister’s fiancé.”

Mrs. Coe’s expression relaxed somewhat.  “I see,” she said.

“Like I’d date anyone as old as him,” said Dawn, laughing.  “Even if he does have a cool car—”

Spike’s hands tightened on the steering wheel again.  “Shouldn’t you be in class by now, Bit?” he asked, just as Mrs. Coe said, “You should be getting along to class now, Dawn.”

Dawn grinned and hopped out of the car. 

Spike and Mrs. Coe stared at one another.  “Would you mind coming up to my office for a few minutes?” she said smoothly.

“Dawn, would you care to explain something to me?” said Buffy.

Dawn looked up from the register at the Magic Box and searched her conscience.  “What would that be?” she asked in genuine puzzlement.  She could remember no recent sins of any magnitude.

“Why did I get a phone call from the vice principal congratulating me on my engagement and telling me how nice it was that my young man had joined the PTA?”

Dawn choked on a laugh.  “She made him join the PTA?  Boy, I wish they hadn’t made me go to class.  I would have paid money to hear the rest of that talk.”

“Why on earth did you say I was engaged?”

“Because Mrs. Coe was acting like Spike was a child molester and I wanted to make things look as respectable as possible.  ‘This is William, Buffy’s fiancé,’ just sounded a whole lot better than the truth, ‘Hi, this is an illegal alien ex-vampire named Spike, who’s shacked up with my sister.’  That would have brought the Social Services people down on us pretty fast.”

Buffy looked unhappy.  “That’s how you think of this?  That I’m shacked up with Spike?”

“No, no, of course not.  But that’s what they’d think.  And not being crazy about the idea of foster care, I just said he was your fiancé.  It sounds like he went along with it.”  Dawn started laughing again.  “I have to ask to see his PTA card.  Let me call Janice.  She won’t believe this!”

Buffy left the magic shop and headed home.  Dialing Spike’s cell phone number had been an exercise in futility, as usual.  His phone was either shut off or the battery was discharged, or both.  He didn’t answer when she called home either, but that was no guarantee he wasn’t there.  He frequently forgot that as a resident of the house, he was expected to pick up the phone when it rang.

She found him in the back yard with his head under the hood of his car.  He must have sensed her coming because he muttered, “Hullo, love,” without looking up.

She watched him for a few minutes, and asked doubtfully, “Do you really know what you’re doing?”

He still did not look up, but she sensed his annoyance at the question.  “There were times when having a working car meant the difference between reaching a nice, safe hole in the ground and frying at dawn.  This is one of the things I know how to do, like buying beer and watching the telly.  It’s not like computers, or the INS paperwork, or--”

“The PTA?” she suggested.

“Bloody hell. You heard about that already.”

“Mrs. Coe called.  She described you as a very nice young man.  Said you had good manners.  I got the distinct impression she thought that a girl with the reputation I had in high school was lucky to catch you.”

He said nothing, but she saw his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“What is it with you and older women, Spike?  No, don’t answer that.  Whatever it is, even my mother succumbed to it, now that I think about it.  What I do want to know is, why did you join the PTA?”

He stood up, wiped his hands on a rag, and closed the hood.  “It seemed like the only way to convince her I wasn’t a cradle robber taking advantage of your baby sister.  But the bloody PTA card wasn’t the worst of the morning.  She also talked me into chaperoning the school dance this weekend.”  He saw her eyes widen with horror and added, “No, I’m not daft, love.  Do you know who Travis is?”

“Travis?”  She frowned.  “No.”

“Dawn hasn’t mentioned him?”

“Dawn and someone named Travis?”  She looked bewildered.  “No.”

“Because Mrs. Coe seemed to think that Dawn and Travis were quite the item, at least until she saw me dropping Dawn off at school each morning.  Apparently she was relieved that Dawn was only dating another high school student, not an older man with an awesome set of wheels.”  His eyes flicked ironically to the car.

Buffy’s eyes widened.  “Dawn is dating someone and she didn’t tell me?  She wouldn’t do that!”

“She’s a sixteen year old girl, Buffy.  What were you doing when you were sixteen?”

Buffy thought for a moment and then sat down hard on the ground.  “Oh, no!”

Spike folded his arms across his chest, leaned back against the car, and waited for her to assimilate this new and terrifying concept.

