CHAPTER 14

Buffy knocked hesitantly on Spike’s door, the bag of spicy wings under her arm a peace offering of sorts. Anya had left for Bath that morning, and Spike had been too busy in the shop all day for her to talk to him. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but she knew this was her chance to get it right.

He opened the door and ushered her inside, pausing to grab a plate before settling himself on the sofa opposite her. He watched her closely, almost warily, not making what she had come to say any easier.

“Xander and Willow are with Dawn,” she began hesitantly. “I told them I was coming to see you.”

“Xander would have loved that,” he observed drily.

She shrugged. “What he thinks about you doesn’t matter to me, Spike. I wish his attitude were different, but I’m done living my life for my friends. He asked why I was coming to see you. I told him it was personal.” She bit her lip. Despite her bravado, her friend’s disapproval still hurt her.

Spike’s blue gaze fixed on her as she continued, “I was up all night thinking of what I needed to say to you, and I still don’t know. What I told you that day in the Magic Box – that I’m okay with what happened between us – that’s true, but it’s only half the story. I need to know that you’re okay as well, Spike. I beat you down, and I used you when I couldn’t face up to the way I felt. I lied to my friends about us, and I lied to myself that what I was doing was right. Even worse, I lied to you.” She paused, wiping her brimming eyes, then met his gaze squarely with her own. “I wrote to Giles, asking him to pass on my apology to you if he saw you. I don’t know whether it reached you, but I need to tell you – to ask you if you think we can get past that.”

Spike nodded slowly. “Still not sure where you’re headed, love.”

He hadn’t called her love since – well, for a long time. It felt good. She had missed it.

“Then that makes two of us,” she said with a wry smile. “But you said last night that if I wanted to see you, I’d have to be your friend.”

She paused, blushing. This was the hard bit. “And if anything else is there,” she added, “at least it will have a good place to start.”

Spike smiled a lean, wolfish smile that made her body sing in places that lacked vocal cords. “Friends, then.” He bit neatly into a wing. “Especially if you keep bringing munchies with you.”

She grinned, and he watched her, waiting for her next move. She relaxed – as much as you could when your body was singing, anyway. It was going to be all right.

“Fancy a quick tussle?” she asked with an innocent look.

He looked startled. See? Two can play at double entendres, Spike. “Training,” she clarified.

***

Giles rolled over, sleepily reaching for Anya. To his surprise, his arm met nothing but cold pillow.

A mist in the corner coalesced, revealing the subject of his thoughts, fully dressed and with no vacuum cleaner in sight.

“Where have you been?” he murmured sleepily as she walked towards their bed. He’d startled himself, earlier, with the realisation that – to him - this was now their bed, their room, although this was the first night she had spent there. Her clothes nestled beside his in the wardrobe; her shoes were tucked under the bed – or would be again soon, he hoped. At the moment, they were adorning her feet.

“Call of vengeance,” she replied. “This woman’s husband is cheating on her by having frequent sex with his secretary. She wanted them both cursed, although I don’t normally do women. In the end, I gave the man a form of dyslexia affecting numbers. As long as he thinks that monogamy means being mostly faithful to two women, he will continue to be unable to understand numbers. That will be problematic, as he’s the financial director of a large multinational corporation. Once he makes up his mind, even if he chooses to be with the secretary, his brain will return to normal.”

There was silence.

“You don’t approve, do you?”

He sat up and reached for his glasses. Clearly this was not a conversation that would be resolved in a hurry. “It’s not a matter of approving or not, darling,” he replied. “It’s not up to me. It’s who you are, and what you do. It would be the height of arrogance and hypocrisy for me to complain about it at this stage.”

She frowned, pushing on. “But you don’t approve.”

He reached for her, kissing her gently. “Anya. I want to be with you. I l- I care about you very much. All of you. It’s true that I’m not entirely reconciled to your career choice, but I am aware that that is my problem and not yours.”

“I understand that,” she said. “What I don’t understand is why it bothers you. With Xander, it was always because I was a demon, but that’s not it for you … is it?”

“That man tonight,” Giles began. “How many people were depending on him for their jobs? How will your curse affect them? The consequences ripple out from the original spell.” He frowned. “It’s vigilante justice, Anya. However pure your motives may be these days, I firmly believe that there are better ways to deal with these situations.”

