CHAPTER Two


Buffy had her hands round the Immortal's throat as she bashed him into the wall.  She'd never been so furious, her rage lending even more strength to her punches and kicks.  He never had a chance; immortal he may be, but he could bruise and had delicate parts just like anyone else.  With a free hand, Buffy roughly grabbed at his testicles and got a good hold of them, squeezing hard. 

“Aiieee!  Careful... my jewels!” 

“What?  It’d be no great loss to the world if I ripped these off and stuck them down your throat, Slimeball!  And you thought you could buy me?  The only chance you had with me...well, to be honest you never had a chance with me.  Face it, buster, for all your fancy clothes and smoothy smooth charm you're just a dirty old man – with bad breath!  Now, if I let go are you going to turn tail and leave or do I have to teach you some manners?” 

Buffy slammed his head against the wall one more time to make sure he got the message.  The Immortal glared at her, but as she tightened the vicelike grip on his throat and at his groin he went slack and nodded.   

“You'll go, leave me alone?” 

“Si.” 

“Okay then.”  Buffy let go and took a step away from him, poised to whack him again if he showed any sign of reneging on the deal.  He stood, rubbing his neck and eyeing her warily.  He would not be beaten by a mere woman; but there was merit in the saying that revenge was a dish best served cold.  He would retreat and plan the Slayer's downfall.  Also cancel her room so that she had to pick up the tab. 

Buffy let her shoulders relax as the Immortal stalked off down the corridor and away from her – forever.  What a jerk!  She'd always thought he was the perfect gentleman, never pressing her for more.  Yeah, right.  Prick!  She smiled – that was a Spike word, right there at the forefront of her mind.  Where he always was. 

It was barely 9:00 pm.  She should really go pack and make arrangements to return to Rome.  She figured she wouldn't be welcome on the private jet that had brought them here so would have to find another ride.  Maybe she'd go visit Angel while she was back home, catch up with his life and his career.  Giles was not a fan of Angel's move to Wolfram and Hart but she'd had a long talk with the vampire after the Hellmouth collapsed and he'd assured her he knew what he was doing.  It was up to him. 

But for now, she had time to kill.  Buffy headed away from the restaurant, skipping the elevator and following the signs for the casino.  Maybe she could learn to play poker in Spike's honour. 

+ + + + 

He'd spent some time at the roulette table, cursing every wrong ball while he waited for an opening at the poker booth.  A couple of rounds on the enormous Wheel of Fortune had left him fifty bucks down and in a foul mood.  So now he was about ready to play poker. 

Finding an opening, Spike sat down at the table for the next round.  He was getting a feel for the cards, betting conservatively for now. Weird without the kittens, though.  He signalled the waitress, turning to catch her eye.  Something tickled at his senses, a familiar voice, a scent.  But it was gone before he could identify it and he turned back to the hand in front of him.  He folded.  Lady Luck just wasn't with him tonight. 

He nodded to the dealer, chucking in a few counters for his next cards.  The dealer threw down the ace of Spades and the ace of Clubs; Spike nodded for more and added two more counters to the pot.  His eyebrow shot up as the next card that hit him was the eight of Clubs.  Hell, all he needed was the eight of Spades and he had the makings of the Dead Man's Hand.  And bugger all to eternity, didn't the dealer hand him that very card next!  Spike laughed; he was, after all, a dead man and this was his hand so... 

The dealer grinned; he liked it when a punter showed some emotion, and this strange looking guy was kinda hot.  Just his type – lean and mean.  Maybe he could make arrangements to meet later.  There didn't appear to be a girl in tow, so he could flash him the eye, see if he bit.  Oh, he hoped he did bite... 

“Hey, another card here, mate.  You nodding off on me?” 

With mumbled apologies, the dealer passed Spike another card. 

Spike snorted and knocked back two fingers of JD.  Deuce of Spades.  He was holding Wild Bill Hickock's classic hand, the one he'd been clutching when he was shot at Deadwood in 1876.  Just to be sure, Spike looked round for hidden assassins.  What he saw had his heart lurching in his chest. 

Buffy... 

“Fold, mate.  Cards aren't going my way tonight.  Catch you later.” 

Reluctantly, the dealer gathered up the abandoned cards noting the famous spread and watched the blond hotstuff stride off through the casino.  Maybe he'd be back. 

Buffy shivered; there was a vampire in the casino.  Giles would be proud of her for picking up on the vibes and also crowing that he had been right to have her 'hone her skills' all those years ago in Sunnydale.  Would have been strange not to find a vamp among this many people.  She started to scan the crowds, eyes distracted by every blond head.  If only...but he was dust now, lost in the rubble in the Hellmouth.  