“Why does this look so much scarier from the ‘mom’ point of view?” she asked plaintively after a minute.  “Come to think of it, how did my mom manage?”

“As I recall, she had no idea what was going on for a very long time.  Do you want to be in that position with Dawn?”  He reached down a hand to help her to her feet.

“No.”  She stood up and brushed herself off.  “Especially not with her propensity for getting kidnapped, and the kleptomania thing.  And then there’s the whole business of her being able to open doors to other dimensions.  I was just getting used to dealing with that stuff.  But—dating, Spike?  This is really scary.  But at least this Travis kid isn’t a vampire.  Or is he?”

“I doubt it.  But I thought you’d want to check him out.  That’s why I said we’d chaperone this dance.”

Buffy frowned.  “Why don’t I just ask her--”  She stopped herself even before she saw his expression.  “I can’t believe I just said that.  You’d think I’d stopped being a teenager two decades ago instead of just a few years ago.”  She frowned at him.  “How do you manage?  It’s been even longer for you.”

“I suppose you can think of being a vampire as an extended period of adolescence, without the zits or the truant officers,” he said.  “No sense of responsibility and an addiction to reckless behavior.”

Buffy’s horrified expression made him regret his joke.  He put his arm around her.  “Don’t worry, love, we’ll cope.  I can help you handle this.  I think.”

She heard the doubt in his voice and hugged him back.  “We’ll cope because we have to.  It can’t be any worse than some of the other things we’ve had to deal with.  Can it?”

        He didn’t look any more confident than she did.  They were still staring at each other in fear and consternation when Xander came around the corner. 

        “You two really should take that inside,” said Xander.

        “What do you want, Xander?” said Spike in a resigned tone of voice.  He let Buffy go.

        “I heard something I thought you’d like to know.”

        “When people say that, they always tell you something you bloody well don’t want to know,” said Spike.  “It’s always, ‘I thought you’d like to know that your car’s leaking oil,’ or ‘I thought you’d like to know that you’re being deported next month unless you placate a refugee from an insane asylum,’ or--”

Xander interrupted this ruthlessly.  “Well, I thought you two should know that there’s another one of those monsters Buffy and I killed running around Sunnydale.”

“The yeti things?” said Buffy.  She looked at Spike.  “You didn’t say there were two of them.”

“I didn’t bloody well know there were two of them.  And I still don’t like to know that there are two of them.”

“Well, there are,” said Xander.  “One of the guys at work was out hunting last night and his description was right on the money.  Everyone else put his story down to too many beers, but it was another one of those badass Bigfoot things.”  He rubbed his hands together.  “So, how do we go after it tonight?”

“We?” asked Spike.

“Tonight?” asked Buffy.  “Uh, I have to work tonight.”

“Tonight?” echoed Spike.  “I thought that the good part of this job was that you could pick your hours.”

“Tom asked me to help out with something.  It’s not a process serving thing.  One of his long-time clients is being threatened by someone who wants him to pay money not to have his windows broken and his store vandalized.”

“A protection racket,” said Spike.

“Yes,” said Buffy.

“Easy enough to deal with.  I’ve seen this before.  Hell, I’ve done it when I was evil.  But I don’t like you going alone on this one, Slayer.  Humans use guns, and guns are trouble.”

“I know,” said Buffy.  “That’s why, when Tom asked if I knew anyone else who could go along to help, I said that I did.”

“Would it have been so hard to let Xander know he was welcome to come along for this or when we go after the yeti?” asked Buffy as Spike drove her towards town to meet Tom.

“He isn’t welcome,” said Spike.  “When we have to fight a big bad, he gets in the way.  And he can’t dodge bullets, love.”

“Maybe this isn’t the best time for him to tag along,” admitted Buffy.  “But lots of times he can help.  You know that, but you just don’t like to take the time to figure out what he can do without putting him into too much danger.”

“Maybe what I don’t want is to have him prancing around trying to impress you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Xander has still got the hots for you, Buffy, and, no, I don’t like it when he comes panting along trying to prove he’s got the balls to be your man.”

“Spike, that’s ridiculous.  Xander is my friend.  I know that he used to have a crush on me in high school, but he’s been over that for a long time.  He was going to marry Anya.”

“That wedding didn’t happen, did it?  And he’s starting to realize just why it didn’t happen.  And he’s starting to hope that I won’t be around forever.  But you can’t seem to make it clear to him that waiting about for you is a hopeless cause.”

