San Francisco Nights

"Doll, doll...pretty doll," Drusilla crooned, locking the door to her dressing room.

She lifted Miss Edith to her ear. "What's that? Why, Miss Edith, you're jealous! But I won't desert you, my sweet...not even for the new one." Still whispering to her favorite doll, Drusilla drifted out to the master bedroom.

Where Aletta was.

The Mistress smiled at Dru, and tossed her lovely black hair, then glanced at the muscular giant who towered over her..

"Drusilla," she murmured. "My dearest...you've kept Saul waiting."

The merest hint of reproach, but Dru hurried over to Saul. She liked him, she decided...he was so big and mean and rough..."Like my Angel," she murmured, running her hands over his buffed torso.

Aletta glided languidly toward the door. "Enjoy yourselves, my own," she called.

The minute she was gone, Saul seized Drusilla's red dress in his huge meaty hands and tore it from throat to hem. She whimpered, half in fear, half in pleasure, as he lowered her onto her bed.

"I like the way you play," she confided, as he loomed above her. "Perhaps," she cocked her head to one side, "I should let you play with my new doll?"

Saul grunted. "Thanks but no thanks, moron."

Dru frowned...he wasn't very nice. "No," she decided, "You can't play. Besides, she's a present for my Angel."

"Yeah, yeah,whatever..." Saul was bored. She wouldn't be a bad lay, if she'd just learn to keep her mouth shut. He couldn't figure why Aletta had taken the crazy on in the first place.

"I've got my reasons, Saul," she'd said at the time. "One blond British reason; and one dark Irish reason."

Oh well...if the crazy didn't know how to be quiet, then he'd see just how much noise she could make...

Spike was frantic with worry; Drusilla had gone to ground so completely that he was beginning to fear she was dead.

In the end, after other sources had failed him, he'd even done what he'd sworn he'd never do again...and gone skulking home to Sunnyhell.

Home...why did he persist in thinking of that gawdawful hole as home?

But it was Willy who gave him a lead.

"Nah, Spike, the hellmouth's been pretty quiet since the ascension went bust. Won't last, of course...every demon in the USA and beyond'll be headin' this way, Slayer or no Slayer! And right now, it's no Slayer."

"What?" He'd thought he had no interest in anything except Dru, but this caught his attention.

"She visits in L.A. in the summer." Willy shrugged. "Usually her friends take up the slack, but the kid is away, the witch and her boyfriend are travelling with his band, and the Watcher's job-hunting. So- nobody's home."

"What about Angel?" Spike demanded. Dru couldn't seem to get over her Angel again...maybe that's where she'd gone?

Willy shrugged again, and gave him Angel's new address.

"Whatever you want, say it outside." Cordelia blocked the door.

Angel pushed her aside impatiently. "Spike! Do you...do you know where she is?"

Spike's shoulders slumped. "I was hoping you'd seen her."

"No," Angel said bleakly. "Why would she come to me?"

"Because...she's deluded enough to think she loves you!" Spike spat.

To his astonishment, Angel groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "She never even called me, when she came to L.A."

"Well, DUH!" Cordelia had heard enough. "You SAID that the two of you were finished! You SAID you didn't want to see her anymore...for her own good. What did you expect?"

"Wait...you're talking about Buffy?" Spike never noticed he had used her name. "I thought you meant Drusilla!"

"No." Angel stared at him through haunted eyes. "Buffy disappeared from L.A. five nights ago- you say Dru is missing too?"

"She left Brazil over three weeks ago," Spike admitted.

"Under her own power?" Angel asked pointedly.

The blond tensed. "Yeah, peaches, what of it?"

"Ever think maybe Dru doesn't want to be found?"

Spike stared him down. "Didn't the Slayer run away last year?"

"That was different," Angel snapped.

"You'd like to think so, Angel. But are they really so different, Dru and the Slayer?"

"As different as day and night." retorted Angel. "Buffy is all sunshine- Drusilla is a creature of darkness."

"She's what you made her." Spike was unimpressed.

"Yes." Angel's dark eyes burned with a fanatic's fire. "I made her, I must destroy her. I was weak- but now I won't fail....leave noe, Spike! If I ever see you again, I will kill you."

He turned away; and Cordelia pulled the door nearly shut.

"Look, Spike, Angel can't be around vampires any more...it makes him crazy! And he's obsessed with finding Buffy and killing whoever took her....You've got a head start, so use it!"

Spike sat in his car, smoking. He desperately wanted a drink; but he needed a clear head.

"Got to find Dru," he muttered. "Slayer's friends might have helped once; but not now. Now they're all preoccupied with her going missiing. Funny that...Dru and the Slayer both gone at the same time. Can't be a connection, though..."

"Will this one do, Mistress?" she asked plaintively.

Drusilla's lovely eyes gleamed approval...the child was indeed beautiful, with caramel-colored skin and large dark eyes. There were pink butterfly barrettes in her black hair.

"What's your name, poppet?" Dru asked softly.

"Kenesha," the child whispered. "Please can I go home now?"

"To your mother?" Drusilla considered. "Don't you want to see my dolls? I have a new one, but you mustn't play with her...she's for my Angel! Come and see."

The child went willingly; and Monique, breathing a sigh of relief, scuttled away eagerly. She hated waiting on Drusilla; but she had to obey Aletta.

"She's crazy," she told Saul. "She gives me the creeps, Saul!"

"Aletta told you to serve her, so you serve her! You hear me?" Saul said automatically. But he didn't like Drusilla any more than Monique did.

Dru pouted as she finished draining the child. Not much blood in that little body; she should have made the servant girl bring two children.

"Oh well, Miss Edith," she crooned, "I can get some more from my new doll."

She unlocked the door to her dressing room. Buffy Summers was chained to a small divan, still unconscious.

Drusilla smiled at her fondly. "She must be very hungry, Miss Edith. I suppose we must feed her, if my Angel doesn't come soon."

Aletta studied the square-cut emerald on one of her slim, elegant fingers. "She stays."

Saul knew that tone; in general a fearless vampire, he deferred to Aletta whenever he heard it.

"I have a shoot." Aletta swung her lovely long legs to the floor and stood in one supple movement.

"Magazine cover?" Saul asked indifferently. The only magazine he liked was Hustler; but Aletta had once been a top model...a younger version of Naomi Campbell. She seldom worked now, preferring to devote herself to her various business interests, including the classy jazz club she operated in the North Beach district.