Anya sighed. “I suppose you want me to leave now.”

“No!” said Giles hurriedly. “Not at all. I wasn’t trying to distress you. If you were murdering people, then it would be quite clear-cut; I would have to try and stop you, and entering into – or continuing in – a relationship would be morally wrong.” He rubbed his eyes wearily. “And the same goes for many other punishments that you might exact. But I know you’re trying, and you’re in a grey area here. I won’t help you, but I don’t have to put obstacles in your way. An intellectual debate – even on something as important as this – isn’t something I’m inclined to take personally.”

“That’s quite all right,” she said with relief, toeing off her shoes and curling up beside him. “I do understand. I would be extremely disconcerted if you sent your Slayer after Halfrek, or D’Hoffryn. But hunting demons is what you do, so there is a distinct possibility that you might at some time. When you do, it will be my turn to make unpleasant moral choices.”

Giles looked uncomfortable. “Precisely,” he said.

***

Buffy scowled. “This is ridiculous,” she snapped.

Spike looked up at her from where he lay sprawled on the training mats for the seventh time in as many minutes. She reached out and grasped his hand, helping him to his feet before he moved away.

“Touch my shoulder,” she demanded.

Puzzled, he reached out and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said with a frown.

Taking his hand, she pressed it firmly to her shoulder. Holding it there, she reached her other hand out to his shoulder, kneading gently, feeling the firm, tight muscles and tendons that lay beneath his skin. Emboldened, he began to massage her shoulder and nape, continuing even when she removed the hand restraining his and moved it to his hip. The heat of her body burned into his as she stepped closer.

“We can’t train together if you’re afraid to touch me,” she explained. “You won’t hurt me, Spike. I know you, and I trust you.” She hoped she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt, and that he missed her sigh when he reached his other hand out to hold her hip, echoing her own pose.

Slowly, she dragged her hand from his shoulder across his chest, resting it above his heart. He started to follow suit, then hesitated, and she brought her hand up to capture his and move it, pausing at the small lump that sat over her collarbone.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “It’s the amber pendant,” she said. “I always wear it.”

He swallowed as she moved his hand lower, gliding over the swell of her breasts to rest above her heart. She smiled at him, serene and confident now. “It’s okay to touch me, Spike. I won’t break.”

He grinned then, hooking one foot behind her knees and pushing her down onto the training mats. She retaliated immediately, lashing out with a foot to knock him to the ground, crouching and leaping at him.

Her breast brushed his hand, but neither noticed, as caught up as they were in their dance. They rolled on the floor, vying for supremacy, until he captured her legs between his and rolled to kneel above her, trapping her beneath him.

His shocked face showed Buffy just when he realised that their pose reflected their encounter in the bathroom. He was caught in that moment, frozen in horror. She reached out to him, wanting to hold and soothe him, and erase the look of revulsion from his eyes. One hand gently stroked his cheek and he relaxed, almost ready to meet her smile. That terrible day no longer lay between them; forgiveness – absolution, even – had been granted. They lay like that for a moment, then she bucked beneath him, laughing and flipping him off, so that they lay collapsed beside one another on the mats, panting. Not quite touching.

Now that was how training should be.

***

Clem arrived at the Magic Box right a few minutes before closing time.

“I brought ice cream,” he announced, showing Spike the enormous bag filled with take-home containers of Ben & Jerry’s.

“I couldn’t decide what flavour to buy,” he explained, “so I got seven. I hope you have a big freezer. I’d hate for all this to melt before we’ve finished the video.”

He held up his battered copy of The Wedding Singer. Clem freely admitted to being a sucker for wedding movies. It could have been worse, Spike figured. He could have brought his Father of the Bride collection.

Spike smiled at his friend. “You head on down. I’ll be right with you.”

When he’d locked the doors and tallied the day’s takings, he went down the stairs to his apartment. Clem leapt up from the sofa as he entered the room.

“I put the ice cream in the freezer. I wasn’t sure where you kept your bowls, and I didn’t want it to get all melty before you were ready.”

Spike opened a cupboard and took out two bowls and spoons, while Clem lined the pint containers up in a row on the counter.

“It’s all Kosher,” the demon assured him. “I didn’t get any coffee flavours though. I hope that’s OK – the caffeine does terrible things to my digestion.” His stomach rumbled as if to prove what he had said.