“I’m not going to argue about this.  I can’t believe you are jealous of Xander.  If I seriously thought he was still hoping to be more than my friend—well, I don’t know what more I could do than I already have to convince both of you that won’t happen.  I chose you, Spike.  I love you.  I’m with you.  What do you think Xander has to offer me that could change that?”

“You mean besides a steady job and citizenship status?” said Spike, grinding the car’s gears as he parked.  He jumped out without waiting for an answer.

Tom smiled uncertainly when Buffy introduced Spike.  His client, the owner of a hair salon, looked distinctly unhappy.  “I thought you said you were bringing along some muscle,” he said to Tom in a stage whisper.  “The guys who have been after me could squash these two with one hand.”

“The girl can handle herself,” said Tom confidently.  “I’ve seen her.  And this guy must be into the martial arts or something, otherwise she wouldn’t have brought him.”

        “I’m sure we’ll be able to deal with your problem in a very satisfactory manner,” said Buffy brightly, doing her best to impersonate the Perfect Employee.

        Spike, however, had suddenly realized he was surrounded by mirrors and seemed to be suffering from disorientation.  “Yeah, that’s right,” he muttered, as his eyes dodged from one reflective surface only to encounter another image of himself.

         Tom gave him an uneasy glance and turned to Buffy.  “There are at least two of them coming tonight, maybe three.  They come to the back door.  They’ll want money, but we need to convince them that we can cause them more trouble than they can cause Jess here.”

        Jess almost whimpered.  “Maybe I should just pay up,” he said.  “Or even call the police.”

        “Sunnydale police are useless,” said Tom.  He looked back at Buffy.  “Do you think you and your friend can frighten these guys?  Can you give the impression you can kick ass and that you have more friends who can back you up?”

        Buffy smiled.  “I think so.”

        Jess sniffled and headed for a small office in the back of the salon.  “It’s almost time,” he said.  “They’re never late.”

        “I like a punctual thug,” said Spike, following.  Once he had wrenched his gaze from the mirrors, his self-assurance had returned.  “I hate having to hang about waiting when I’m ready to turn someone’s intestines inside out.”

        Buffy gave him a severe look.  “Don’t hurt anyone.”

        “I’ll behave,” he promised.

        Tom raised his eyebrows.  “Buffy, is this guy good enough for that to be a concern?”

        “He’s good,” said Buffy. 

        There was no time to discuss the matter further.  There was a loud knock on the back door, and Jess went to open it, revealing an alleyway populated by three large men in dark suits.  They shoved their way into the room and stared at Tom, Buffy, and Spike in surprise.  “Who are these guys?”

        “Friends of Jess,” said Tom.  “We’re here to look out for his interests.”

        The visitors snickered.  “That’s scary,” said one.  “Any chance you friends have any idea what you’re up against?”

        “At a guess,” drawled Spike, “three wankers who have seen too many gangster films but are really scared to face the light of day.”  He shot Buffy a meaningful look.

        “Vamps,” muttered Buffy involuntarily.

        “Oh, shit, they’re vamps,” muttered Tom at the same moment.  He and Buffy exchanged surprised looks.

        “Cat’s out of the bag,” said Spike happily, punching the closest vampire in the face.

        “And so are the stakes,” said Buffy, pulling one from her pocket.  She dodged away from a blow from a vampire, spun around, and caught the creature in the chest with a kick.

        The third vamp dove for Jess, but was thwarted when Tom knocked the salon owner aside. The vamp swung at Tom, but missed as the man dodged with unexpected agility.  Tom ran through the door into the main salon area.  The monster followed.

        Buffy’s vampire had landed on the floor with a thud.  She was on top of it in a second and staked it through the heart.  She looked up to see Spike soundly thrashing the vamp he was fighting and looking around between blows for something to kill it with.  “Catch!” she yelled, tossing him her stake.

        She ran to the door connecting the office with the salon.  Jess had turned off the lights when they went into the back room earlier, and now only the dim light from the street lamp was reflected in the room’s many mirrors.  The vamp, who had probably deliberately avoided this room on his previous visits, was blinking at the several wavering images of Tom that seemed to surround him.  Before he could orient himself, he exploded into a cloud of ash.