"Just publicity shots for Aletta's," she drawled. "Keep Drusilla happy, and keep her inside...and don't worry. It won't be for much longer!"

He'd had to substitute by driving to UCLA and finding the nearest computer lab; where a pretty coed was only too eager to assist him.

"Here...three special orders for doll clothes...L.A., Carmel, and San Francisco." The girl. Phyllis, was excited at the success of her efforts.

"Thanks Ducks," Spike said warmly. "Feel like coming with me for a bite to eat? I'm a bit peckish."

She agreed so fast that he actually felt guilty; and released her before draining her dry.

He'd recognized the San Francisco address at once- Aletta's. Named for Aletta Courcy, a vampiress who had a long history with Spike and Dru.

Long...and not always happy.

She looked happy enough to see him tonight, Spike thought cynically.

Aletta wore a long, low-cut emerald dress that called attention to her magnificent ring. She looked wonderful; but her beauty held no allure for him.

She knew it; and her long sloe-eyes glittered with dislike.

"Spike," she purred throatily, "Waht a nice surprise."

"Is it?" He lit a cigarette.

"Darling, of course. I haven't seen you since...hmmmm, was it New Orleans, in 1942?"

"But you and Dru always kept in touch," Spike said insinuatingly.

Aletta's catlike smile widened. "Don't tell me, you're lookiing for Drusilla? Why didn't you say so, silly boy? She's at my home, on Columbus Avenue."

She nodded at a slim, very beautiful boy, no older than twenty. "Bertrand will take you; and I hope that you too will be my guest, Spike." Aletta's 'home' was actually a small hotel that catered exclusively to vampires. Spike knew that he had no chance whatsoever of removing Dru without Aletta's cooperation; and he clenched his fists in frustration. In exchange for Dru, Aletta would demand a favor from him. And, he knew it wouldn't be minor.

Bertrand was watching him with an open curiousity that was almost insolent.

"Drusilla has the Regency suite," Bertrand drawled. "Has a private staircase so her...visitors can come and go."

"That right?" Spike lit a cigarette.

Bertrand smirked at him. "Drusilla likes a lot of company. I sometimes visit myself."

Spike warned himself not to react; Aletta wouldn't appreciate his killing one of her people; and she was well-established in San Francisco. He'd end up offering her penance as well as the price for Dru...and he didn't like the thought of becoming a hired gun for Aletta.

He wondered who it was that she wanted him to kill.

"Angel?" Hesitantly, she touched his arm, and he vamped and growled. But she did not pull away; and after a minute his face resumed human features. Slowly, she let go of the breath she'd been holding.

"I shouldn't have let him go," Angel muttered. "I should have killed him and rid the world of another parasite."

"You were upset about Buffy," Cordelia sought to comfort him.

He grabbed a slender glass vase and sent it crashing against the far wall "I have..no right to worry about one girl! Not when Spike's kind preys on hundreds...thousands...of humans! I want to kill them...to kill them all! And my love for her...weakens me...One girl, one girl in all the world..." his voice trailed off.

Cordelia sighed as he lurched down the hall to his darkened bedroom. In the past year, Angel had become embittered, his brooding turned into something darker...something festering and corrupt.

"God, Buffy," she murmured, "I never thought I'd feel this way, but...how I wish I knew where you are!"

Spike kept his face carefully impassive.

"I don't think they'd appreciate any interruptions," Bertrand drawled.

Wordlessly Spike faced the heavy oak door- and kicked it open with a resounding crash!

"Hey!!" yelled the startled Bertrand.

Spike surveyed the cavernous room. Drusilla was still sprawled naked on the bed...an enormous giant of a man turned around to face them, muscles rippling under gleaming ebony skin.

Bertrand was babbling frantically. "Saul...sorry, he just...Aletta told me to bring him here. I didn't know he'd just barge in like..."

The giant ignored him to fasten his little dark eyes on the Englishman.

But Drusilla spoke first. "Spike!" she hummed happily, "Miss Edith told me I would see you soon."

She dropped her voice conspiratorially. "Miss Edith is jealous of my pretty new doll. She says I should give her to Saul to play with."

The big man grunted, displeased. "Give her to your pal here, Dru! Looks like the kind who plays with dolls!"

Drusilla cocked her head to one side, considering. "Yes, " she decided, "Spike...I give my new toy to you. She was supposed to be a present for my Angel; but he won't want her now. And Saul wants you to have her."

The giant looked disgusted. "Man, how'd you ever put up with her?"

"Practice," Spike said softly.

"Yeah, well, if Aletta says you can have her, you got her. And alla them stupid dolls! An' I don' appreciate her goin' on about givin' them to me, get it? I ain't the kinda guy to play dolls!" He grabbed a robe from the foot of the bed and strode out, followed by the sniggering Bertrand.

Spike waited until they were gone, then carefully closed and bolted the door.

Drusilla watched expectantly, bright-eyed as a bird. "My Spike is angry."

He was more weary than angry, he decided. "Why'd you do it, baby? Why'd you leave?"

Just for an instant her eyes cleared into some semblance of sanity. "You helped her! You helped her send my Angel far, far away!" Then the madness rolled back, like an eclipse over the sun. "But he's coming...soon. For me."

"He has his soul again, Dru," Spike said tiredly. "He's changed again."

She smiled a sly, secret smile. "He'll be back."

"Get dressed, ducks," Spike said, handing her a robe.

She ignored it. "My Spike...don't you want your present? She was for Angel, then for Saul...but they neither one shall have her. She's for my Spike. Say thank-you!"

He sighed, humoring her as he always did. "Thank you, princess."

Drusilla giggled, dancing over to him. "Now, Spike! Shall I..."

There was a loud knock on the door.

Spike opened it a crack, and Monique smiled at him. "Aletta would like to see you now, sir."

Spike nodded; he'd been expecting the summons.

"Dru, looks like we'll be staying a few days. Why don't you put this pretty dress on?"

He followed Monique down to the lobby, knowing Drusilla would still be dancing naked when he returned.

"Do you wish me to take her something to eat, sir?" Monique ventured. "I always do on nights when she doesn't go hunting."

Spike considered. "No, I'll do that. I don't expect to be long, so fix enough for two."

"Oh, yes, sir!" Monique dropped her eyes coyly. She'd enjoy serving THIS particular guest...in every way.