She'd eventually found the casino after wandering aimlessly for a half hour, drawn by the noise and the light.  She really didn't want to be alone right now and maybe a little gambling with the money the Immortal had given her to 'fritter away on what you will, cara mia' would fill a gap until she could get a flight to LA.  She had no clue what to do, however, but a nice young man had answered her questions and suggested she try the Wheel of Fortune as an opener.  Strangely, as she was talking to him she had the oddest feeling that if she looked just over his shoulder she would see... 

She had to stop doing this to herself.  Had to stop seeing him on every street corner, in every crowd.  Like now, a guy with his back to her, playing over at a gaming table.  Blond hair, bad boy leather.  Thanking the helpful guide, Buffy turned and walked away, muttering to herself. 

Spike couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face.  Buffy, here.   And seemingly alone.  The grin faltered as he thought on the last time he'd seen her back in Rome with the slimy git looming over her on the dance floor.  Maybe he was around too.  He stayed back, stalking her but not too close, not knowing what the hell he was going to do when – or if – he actually spoke to her.  

Buffy half turned as she sensed a vamp was following her.  It happened all the time, turn up in a new place and the local demons wanted a piece of her.  Well, bring it on, a bit of heated slaying before bedtime would do wonders.  She deliberately slowed her pace so the vamp could catch up. 

Spike was only a few paces behind her now; he could almost reach out and touch her.  Still he hesitated.  What was he supposed to say?  'Hey Buffy, you know that noble sacrifice I made in the Hellmouth?  Well, guess it didn't stick.  How've you been?'   Yeah, that’d go down well.  'Oh, and the I love you?  Sorry for not believing you but look how right I was.  How's your new honey working out for ya?' 

Buffy stopped dead and turned, hand gripped around the stake she'd retrieved from her purse.  It clattered to the floor, the quip on her lips unspoken as she came face to face with Spike.  

Spike. 

Spike. 

Her mind was on replay, not moving away from that thought any time soon.  Was he real?  Maybe it was the First again.  Maybe she was dreaming.  Maybe she'd finally gone insane. She'd seen him burn up in the Hellmouth, felt the heat as their joined hands caught fire.   

Spike. 

“Hello, Buffy.” 

Her knees went and she stumbled.  When he reached to steady her, Buffy slapped him, the crack as her palm met his cheek causing a few turned heads.   

Spike rubbed the livid mark of her fingers, secretly delighted at the feeling. Buffy, touching him.  Him being able to feel her.  Still, couldn't let her get away with it. 

“Hey, lay off, Slayer!  What happened to 'I love you'?  I seem to remember they were the last words you said to me?” 

Buffy took a step forward, hand outstretched to run her fingers across his face.  He was real.   

“Spike?  Is it...you?” 

“In living colour, pet.  Miss me?” 

“Miss you?  You were dead!  You are dead!  Are you dead?” 

He took her hand and placed it over his heart.  “Still a demon, love.  Cold, stone dead last time I checked.” 

They stood in the middle of the thronging masses, a still life of disbelief and unresolved feelings.  Buffy let her hand linger on his chest, drinking in the feel of his cool skin.  Spike leant into her touch, eyes searching hers for a clue as to her thoughts. 

“You bastard.  How could you let me think you were dead?” 

“I am dead.  We've just established that, pet.” 

“Dammit!  You know what I mean! What happened?  Where have you been?  Why are you back?” 

“Dunno, Slayer.  Asked myself the same questions a million times.  Even got the eggheads at Wolfram and Hart on it, nice bird called Fred's looking into it.”  He realised his mistake as Buffy paled, her eyes narrowing. 

“Wolfram and Hart?  Angel's firm, in LA?” 

“Erm... yeah.” 

“So, what you're telling me is that you've been in LA, with Angel, and neither of you thought to let me know?” 

“Well...yeah.  But Buffy...” 

“Don't 'but Buffy' me, Spike!  What the hell did you think you were doing?  You just told me you remembered what I said.  You know – big cavern, falling rocks.  ‘I love you’ ring any bells?  Did it mean so little to you?  I mean, fine – you said you didn't believe me and I guess that's just the truth now because here you are, hale and hearty – well, as hale and hearty as a vamp can be, and you couldn't even be bothered to tell me you were back.  I might have died for all you knew, crushed, drained, turned even.  I thought you cared; that night...” 

“Oh, right!  So, I'm supposed to think 'that night' meant something to you when I'm barely cooled from the hell fires and you're getting it on with the soddin' Immortal?  Bloody hell, Buffy – you could have charged admission for that little dance.” 