        Spike skidded to a halt behind Buffy.  “The one back there is dead,” he said.  “Did you get the last one, love?”

        “No,” said Buffy.  She pointed at Tom.  “He did.”

        “Old trick,” said Tom, dusting himself off.  “Get the vamp someplace with mirrors.  He sees several of you, and, not being accustomed to dealing with reflections, gets confused.  You see only one of him, and your target’s clear.  Haven’t had the opportunity to use that one in years.”  He looked at Buffy and Spike.  “But I’m probably wasting my breath giving you pointers.  You two certainly know how to handle yourselves.  You took those vamps out in record time.  Very impressive.”

        “You’re pretty good yourself,” said Buffy.

        “I used to be,” said Tom sadly, “but age takes its toll, and my wife doesn’t like me out on the front lines anymore.  So I stopped working the paranormal part of the business.  I wanted to keep it up from the management end—I’ve got a lot of connections, you know.  But it’s hard to find good demon hunters in Sunnydale.”

        “Yeah, I hear that all the time,” said Spike.

        Buffy glared at him.

        Jess staggered into the salon.  “Where did those guys go?” he stammered.

        Tom sighed.  “We scared them off, Jess.  Go on home.  Your business is safe.”

        “Oh.”  Jess wandered back into his office, frowning in bewilderment.

        Tom shook his head.  “I don’t know what it is about the air or the water around here that keeps most people from seeing the weird stuff that happens.”

        “I’ve always wondered about that myself,” said Buffy.

A few minutes later, they were in Tom’s office discussing the night’s adventure.  “So,” said Tom, “what’s a talented girl like you doing taking a process serving job when you could be on my payroll as a demon hunter?”  He frowned suddenly.  “That low-life Harry Jesik didn’t send you to spy on me, did he?”

        “Oh, no,” said Buffy.  “I didn’t even know you knew about demons.  I didn’t know you were looking for—for hunters.  We just happened to have had to fight vamps and some other things in the past.  I didn’t know anyone would consider it a job.  A job that pays, I mean.”

        “Well, sure,” said Tom.  “If there’s a need, there’s a market niche.”  He looked at Spike.  “What about him?” he asked Buffy.

        “I’m sure he doesn’t know Harry Jesik either,” said Buffy.

        “I’ve heard of him,” said Spike unexpectedly.  “Doesn’t have a good reputation in the demon community.  He goes after harmless types as often—or more often—than the dangerous ones.”

        “Interesting,” said Tom to Spike.  “But that wasn’t what I meant.  I meant, what are you?”

        “He’s my boyfriend,” said Buffy, with what she hoped was a guileless expression.  “And he fights demons.”

        “And he’s human?” said Tom.

        “Definitely,” said Buffy. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me?”

“He’s human,” she repeated.  It was the truth.  It just wasn’t all the truth.

        “I’ve—had a bit of a history,” said Spike.  “But I started out human and I’m human now.”

        Tom nodded, apparently accepting this.  There was no way of telling if he suspected it was a massive understatement of the facts.  “So,” he said, “are either or both of you interested in permanent employment?  I don’t know if I can have enough work to hire both of you full time right away, but I’ll bet that if I put the word out that I’m back in the business, things will pick up in no time.  That is, if you’re willing to play by the rules I’ve always followed.  I had a good rep for honesty and fairness as well as ass-kicking once, and I wouldn’t want that spoiled just because I’ve started delegating the actual kicking.”

“You’re offering us money to fight demons?” said Buffy slowly.

        “I don’t want to make it sound too glamorous.  It’s not all kicking and fighting.  There are a lot of smaller, safer jobs you could do.  Most of the work is just the routine kind of stuff you’ve already been doing for me, but you have to accept the fact that your client may have three noses and eight eyes.  And as for both of you, well, I’ll offer you a job right away, Buffy.  I’ve been really impressed with your work the last few weeks.  I may be able to take him on too, but part-time for now, on a trial basis.  At least--” Tom turned and frowned at Spike, “You’re English, aren’t you?”

        “Yeah, originally,” said Spike.  “Is that a problem?”

        “Only if you don’t have the right papers.  I can deal with a lot, but I won’t have those Immigration freaks pawing through my papers and finding I’ve got an illegal working for me.  That kind of trouble I don’t need.”