Spike smiled, then watched in amazement as his friend filled his bowl with an assortment of the strangest flavours of ice cream he had seen. Clem looked up.

“Sorry. I guess I should explain what I bought,” he said. “This one is brown sugar ice cream with cinnamon streusel, apples and caramel. This is vanilla with chocolate chip cookie dough rippled through it.” He went on, describing each flavour. Spike was relieved to see that the last flavour was a plain chocolate. He took a scoop of that, as well as a little of another flavour that apparently consisted of chocolate ice cream, with caramel and marshmallow, with little chocolate fish floating in it.

The video was clearly a favourite of Clem’s. Spike didn’t mind the movie, and enjoyed watching his friend sing along; he had confessed to being a great eighties music fan. Spike didn’t see the appeal himself.

After the movie, Clem helped himself to another bowlful of ice cream.

“Any news of our slimy visitors?” Spike asked.

“They’re up to something,” Clem replied. “They don’t seem to be doing anything yet, though. Just watching.”

“Watched me walking Willow home a few nights back,” Spike confirmed. “They ran away as soon as we got close, though.”

“That seems to be what they always do,” Clem continued. “I caught a bit of a conversation last night, though. They were talking about their Queen arriving – and they said something about the Strongest One being ready.” He shrugged. “Or it could have been the Cucumbers of Wrath. My Akkadian’s a bit rusty – and I’m not familiar with their dialect.”

There was a knock on the door. Spike crossed the room to open it, revealing a Slayer dressed for patrol. She smiled.

“Hey, Spike. I wondered if you’d like to pa-” her face fell at the sight of Clem. She forced a smile.

“Hi, Clem.”

”Oh. Hi, Buffy. How are you? Do you want some ice cream? We have lots.”

She looked almost shyly at Spike, who stepped back, inviting her to come inside and join them. “We could do with some help eating this stuff,” he said quietly, with a grin that invited her to share his amusement at his friend’s habits. He was glad of Clem’s company for another reason then. After the emotional upheaval of the previous night’s training session, he’d not been sure what his next encounter with Buffy would be. Of all his guesses, though, eating ice cream had not featured.

“Uh … okay. Sure,” she said, staring at the familiar Ben and Jerry’s cartons.

Spike found another bowl and spoon (for a bloke who got no visitors, he was doing well tonight, he mused), while she surveyed the flavours.

“Wow! You got Chubby Hubby! And New York Super Fudge Chunk!” She took a bite, eyes rolling up in mock ecstasy. “You guys are the best!”

Clem looked curiously at Spike, who shrugged. Let the demon wonder – after all, he was wondering himself. He cleared his throat. “Clem was just filling me in on our slimy demon buddies down at the docks.”

“Great,” said Buffy around a spoonful of ice cream. “Do we have any new leads?”

“Not really,” said Spike. “There’s still one more batch of books to come. That last lot wasn’t much help, although it did refer to some kind of ceremony that happens every 75 years or so. The last one recorded was in 1852, which suggests that that might be what we’re facing. I’m hoping that Peterson’s Demonic Ceremonies, Rites and Rituals will have the answers we’re after.”

Buffy nodded, already at the counter for seconds. She turned to Clem. “Is this the strawberry fudgey one?” The demon nodded. She filled her bowl again, then returned to her position next to Spike on the sofa. “Wow – this is great! Here, try some.” She held out a spoonful of what looked like strawberries, cookies, fudge and ice cream, which Spike dutifully tasted. It tasted great – but not as great as the fact that the Slayer was here, spending time with him and his friend, even sharing her food with him.

***

Willow looked around. The park was deserted tonight – making it an excellent venue for what she had in mind. She took a dried twig and laid it on the grass, then stepped back, concentrating.

“Incendiare!” she said, then recoiled in surprise as the heat nearly overwhelmed her. After a moment, she ran to the street, stopping to wonder whether she should call the fire department or just run home and hide under the bedclothes, waiting for the nightmare to end. At the sound of approaching sirens, she chose the latter option and hurried away, hoping that the citizens of Sunnydale would blame their now-charcoal sports pavilion on a random arsonist, rather than on a witch whose slowly returning magic was – apparently – quite out of control.