"Have something to eat, pet," he urged, filling a wineglass for her.

She drank the contents greedily, eyes shining at him. "NOW do you want your present, Spike?"

"Sure Dru," Spike said absently. Inwardly he was cursing Aletta's demands. She actually expected him to...

Dru was unlocking the padlocked door to her dressing room. "In here, Spike."

"Is it the French doll that Aletta bought my princess?"

Dru giggled madly. "No, Spike. It's one I got..all my own self!" She swung the door wide. "Aren't I the clever girl, then!"

Spike looked, and nearly lost his dinner.

There on the divan, chained hand and foot, was a small naked figure.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

With a strange presentiment of doom, Spike observed the tell-tale puncture wounds in the Slayer's neck.

"Dru!" he grabbed her by the shoulders, almost causing her to drop Miss Edith. "Did she drink from you as well? Is she a vampire? Answer me!"

"Of course she did, silly boy," Dru pouted. "But I gave her my sleepy powder so she doesn't wake up anymore! I'm glad, she's angry when she wakes up...and she won't play!"

She picked up a hairbrush and began to brush Buffy's blonde hair.

Spike's thoughts were racing wildly. "Dru...listen to me! You said you drugged...gave her the sleep powder. Does that mean she hasn't eaten since you turned her?"

"No. She's been a cross toy...she wouldn't play, so she had no tea," Drusilla shook her dark head.

Spike groaned aloud. Now what? Dru had turned the Slayer, then starved her, making her into a ravening, violent vampire kept under control by drugs.

What's more...by gifting him with her "new doll" in front of witnesses, Dru had effectively transferred any responsibility for her fledgeling to him!

Worse yet...he owed Aletta a debt for Dru; and in vampire terms, that meant he owed her a kill.

Spike had agreed to kill someone for Aletta.

His sire.

In the end he decided to use Dru's method.

"I was so clever, my Spike," Dru bragged. "She was fighting vampires, and the last one stunned her as she staked him. So, I hit her. Very hard. On the head. Then I took her to my suite...Saul saw me, but it didn't matter. Because I went out again! I went out, just before sunrise and got another little blonde. And when Saul came I gave him her body to take away. And he never knew...nobody did!..that there were two! Isn't princess a clever girl?"

"My princess is very clever," Spike agreed numbly. She'd also had the devil's own luck, which Spike couldn't count on.

Still he had to try.

First, they'd need a ringer. And he didn't trust Dru alone with the Slayer. It was mere chance that she hadn't given the secret away a hundred times. If people didn't tend to discount her because of her craziness...! There was only one thing to do.

"But I don't want to leave," Drusilla whined. "I like it here."

Spike gritted his teeth. "We'll come back somday, ducks," he promised rashly.

It took him nearly an hour to convince her; and by then his jangled nerves were screaming. But she finally agreed to slip out and find another tiny blonde to use as a decoy.

She slipped silently down her private staircase, clutching Miss Edith.

But...she didn't come back.

Spike was beside himself; but he dared not leave the Slayer alone to go in search of Dru.

All day long he fretted and fumed. He had to get the Slayer out of this hotel!

An idea crossed his mind...he pawed through Dru's clothes, unearthing a long black velvet skirt with a hooded gray jacket. He dressed the unconscious Slayer quickly, coiling her blonde hair carefully under the hood. Dru's boots were too big; he put them on her feet anyway, since he could easily carry her.

He headed for the door, pausing at the last instant to seize the largest of Drusilla's French dolls. He pushed it against the Slayer's face, concealing most of her features.

Almost sundown...he'd take her down those stairs; and they'd be ready to make a run for it.

One flight...so far, so good.

Two flights...at least the Slayer was light and easy to carry. Spike could see the landing below- opening onto the lobby on the left...and the side door exit on the right.

A few more minutes....

The lobby door opened, and Bertrand's eyes met his.

"Saul!" the younger vampire yelled.

"Yeah, I see 'em," the giant loomed beyond Bertrand, clutching a whiskey bottle from the bar. "You goin' somewheres, limey?"

"Just taking Dru for a bit of air," Spike replied amiably, fumbling for a cigarette. "One of you got a light?"

They hesitated, nonplussed by his casual air. Then Saul nodded to Bertrand, and the youth slowly pulled out a lighter.

Until that moment they'd paid little heed to the figure in his arms, assuming it was a sleeping Drusilla.

But now Saul said weightily, "Better take the crazy back to her room. Aletta won't want her gettin' fried...yet!"

The Slayer chose that precise instant to wake up. "Unnhh," she muttered, moving her head.

Bertrand's eyes widened as he saw her face. "Saul...she's..."

Spike reacted. In one swift motion he flung the Slayer full force at Bertrand and Saul.

Bertrand lifted his arms to block as he stumbled back into Saul; and the big man slammed his head hard against the doorframe.

But Saul had smashed the whiskey bottle too...and Bertrand still clasped his burning lighter.

Flames shot up in a wall between them.

Spike grabbed for the Slayer. Her skirt was already smoldering, but the heavy velvet had protected her legs.

He spared a glance outside- and observed it was beginning to rain. He stumbled out the exit into what was soon a cloudburst.

In the street below, a fat woman paused her van at a red light; Spike wrenched the door open, hauled her from behind the wheel, and flung the Slayer into the back. He floored the accelerator; and behind him flames rose up... brilliant orange against a gunmetal sky. The fire had found swift purchase in that old hotel...not even the downpour could hold it back. Spike abandoned the van on one of the side streets down around Fisherman's Wharf...he wanted to get away from the North Beach area as fast as possible. He considered his options...he could not check into a hotel, since Aletta's people would soon be out scouring the city for him. Spike ducked into one of the garish souvenir shops that lined the wharf and bought a baseball cap; along with a pair of sweatshirts that featured the Golden Gate bridge. Back on the street, he shoved the unconscious Slayer against a wall and yanked one of the shirts over her head. Then he pulled on the other one, folding his duster under his arm. It wouldn't help much...but might buy them some time.

He hailed a cab and bundled the Slayer inside. "Uh...Golden Gate Park," he directed. It was the only place he could think of.

The park was nearly deserted at this hour....he found a bench and set the Slayer down. A panhandler approached them; Spike drained him swiftly, letting some of the blood trickle into the Slayer's mouth. He lifted her again; and this time she was able to keep on her feet, stumbling a little as he pulled her along.