“It was like a waiting room to hell,” said Spike.  “And nothing he said made sense.  I wasn’t rude, whatever the Sl—whatever Buffy may think.  I stayed calm.  But I couldn’t get through to him.  It was like talking to some creature that didn’t think like normal humans, or even abnormal humans.  It was like talking to some creature that didn’t think.  Period.”

“He keeps saying that,” said Buffy to the lawyer.  “I knew I should have gone with him.”

“I don’t think that it would have done much good,” said the attorney.  “It sounds like a pretty typical INS interview to me.”

Buffy stared at her.  Spike nodded in satisfaction at finally having his opinion validated.

The lawyer looked at him seriously.  “I’ll make sure the paperwork actually gets filed.  However, William, your problem seems to be that you have no special skills, or, at any rate, none that you are using on a job.  If you were performing some unique or irreplaceable work, your employer could help you obtain a Green Card or an extended visa.”

Buffy sighed.  Spike’s skills were unique, all right.  But she suspected that the abilities to build one’s own soul out of some pretty unpromising material, fight demons, and survive torture by hell gods and out-of-control witches were not on the INS’ list of irreplaceable skills.

“Also, if you were married to a citizen, or if you had any family in this country or if you belonged to a church that could sponsor you, you might find it easier to get your application approved.”

Buffy considered the Seely coven, a group of extremely powerful witches in Sunnydale.  Their late high-priestess had been fond of Spike, and several of the surviving members of the coven would be happy to help him out.  But she didn’t think that the INS would look on them with favor.

The attorney saw Buffy’s gloom and Spike’s frustration.  “William,” she said sincerely, “I think you need to review your options carefully—all of them.”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“Well, first,” said the lawyer, “You could consider giving up the fight to stay here and returning to England.  You may find it easier to find satisfactory employment in your own country, you know.”

Spike and Buffy looked surprised at this, but before either could react, the attorney continued on, explaining relentlessly how erratic and powerful the INS was.

Buffy trudged down the sidewalk behind Dawn, who was chatting with Janice and another girl.  The main topic seemed to be boys, with specific emphasis on how “hot” specific specimens were. 

Buffy wondered if the new girl, Heather, was going to be a bad influence on Dawn.  Then Buffy wondered how she herself had been transformed into an adult who trailed gossiping teenagers down the street and worried about bad influences.  It had been bad enough being the troublesome teen; being in charge of one was worse.  She needed to commiserate with someone.  To her surprise, Spike was the first person who came to mind.  After all, he had given up a wilder existence than she had ever had, and he had voluntarily taken on some of the responsibility for watching over Dawn.

        The giggling group ahead of her was finally breaking up.  “I need to call home and check on Spike,” said Buffy to Dawn, pulling out her cell phone.  “Maybe he found out some more about that thing.”  She could at least pretend to Dawn that she was more worried about the yeti than the changes in her own life.  As she dialed, she heard the conversation between the two other girls as they walked away.

“Who’s Spike?” asked Heather.

“Buffy’s boyfriend,” said Janice.

“Her boyfriend’s name is Spike?  It sounds like a dog.  A pit bull, maybe.”

“From what I can tell, that’s not far from the truth,” said Janice, laughing.  “But he drives a Mustang and he used to have really cool hair.”

“He sounds hot.”

As the girls moved out of earshot, the phone in Buffy’s hand continued to ring.  Just as she was about to hang up, it was picked up.  “Yeah?” said Spike’s voice.  He sounded tense.

“What’s going on?” asked Buffy.

“Don’t worry, Slayer, I can fix it.”

“Spike, do you have any idea how much I hate conversations with you that start this way?” Her recent vision of Spike as a responsible adult seemed suddenly revealed as pure fantasy.

“It’s under control, love.  Now.  Don’t worry.  Xander, Clem, don’t touch that!  Sorry, pet, gotta go.”  The phone went dead.

Buffy raised an anguished face. 

Dawn bit her lip.  “What did he say?”

“That he’ll fix it.  He didn’t say what ‘it’ was.  Just that he’d fix it.”

“Okay, then.”  Dawn linked her arm through Buffy’s.  “We go downtown, have a couple of mochas, say hi to Tara, and head home.  If we don’t notice anything drastic, we don’t say anything.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can.  Let him fix it.”

“But if he’s broken something again--”

“Like you’ve never broken anything around the house?”

“Well, yes, but at least I never invited a bunch of demons to play poker and then wound up running one of the guests through with a sword!”

“What about your last birthday party?”

Buffy considered this.  “Well, okay.  But technically you were the one who invited the demon who got stabbed.”

“Details, details,” said Dawn.  “You brought the sword, remember?  And remember the time the zombies raided the place?  The point is, you fixed those problems, so now you let Spike fix his own problems.”

“Spike,” said Buffy gloomily.  “My pit bull of a boyfriend.”

“He’s not a pit bull, Buffy.  He—he’s more like one of those Jack Russell terriers.  You know, those cute little dogs that look all innocent until they eat all your furniture and attack all the other pets in the neighborhood.”

“Very funny, Dawn.”  But Buffy let herself be led off towards the coffee shop.

When Buffy and Dawn got home, everything looked more or less normal, and Buffy had to admit that Dawn’s philosophy had its advantages.  Spike, Xander, and Clem were watching basketball, which told Buffy that Spike was in debt to the American human and demon to some extent.  Otherwise, he would have bullied them into watching soccer or rugby.  The living room was a bit too neat, but she wasn’t about to make an issue of that.  Her mental inventory of the furnishings revealed only one missing item, and she had never been very fond of that vase anyway.  Chip was nowhere to be seen, but the cat always made himself scarce when Clem was around.  Buffy suspected that this was due to Chip’s sound survival instincts and the demon’s dietary preferences.

Dawn smirked and went upstairs.  Buffy waited until a commercial came on and asked as casually as possible, “So, did you find anything out about the yeti?”

“No, not about the yeti,” said Spike carefully.

“Not that demon, no,” said Clem.  He caught a glance from Spike and became very interested in his beer.

Buffy looked at Xander.  Before she could ask him anything, he said, much too enthusiastically, “This is a great game, Buffy!  Too bad you missed the first half!”

Buffy went into the kitchen to start dinner.  Retro behavior or no, there were times when a woman just didn’t need to know what her men had been up to.  At least Spike seemed to be making an effort to get along with Xander.  And she had to admit that she was as much reassured by the fact that there had been a minor disaster as by Spike’s restoring the house to normalcy afterwards.  Perhaps being a responsible adult was only a part-time job, and it was possible to enjoy a few wild moments without letting the world spin completely out of control.

The next morning, Tara was taking advantage of a lull in business at the magic shop to study for an exam.  She looked up from her book as Spike came up through the cellar door.  She bit her lip.  “What happened to you?”

He looked down at his muddied clothes.  “Asked a mnemnet demon for a bit of info at that wrong moment.  They don’t like having their train of thought interrupted.”

“Are you okay?”

“Only my dignity was hurt, pet.  Only my dignity.”  He went over to one of the bookshelves and began searching for something.  “Problem is, it was so battered already, I don’t think it survived the fray.”

“You’re certainly not Mr. Cheerful this afternoon,” she said.  “And—are you looking for something in a book?” 

At her incredulous tone he put his head back, closed his eyes, and grimaced.  “Yes, I am looking for something in a bloody book.  Since the entire demon population of Sunnydale seems to either know nothing or have no intention of telling me anything about this yeti, I am reduced to trying to track the thing down using a sodding book!”

Tara was torn between laughter and genuine concern at his distress.  “Is it so awful?  I mean, the rest of us use books all the time.”

“I’m not—“ he stopped.

“One of us?” she said.  There was a long silence.  “Why, Spike?  Because you think we don’t want you to be?  That’s not true, not any more.  Even Xander, who suffers from the kinds of testosterone problems that make me rejoice that I’m gay, has tried to help you fit in.  And, do you know, I think you could.  Fit in.  If you ever decided that’s what you want.”

He dropped the book down on the table and sat down across from her.  “Did you ever figure out something about yourself that scared you?”

“Let’s see, I’m a lesbian witch who was told all her childhood that she was an evil demon.  Yes, I think I’ve got that down.”

He smiled at this, then grew somber again.  “The last relationship I was in, the last real relationship, lasted over a century.  I thought it was eternal love.  When I look back at it now, I realize that it was like being frozen in ice.”

Tara nodded.  She had never met Drusilla, but Xander and Willow had provided graphic descriptions.  She was glad when Spike didn’t go into greater detail.