They struggled into the Haight-Asbury district; and instantly Spike realized they'd come to the right place. This district was a mecca for the bizarre and the strange; he and his companion attracted no attention at all.

He led her down one of the side streets...and then, his luck kicked in. Farther down, he saw a cab pull up...and two women, one tall and slim, the other short and dumpy, came down the steps clutching several suitcases.

Suitcases? Alerted, Spike stepped behind a tree, carefully observing. "Jess, did you empty the refrigerator? We'll be gone for two weeks!" the short woman asked nervously.

The tall one sighed. "Yes, Susan...I did. And I stopped the mail, and checked the locks. Nobody will tamper with anything while we're in Mexico! Now let's go or we'll miss our flight!"

Spike watched the cab drive away; and grinned wolfishly. "Guess what, pet? We have a home for the next two weeks!"

He carried Buffy to the door of the drak gray Victorian, and studied the neat brass plates. Six apartments...and 4B was listed under Pierson, S. and Mulney, J. Obviously Susan and Jess.

They had good taste, Spike decided. A tiny living room with a wood floor and a terra- cotta fireplace. The bedroom was larger...two windows, but with thick wine velvet drapes and shades...evidently they valued their privacy.

He placed the Slayer on the bed; and as he did, she began to stir once more. He almost panicked; she would need to feed, and what had he to give her?

The bed was sturdy- a genuine brass antique with a wheel style headboard. Spike still had the handcuffs Dru had used in his coat pocket. Quickly he fastened the unconscious Slayer's arms above her head, then used his belt to tie her feet. He grabbed a large jar from the kitchen, washed it clean, and tucked it in one pocket.

If only he could make it back before the Slayer came awake!

Instantly she yanked on the cuffs, rattling them against the brass posts.

"Take it easy, pet," Spike said calmly, grateful he'd thought to gag her.

She ignored him, yanking the cuffs again, leaving deep scratches in the brass.

"Stop that!" he ordered sharply.

Her struggles only intensified.

Spike took a deep, unneeded breath, and backhanded the Slayer across the face.

Buffy stared at him in shock...but stopped moving.

"All right. You stay quiet." He eased the gag from her mouth slowly...but she didn't seem interested in screaming the place down.

"I'm going to give you something to eat; try to sip it slowly." Carefully he poured a little of the blood into a glass, and held it to her lips. As the scent of fresh blood hit, she vamped and growled, gulping avidly. He refilled the glass twice more before she was sated, and her face resumed human shape.

Spike watched her intently. An ordinary vampire who'd been deprived of blood so long would be a wild and raving, overcome by bloodlust, but she didn't seem violent.

Carefully he untied her legs and unlocked the handcuffs.

She was looking around with interest. "Where..."

Spike forestalled her. "You and I, Cutie, are holed up in Haight-Asbury, in a flat owned by two women named Susan and Jess who are presently en route to Mexico City.

Buffy frowned. "Hiding? But why?"

"We've had a spot of trouble," Spike explained, wincing at the understatement. "Look, Slayer, why don't you tell me what you remember?"

"Singing," Buffy said suddenly. "I was visiting my father...and one evening I popped out to the drugstore- and started fighting some vampires. Five, I think...and I staked everyone but then it all...went black. I remember waking...tied up like this. Drusilla was brushing my hair, and she shoved one of her stupid dolls in my face, and then..."

"Yeah, well, never mind that," Spike said hastily.

"How long was I out?" Buffy asked suddenly.

"Five days," Spike said.

"Five..." she muttered. "I have to...Spike, I have to tell Giles! He'll worry that something's happened to me!"

Spike took a deep breath, just to steady his nerves. "Something has, pet. That wasn't exactly tomato juice you've been guzzling, you know."

She stared at him, her sea-colored eyes dilating in horror. "You mean I'm...I'm...."

He didn't answer; he didn't have to.

With a muffled scream, she hurtled off the bed...and fell to the floor as her numbed feet failed to support her.

"Take it easy." He helped her up; and she clung to him, shivering violently.

"Mirror," she whispered.

"Right there, luv, above the dresser." He indicated the glass which reflected only their surroundings.

She stared for a long moment, then flung herself face down on the bed and cried like a heartbroken child.

Spike stared in astonishment; he'd seen many fledglings wake up for the first time, but never before had he seen one react like this. Suspicion bloomed into certainty.

"My God...you've got a sodding soul, haven't you?"

Buffy only cried harder.

"Cheer up, pet, it's not as bad as all that," Spike offered, feeling strangely inadequate. "Must have happened 'cause you're a Slayer. Most vampires like to kill a Slayer outright...takes a thundering loony to turn one!"

She lifted her head slightly. "If only she had...killed me. I'd rather be dead!"

"Now, none of that!" Spike ordered. "Death is...so very permanent, luv!"

Unconsoled, she buried her face in the pillow and wept again.

Spike had had enough. Gingerly, he sat on the bed beside her and awkwardly patted her back. It seemed to work...her sobs diminished, until finally she lay quietly.

Pleased, he patted her some more. He hardly ever touched anyone.....other than in a violent way, of course...and it really felt rather nice. She was soft, and unusually warm for a vampire...

Buffy rolled over, and looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.

"Why? Why would she do this?"

"She's not all there, pet," he told her truthfully. "She had in mind you'd be...a sort of present. For Angel."

"Angel," she repeated hopelessly.

"Uh...have you thought, luv...perhaps now the two of you..."

She was shaking her head vehemently. "Angel...he...he's changed, since he went to L.A. I've been worried about him...he hates other vampires so much! He wouldn't be able to deal with...deal with me. Not like this!"

Spike cursed inwardly. She'd been settling down nicely; and now she was all worked up again.

"Look, kitten, let's handle one thing at a time? Right!"

She frowned. "Why do we...both of us...reek of smoke? And we're wet and...clammy!"

"Then that's the first thing!" Spike grinned at her. "I know what to do about that, luv!"

He dashed into the blue-tiled bathroom and turned on the water.

Buffy swung her legs to the floor and promptly fell. "Owww!"

Spike picked her up. "Those boots are too large, pet. Better see what Susan's got...or Jess!"

He carried her into the bathroom and carefully stripped off her clothes.

"Hey!" she protested. "What do you think..."

"Relax," he couldn't help smirking at her. "I've already seen all there is to see, pet. Now you get cleaned up while I find us someting to wear."

He found a grey sweatsuit that probably belonged to the rangy Jess. Susan, though as short as the Slayer, was a bit heavier....he finally settled for a denim jumper over a peach sweater, and some thick socks.

Buffy wandered into the bedroom, wrapped in a fluffy white towel.

"Oh good, you found something." She let the towel fall as she reached for the clothes.

"Stop!" Spike yelled. "What are you up to?"

"But you said you'd seen everything," she said innocently.

He glared at her, then stomped into the bathroom to take his turn in the shower. When he finally emerged, she was curled up on the couch watching television. He watched her a moment, without her noticing. She had combed through her wet hair and it was already starting to dry in soft tendrils around her face. She'd wound herself up in a multi-colored afghan; and she looked adorable.

Spike walked over and sat down next to her. "Watching the news, pet?"

"It's not on yet," she answered guiltily.

He grinned, knowing she'd never even thought of it. She caught his eye; and they both laughed.

She had been watching some ice show.

"You go for this, luv?"

"I used to. Once I thought....maybe even the Olympics. But the best I could do was a bronze in the regionals..." her voice trailed off; and he didn't need to ask why she'd given it up.

Instead he said quietly," I'll bet you were good, pet. I can tell by the way you dance."

Buffy shook her head. "Not good enough."

But she smiled at him, and pulled a section of her afghan over his bare feet. He looked at her in surprise, but said nothing.

Instead he reached for the remote.

"Mine," she said, holding it out of his grasp. "No way!" He launched himself at her, and the two of them wrestled playfully. He tickled her, and she actually giggled...then tickled him back.

She stretched her arms high above her head, as far as she could. "Mine," she repeated, laughing.

He realized abruptly that he was right on top of her....what's more, he was enjoying the sensation.

"We interrupt this program to..."

What? Oh, the telly....

"...the Acadia hotel....burned tonight in a devastating fire..."

"Wow." Buffy stared at the screen in awe. "That's the place where I was a prisoner? Did you do that?"

"I must have," he answered numbly, gazing at pictures of a smoking ruin where the old hotel had stood.

Buffy and Spike stared at one another in shock.

"I have to go there!" Spike jumped to his feet.

"Go where?" Buffy regarded him as if he'd lost his mind. "There's nothing left of that place except the parking lot!"

"But...Drusilla!" he said helplessly.

"If she hadn't come back by the time you...we...left, chances are she never came back at all. I mean, I know Drusilla lives in Bizarro world; as Cordy would say....but she wouldn't charge into an inferno, either."

She considered. "Uh...would she?"

"Of course not," he answered frostily. "Not unless it was to save Miss Edith; and she took that bloody doll with her!"

"There you go..." Buffy began, when he suddenly flung one of the pillows against the wall.

"Argghh! She took Miss Edith with her! Fool that I was not to realize...she never meant to come back!"

"What!" Buffy was highly indignant. "And just left me there like that?!"

"She gave you to me," Spike explained. "She was planning on giving you to Angel for a welcome- home present; but I guess she got bored with waiting, or something...and gave you to me instead."

"Of all the nerve!" Buffy started to fume. "Ooohhh...when I get my hands on that skanky girlfriend of yours..."

"Yes, yes, pet," Spike answered absently, restlessly pacing. "But now what?"

"You think she'd go to that club place?" Buffy frowned.

"Aletta's? There's a thought! But I can't show my face there..."

"No problem," she shrugged. "I can. I'll check it out tomorrow...I guess I mean today! And I can find out all about Drusilla and the fire."

"No bloody way! Look here, Slayer, you've just become...well, the Crown Jewels to every vampire who's made it past fledgling! It's not safe for you to go anywhere on your own."

"Well, you can't come with," she objected. "Aletta, if she's still around, will probably blame you for that fire."

"I guess I am to blame, at that," shrugged Spike.

"She'll be out to get you," Buffy warned.

Spike laughed. "Do you know what the price was, for getting Dru back?"

"What?" Buffy looked at him with interest.

"Killing Angel."

She stared at him in shock.

"That's right. Aletta wants him dead so bad she'll make a deal with just about any vampire she thinks has a hope of killing him."

"Why?" She asked, frowning.

Spike shrugged. "Angelus annoyed quite a few vampires when he lost his soul, pet. He was...quite the ladies' man. They weren't fond of the sudden switch. Darla was only one of them. Aletta was another."

"So what do you think Aletta will do now?" Buffy wondered.

"Look for us...look for Dru. Her minions are probably combing the city right now."

"I still say I should check out that club," she insisted.

He hesitated, then offered a compromise. "Tell you what...tonight, we'll go take a look."

She yawned suddenly. "I can't believe I'm so sleepy...not when I've been unconscious so long!"

"It's one of the early reactions, luv," Spike told her gently. He pulled her to her feet...she stumbled slightly because of the afghan, and he lifted her like a child.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked him sleepily.

"To bed, kitten."

Once again he placed her on the bed, making certain the curtains were closed and the shades pulled down.

When he was finally satisfied he tuned back to the bed- and stopped abruptly.

The denim jumper had been pulled up beneath her; now the afghan slipped to the floor, giving Spike a clear view of long legs that seemed to go on and on....He drew closer, drawn as if by a magnetic force. His brain screamed at him not to touch; but his hands seemed to have a life of their own. They unbuttoned the jumper, pulling it over her head. Then the peach sweater.

"What the hell," Spike decided, stripping off the wisps of her underwear, "I already HAVE seen everything!"

Yet his breath caught; and he stared at her for a long moment...so small and seemingly fragile...so very pretty.

She whimpered with cold, reaching out for a non-existent blanket; and he was recalled to himself. Cautiously he eased her beneath the covers...she curled on her side, tucking one hand beneath her cheek.

He smiled down at her, aware of a reluctant tenderness. "I guess turnabout's fair play, luv." He removed his clothing and slid in beside her.

At first he tried to keep his back to her; but it was too hard. With a muffled groan of defeat, he rolled towards her, spooning against her back.

Despite his excitement at the contact, he felt his eyes growing heavy; the bed was so soft...and she was so soft...he'd found them a wonderful haven.

Surely a reward was called for?

His hand cupped one of her pert breasts. She murmured something...he couldn't tell what...and snuggled against him.

Then sleep claimed them both.