“Now, everything changes,” he said.  “Every day, every hour.  At first it was a rush, you know.  I liked not knowing what would happen next, and with Buffy around it was usually something exciting and dangerous.  It kept the pulse racing, I finally had a pulse that would race, and I didn’t have any time to worry about the future because there was a bloody good chance there wouldn’t be one anyway.  But things settled down a bit, and now I have to follow all these rules.  I don’t mind Buffy’s rules too much, although I have to admit I don’t get the sense of some of them.  ‘Don’t let the cat jump on the table, don’t try to explain the offside rule to us, don’t invite any demons over when Dawn’s friends are around, don’t play the Sex Pistols too loud, I mean what’s the point if it’s not loud, don’t cook fish before six in the morning--’ What?”  He broke off the litany as she started laughing. 

“Nothing.  It’s just that I can’t believe that last rule was even necessary.”

He looked hurt.  “I like a full breakfast,” he said.  “Besides, it’s not Buffy’s rules that bother me.  It’s the rest of them. There are all these—people.”  He said the last word the way most humans would say “demons.”  “All these sodding people wanting things, usually stupid things, and they seem to expect me to, to–“

“Behave?  Play their game?”

“Is it a game?  These wankers all seem serious enough.”

“I like to think of it as a game,” said Tara.  “You play the game by the rules, then you make time to do the real stuff.  The trick is to figure out which parts are the game and which parts are real.”

He leaned back in his chair, and regarded her carefully.  “You’re a still water that runs deep, pet.”

She flushed.  “I-I don’t know.  I’m just—“

“Bollocks.  You’re not ‘just’ anything.”  He held up the book.  “May I borrow this?”

“Of course.”

He started for the cellar door, then remembered he didn’t need to avoid the street in daylight, and headed out the front door instead.

Tom looked up from his desk and shifted in his chair.  One hand slid down towards his desk drawer. 

Spike leaned against the door frame and watched him with an ironic expression.  “You won’t need it,” he said.  “I don’t bite.”

Tom’s gaze remained steady, and his right hand stayed out of sight.  Spike lounged over to the desk and dropped into a chair by the window.  Sunlight played over his features.  Tom relaxed slightly.

“You saw me in the mirrors the other night,” said Spike.  “And--”  he reached down suddenly and grabbed a cross from Tom’s hand.  He held it up, letting it rest on his palm.  “No sizzle.  Want to take my pulse?  Join me at the pizzeria for a plate of garlic bread?”

“Sorry,” said Tom.  “You get a bit paranoid in this business.”

“That’s why I’m not taking offense, mate.  That and the fact that I’m here for a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Well, or a deal. You haven’t paid me for the other night yet; if you don’t want to, and you have the information I need, we can call it quits.”

“You’re here for information?”

“I thought that’s what you did.  I’m a customer.  Just an ordinary business transaction between two—two humans.” 

Tom couldn’t help noticing that Spike had a perceptible problem spitting out the last word, but he leaned back in his chair and regarded his visitor curiously.  “What kind of information do you need?”

“I’m looking for one of these,” said Spike, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out the book he had borrowed from Tara.  He spread it open and dropped it on the desk.

“Not very nice,” said Tom.  “What do you want it for?”

“I was planning on killing it.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say it hasn’t come to town to shop and have tea and crumpets.  I know it was hanging about in the woods a few days ago, but now it’s gone to ground.  That doesn’t make sense to me.  I want to find it before it gets madder or hungrier.”

“I never would have taken you for a philanthropist,” said Tom.  “Your girlfriend, yes.  You, no.”

“I never expected to be one.  Life takes strange turns.”  Spike leaned forward.  “Look, mate, this doesn’t come easy to me.  You’re not the type I usually deal with, so just let me know.  Can you find out anything about this thing?”

“I don’t need to.  Someone’s already come to me about it.”

Spike looked surprised.  “Who?”

“Never mind.  A—a concerned citizen like yourself.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not a citizen.  But I don’t need to know who told you, just what he said.”

“It’s after someone.  A pretty little blonde girl.”

“Bloody hell!  I was afraid of that.  She killed its mate.”

“So that’s what happened.  This thing found out that the girl in question used to hang out with a vampire that lived in a crypt in a nearby cemetery.  So it’s staked out the crypt.”

“Which is empty.”