"No." Her voice sounded, muffled, from the bedroom. "Jess is slim but tall; and Susan is short but heavier. I'm slim and short! Nothing seems to fit..."

He opened his lips to say something sarcastic; but the words died on his tongue.

She wore a long sweater tunic- deep chocolate with square buttons of natural wood, that came mid-way down her thighs. She'd paired it with suede half-boots.

"Like it?" she turned like a model. "It belongs to Jess; but she wears it with a matching skirt. The boots are Susan's."

He licked dry lips. "It looks...good." Cor, how would he ever get her out of Aletta's in that get-up? Every vampire and human in the place would be all over her!

Buffy pushed her sweater sleeve up to reveal a carved wooden bracelet. "This doesn't look valuable. I hope they won't mind if I borrow it."

Spike exploded. "What kind of vampire worries about that? Vampires do what they want!"

"Do they really?" Buffy queried, wide-eyed. "Some of them..seem...practically slaves!"

This gave Spike pause. "Well, yeah...just the mindless ones, and the fledglings...until they serve a more powerful vampire as Master..or...get control of some other vampires, or..." his voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Oh." She nodded. "I understand."

He had the uncomfortable feeling that she really did.

The rain had ended, but the air was cool and foggy, turning Buffy's hair stick-straight as she and Spike walked through the Haight.

Buffy looked around with interest. "This looks like those old pictures of Woodstock."

"It is," Spike answered. "A lot of these people are holdovers from that era. Or, they're wannabes who missed out on the sixties and think they can go back. They can't."

"Uh, Spike...YOU fit right in," she pointed out.

He scowled at her but had to admit she was right. Of the two of them, she was the one who attracted the most attention.

Spike thought about that. True, she was young and pretty, but so were dozens of the girls who strolled the hills of San Francisco.

"There's...something about you," he said suddenly. "You're not like anybody else in the world, are you?"

"Well, duh....I am a...I mean, I WAS a Slayer!"

"It's not just that, pet," he beagn.

"Look!" Buffy interrupted with an excited shriek.

Spike glanced around wildly. " What..."

"It's a dragon!"

Buffy grabbed Spike's hand and pulled him forward, towards the enormous green-tiled gate surmounted by the huge winged dragon.

"It's the gate to Chinatown,luv," Spike informed her.

She looked at him with big, pleading eyes. "Spike...can we go in? For a minute?"

The streets were narrow and crowded, so Spike acquired a firm grasp on Buffy's arm. She didn't resist him, tucking one hand into the pocket of his duster.

Buffy was interested in everything, from the row of ducks hanging in a shop window to the pagoda-topped streetlamps.

She fell in love with a small amber dragon; and coaxed Spike into buying it for her.

"I'll name him Won Ton," she giggled. "Thank you, Spike!"

He rolled his eyes. "What you ought to get is one of these, kitten."

He drew her inside an elegant jewellery store, and he indicated the gold Chinese letters.

"What's this one?" he asked the clerk.

The man smiled warmly. "Long life."

Buffy suddenly looked rather somber; and Spike hastily chose another. "What about this?"

"That means good luck."

Spike nodded, satisfied. "Could always use that, luv."

After that he decided he wanted to see her in a rather short pink kimono...

"Not on your unlife!" Buffy retorted.

"It's better than a towel, pet," he pointed out.

She gave in; but then he felt HE had to give in when she wanted a large paper parasol.

"No more!" he argued, voicing a belated protest. "Look at us...we've got so many bundles we look like sodding tourists!"

Chinatown was closing up...firmly he guided Buffy away up one of the steep hills.

"Spike!" she exclaimed in delight. "Cable cars!"

He sighed. A crowded cable car...but she turned imploring eyes on him, and he caved.

"At least it'll take us to Fisherman's Wharf."

He fumbled their bags up the narrow steps. The inside seats were taken, but he held her hard against the outside rail. Buffy laughed with joy as the cable car careened down the hills toward the wharf.

"I feel like we're going to plunge right into the sea," she squealed.

They did not...they arrived safely, and then wandered happily along the wharf.

"I'd love to get presents for everyone," Buffy said wistfully. "When I go home..."

"Home?" Spike asked sharply. "You mean, to Sunnyhell?"

"Of course!" she said, surprised. "I know I'm not the Slayer any more, but maybe they'll still...let me help?"

He was about to respond when abruptly he stiffened. He grasped Buffy's arm and pulled her into one of the garish souvenir shops.

"Who is it?" she asked softly.

"Saul. One of Aletta's underlings," he replied.

"Let's follow him!" she suggested.

"If Aletta's club is still closed tomorrow, maybe we'd better break in," suggested Buffy, leaning dangerously out over the back rail.

Spike acquired a firm grip on her waist.

A young couple climbed aboard, giggling happily.

"You know, Griffin, that was great! I always wanted to see Beach Blanket Babylon, but never did!"

"But Julia, you've lived here your whole life! How'd you ever miss it?"

"Guess I didn't realize what I was missing! I loved it!" She reached for his hand, and the pair hopped off at the next stop.

Buffy turned to Spike inquiringly. "What's Beach Blanket Babylon?"

"A revue, I think, pet," Spike said uneasily. They had no TIME for this stuff!

She said nothing but got that big-eyed wistful look he found so hard to resist.

"Um...I suppose we could have a go tomorrow," he conceded, "before we go to Aletta's."

She beamed happily at him.

He insisted they feed before going back to their apartment; and they nearly fell into a quarrel when she refused to kill.

"What a nancy!" he griped; but in the end he left the victim alive.

They were hardly on speaking terms when they got back to the apartment; and she grabbed the bathroom first.

When it was his turn, he took his time with a long, cleansing shower, his temper still ruffled.

He emerged to find Buffy stretched out on the couch; clad in the new pink kimono.

His stomach dropped like a rock; and he felt the impulse to pant. Why had he thought he'd like to see her in a short kimono? It was torture!

It didn't help matters in the morning, when she rolled over and cuddled against him.

Spike clenched his jaw. No matter how much he reminded himself that this was temporary and would end when he had Drusilla back, he had to admit that he was enormously attracted to Buffy. Had been, even while she'd been the Slayer.

She sighed in her sleep, her silky hair tickling his neck. And he wound both arms around her, holding her close.

He told himself he was entitled to this...after all, it did no harm.

But- for the first time- he was aware of the danger in what he was doing.

Buffy was dressed in a long, purple, sleeveless tunic over a black lace camisole...and black suede half-boots. The Chinese charm he'd bought for her glittered at her throat, reflecting the golden lights in her upswept hair.

Spike stared at her avidly. "You...you look...."

"What?" she prompted shyly.

Gorgeous, he wanted to say. Exquisite. Overpoweringly radiant.

"Nice," he concluded lamely.

She smiled at him happily. "Ready?"

The theatre was in North Beach; and naturally Buffy insisted on riding the cable car to get there.

They had a tiny table to the left of the stage; and Spike ordered a bottle of wine. And they laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more.

Afterward, they could never remember which of them suggested that they forget Aletta's and just go home. They only knew they ran, hand in hand, through the Haight, still bubbling and giddy with happiness.

At the door of their building he finally kissed her...and somehow one kiss, however long and deep, wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

He couldn't stop unil she was wearing nothing but the Chinese symbol; and then...then he couldn't stop at all.

He flung his clothes on in a frenzy and rushed out- only to find her seated on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television. He stopped stockstill, watching her.

"What..are you doing?"

She shrugged, avoiding his eys. "Waiting for you. It's time to leave for Aletta's."

He observed, then, that she was wearing a pair of sweat pants plus the sweatshirt he'd bought for her the first night.

Spike took a single step forward. "Buffy..."

"We have to go!" she insisted, jumping quickly to her feet. She hurried to the door...and there was nothing he could do but follow.

All the way to Aletta's she fended off his attempts to talk, until finally he gave up.

He really wasn't certain what to say, anyway.

"It's still locked- and dark," Buffy commented, studying the doorway.

"You were expecting red carpet treatment?" he snapped. Her standoffish attitude, along with the turmoil inside him, was rubbing his temper raw.

Part of him wanted to shout at her, insult her, make her cry. A dim suspicion that this would hurt him even more than it would her was the only thing that inhibited him.

"Ready whenever you are," Buffy said.

Spike stared at her. He hadn't been serious about breaking in...what would be the use? But there was no way he'd back down in front of her...to put up with her sauce. HE snapped the lock on the back door, and it sprang open in response to a hard kick.

"Stay behind me," Spike ordered, starting in.

Ignoring this, she stepped up beside him.

"I thought I told you..."

"You did," she cut him off. "But why should I do what you say?"

Spike lost his uncertain grasp on his temper. "Do what you want! I couldn't care less! Get yourself killed, you stupid twit!"

"Stop calling me names!" Buffy snapped.

"I do as I please! You're a proper little bitch; and I can't wait until I get shut of you for good!"

Spike shoved in front of her and slammed through the doubledoors that led to the main room of the club.

There, he thought with a savage satisfaction. That put her in her place! Teach her to make him feel...make him...feel...

The silence was unnerving.

"Buffy?" he said quietly.

There was no response. Spike spun around to find...no one.

Buffy had vanished without a trace.

He stared around himself in stunned disbelief, unable to accept the evidence of his own eyes.

Then...he heard a faint sound from behind... They surrounded in in a tight circle; he counted at least twenty vampires.

"Hello, Spike," said Aletta's voice.

The lights came up- and he found himself in a large room with a roped-off ring in the center.

Aletta stepped forward, smiling. "Welcome to the arena!"

She moved aside, then- and Spike had a clear view of his opponent.

Angel.

"I got tired of waiting for you to fulfill our agreement, Spike," Aletta said coldly. "So I took matters into my own hands."

She wore a flesh-colored beaded dress- so sheer that she seemed clothed only in sparkles of light. She walked over to a chair at the far end of the room and seated herself.

A dozen of her minions flung Spike into the ring.

Aletta laughed harshly. "Afraid to fight your sire, Spike? Perhaps...you need an incentive?"

She nodded at the door behind her; and it opened to reveal Drusilla, clutching Miss Edith in her arms.

"There is your prize, gentlemen," Aletta said mockingly. "May the best vampire win!"

Drusilla, her crimson satin dress swirling about her feet, seated herself beside Aletta.

Then- Spike's stomach dropped like a stone as the big vampire, Saul, marched in- dragging Buffy.

Dru gave them a reproving glance. "That is a present for my Spike."

Saul grinned. "Yeah, but maybe he'll share, right, Spike?" Deliberately he ran his hands all over the Slayer.

Spike frowned. BUffy's hands were chained behind her; but she was far stronger than any ordinary vampire. She must be holding back, waiting for the right moment.

Buffy made no sound, but Spike could see her staring at the ring. At Angel, of course. Her love for his sire was the motivating force of her life...not to be compared with a few rapturous San Francisco nights...

He was so busy with his speculation that he almost missed the next entrance. Almost.

Because nobody could miss Bertrand.

The young vampire must somehow have been caught in the fire; his ear and left eye were gone, and that entire side of his head was a blackened, scarred ruin.

In time, he would rejuvenate.

In time. A rather long time, Spike would imagine.

Bertrand was glowering at him malevolently.

Drusilla became distracted, turning to look at Buffy. "I gave you to my Spike," she repeated pettishly. "You were meant for my Angel- but now he doesn't want you anymore."

Spike felt a sudden impulse to slap Drusilla, for saying that to Buffy.

"Angel," he said urgently, out of the side of his mouth,"I think Buffy may be able to get loose..."

The blow from his sire sent him reeling back.

"Don't ever say her name again," the dark vampire told him icily. "You killed her...or that crazy bitch did. And you'll pay for it- no matter what happens, I'll kill you both today!"

He rushed Spike again, and the blond vampire managed to sweep his legs out from under him.

"Listen Angel!" he hissed. "She's kept her soul! You can be together..."

Angel backhanded him so hard that he felt his head snap back painfully.

"She's..a vampire!" Angel growled, low in his throat. "I'll destroy this...thing...you have made of her, I swear it!"

Spike caught Angel's arms, using them to propel the older vampire over his head. He knew his demon was perilously close to taking control; but only together could Spike and Angel...and Buffy...have a chance of getting out alive.

Angel forced him back against the ropes, hands tightening on his throat...

"Angel, look at her! Just look, and then tell me...who is it that you love? Buffy...or the Slayer?"

Angel's burning eyes wavered uncertainly...then settled on Buffy. Spike thought he could detect a softening of the dark features.

"Help me save her, Angel," Spike said quietly. "She hasn't changed. Nothing that happens to her can truly change what she is. You know that! You...KNOW that."

The dark eyes cleared, the hands loosened their grip, and Angel nodded slightly.

Spike returned the nod, caught Buffy's eye, and mouthed "Now!"

All three exploded into action.

Buffy snapped her handcuffs; but put the dangling bits of chain to good use as she pummelled Saul. Spike almost grinned at that- trust her to get her own back!

Angel was a battering ram as he fought his way to Buffy through Aletta's minions.

Spike went straight for the source, vaulting over the ropes to grab Aletta. She hissed ludly, struggling to free herself, using razor-sharp talons to good effect. One slashing blow opened his cheek to the bone, barely missing his eye.

But her managed to wind a skein of cornrow braids around one wrist, forcing her head far back.

"Call them off," he commanded, the menace in his voice sounding clear.

She managed to gasp the order, and her minions reluctantly retreated.

"Spike?" Drusilla's voice, distressed.

Bertrand stood behind Dru- a stake pressing against her heart- his ruined face a taunting mask of hate.

Spike froze; and then Buffy flung herself forward, grasping Bertrand's stake....Dru screamed as all three of them went down.

Spike yelled and fought frantically to reach them; but Aletta's minions had reentered the fray; he battered them down one by one, but still they kept coming.

Bertrand had the stake right against Dru's heart- Buffy's tiny hand on his wrist the only thing holding it back...

Then Angel stood above them...for what seemed like a century to Spike, nobody moved.

Angel's boot kicked the stake out of Bertrand's hand- toward Spike. He snatched it out of the air, and thrust it through Aletta's heart.

There was a single shattering scream as she disintegrated. The remaining minions panicked, trying to flee.

Angel snapped Bertrand's neck, while Buffy pulled Drusilla to her feet.

Buffy glanced at him. "Spike, she's okay. She..."

He caught her slim shoulders. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head; but then Angel was there. Wasting no words, he scooped her up.

"Buffy!" he gasped, cradling her against him.

"Angel?" she asked uncertainly.

He gave her a faint smile. "I'm sorry, my love...sorry I left you, sorry I couldn't protect you! But I promise...from now on, we'll always be together."

Spike turned away, unwilling to witness more of their reunion.

Drusilla drifted over to him, having retrieved Miss Edith. "My Spike," she said dreamily," Miss Edith wants to leave this place. Can we go back to Brazil?"

"Yes, pet," he said automatically, hardly hearing her.

She began hummimg- louder and louder- spinning around the room in a whirl of flowing hair and floating dress, until he feared the sound would cause his mind to snap and he'd be as crazy as she was.

A hand on his arm, small and strong...the Slayer.

"Spike?" she looked up at him, almost shyly. "Angel says...he wants...to go back to L.A. Right now, I mean."

Of course he would. Of course he'd want to take her away. Spike studied her carefully...but she was looking nervously at Angel.

Well, why not? What were three magical nights in San Francisco, compared to the three years she'd spent loving Angel?

"So, you're off then?" he said, keeping his voice casual.

She glanced at the still-whirling Drusilla. "Are you..."

"I've got Dru back; that's all that matters," Spike said loudly.

"Buffy!" Angel called impatiently. "It's getting late- let's get going. Cordelia will be worried."

Still she lingered; and Spike knew suddenly that he couldn't bear to watch her go. He reached out one finger and just touched the Chinese charm at the base of her throat.

"Take care of yourself, Slayer."

Deliberately he turned and strolled off to Dru.

She stopped spinning. "Spike?"

He forced himself to smile at her reassuringly. "I'm here, pet."

When he finally glanced back over his shoulder, Buffy and Angel were gone.

Behind him, on the bed, was the pink kimono she'd worn. When he'd picked it up he could still detect the vanilla scenrt that clung to her skin.

The little amber dragon she'd named Won Ton was on the nightstand...and her silly paper parasol was propped in the corner.

How could one small girl impress herself so thoroughly on a place, in such a brief span?

"Stop it, you bloody fool," Spike said aloud. "She's not for you...accept it, and move on."

Move on where?

He couldn't seem to decide; couldn't focus on anything but this damned aching hole in his heart whenever he thought of her.

And him.

The two of them, together.

Dru had known.

"Spike," she'd said softly, "You aren't coming back to Brazil."

No point in lying. "No, ducks."

She cocked her head to one side, studying him intently. "You're going back there. To the hellmouth."

"That's right, Dru." He kept his voice as calm and even as though they were discussing the weather.

The glitter died in her dark eyes. They were, for one moment, entirely lucid.

"Goodbye, my Spike."

"Goodbye, my princess." He felt a curious sense of pain that there time together was at an end.

Just like his time with Buffy...those golden nights in the Bay City.

Drusilla smiled sweetly, forgivingly, and reached out to cup his face. Then her hand curved, the French-manicured nails changing to talons to rake the not-yet-healed wound left by Aletta.

Spike didn't bother to pull away; he merely caught her wrist, holding her away from him. Dru leaned forward and licked at the drops of blood.

"Time to go," she sing-songed. "Come along, Miss Edith."

Then she too was gone. And he was left all alone.

Spike walked out of the club, pulling his leather duster closely about him. He lit a cigarette. In the distance down Van Ness Avenue, he fancied he could see Angel's car. He began to walk faster, but of course it had vanished long before he could reach it.

Rain came then- as the prevalent Bay mist became a drenching downpour.

Spike kept walking.

Only the approaching dawn drove him to shelter.

But he should never have come back here to the flat.

Being here without her...he wondered whether it was too late to find another place to spend the day. Probably was.

In one impulsive gesture, he picked up the amber dragon and hurled it against the wall!

The sound of the breaking shattered him inside as well...he rushed over, but there were too many pieces, he could never...couldn't, ever, ever...pick them up again.

Spike's shoulders started to shake...he sank slowly to his knees amid the wreckage, burying his head in his hands, and sobbed aloud.

He never heard the door open...or the creak of the wooden floorboards.

He never noticed her gasp of shock...or her eyes when she saw him.

But he felt her arms close around him....oh yes, he felt that!

His head jerked up; and he stared at her in astonishment.

"Buffy," he whispered.his hand reached out, tentatively, to touch her face. "I thought...you'd gone."

Her eyes, too, were wet with tears; but she managed a weak smile just before she leaned to kiss him.

"No, Spike," he heard her murmur.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

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