The hand was removed from his chest.  It was quickly folded into Buffy's crossed arms, hip kinked into 'pissed off' mode, head tilted in unconscious imitation of his. 

“Excuse me?” 

He realised his mistake the minute the words left his mouth.  Just have to brazen it out.  “Ah, well – thing is, there was this demon, right?  Worked out of Rome, big threat to do with a head.  So, Peaches got us over there on his jet – poor bar, tiny bottles barely enough to wet the whistle – and we go in search of the guy.  We were in this club, mad beat and flashing lights and what do we see?  You, that's what – making out on the dance floor with the big slimy Never-gonna-die.  Gotta tell you, Buffy, I was gutted.” 

Silence.  A tapping foot.   

Oh lord, he was in trouble now.  His big mouth running away with him again.  Reasons not to let the Slayer know you've secretly been to see her in Rome?  Number one – right hook to the jaw.  Number two – slap followed by punch followed by growl. 

Despite the pain of her punches, Spike felt more alive than he had since he came back.  This with Buffy was so right, despite the obvious ticks in the against column.  And the growl just rocketed straight to his groin and had him hard and ready for her. 

They'd always started the dance like this. 

He smirked and readied himself to give back a few playful slaps when he felt the tap on his shoulder. 

“Excuse me, sir, madam?  There are complaints from our clientele; is there a problem here?”  A nervous young man in an ill-fitting suit sweated as he posed the question, backed up by a pair of burly security guards.  He'd obviously been sent over by his superior and would rather be anywhere but here. 

“No problem.  Back off.”  Spike snarled, eyes zipping back to Buffy. 

“Madam?”  The nervous employee took a step away as he turned to Buffy who had her hands fisted at her side, teeth clenched with anger. 

“No problem.  We're just fine.  Aren't we, sweetie?” 

Bitch!  Right, that was it.  “Enough, Buffy.  We need to talk.  Come on.” 

Spike grabbed her arm and hauled her through the crowds.  He wanted to get her somewhere private so that whatever was still between them could be resolved.  And he didn't want Beefy the guard to jump on the bandwagon. They made it to the corridor before Buffy pulled him to a halt. 

Buffy snarled.  “Get off me!  Do I have a sign on my head that says 'please manhandle me'?”  She snatched her arm away, but made no move to step away from him.  She'd missed this.  And while she vehemently denied it to herself most of the time, she got off on the rough stuff with Spike.  Where the Immortal's hands on her had sent her off into a violent rage, Spike's hands on her had her hot and panting for him. 

Proof, yet again, that whatever was between them was real.  Not pretty, but real. 

“Well, stop hitting me then!  Buffy, we have to talk.  I'm sorry I didn't get in touch… but there were reasons.  Can't think of a soddin' one now that's making any sense, but they did at the time.” 

“Yeah?  Well, all I know is that if I came back from certain death I'd want to look you up.  Guess you moved on, huh?” 

Spike threw his hands up and paced, duster swirling behind him.  “Fuck, Buffy!  You drive me crazy, I swear.  Wanna know why I'm here?  Trying to forget about you, that's what.  Drove Angel near off the edge with my babbling since we left Rome, so he bundled me here to keep me distracted.  You've no idea what it was like seeing you with the Immortal.  Made me sick to my stomach and that's not to mention the extreme detail of the nightmares I've had about you two in the sack.  So, all in all – don't talk to me about moving on, pet, because I think you win the prize.” 

“I didn't move on. I haven't.”  Her voice was whisper soft, barely audible even with his enhanced hearing.  Spike stopped his pacing.  “I can't.” 

“Buffy, don't mess with me.  Burning up in fiery pain kind of focuses the mind.  I wanted to come get you so much when I came back, but I couldn't due to being a tad ghostly – don't ask – but then I see you with him.  Like a knife in the gut, it was.  Me and him, we've got a history.” 

“I know.  He told me.” 

“Oh, right.  So, you'll see why I was royally pissed off.  And why I'm finding it hard to believe that you're carrying a candle for me.” 

“Well if you'd let me know you were back things would have been different.  I'm not omnivorous you know.” 

“Omniscient, pet.  And yeah – I know.”  She looked so dejected, shoulders bowed and eyes moist.  Spike made a decision. 

“Come on.  I know I need a drink, how about it?  Revisit the past a little; catch up on happenings in Buffy Summers-land?  I'll fill you in on what I can about my miraculous comeback.  Maybe we can work this out.” 

Buffy looked up at him.  She'd dreamt of this moment, but without the angst, obviously.  In her perfect place, Spike saw her across a crowded room then ran to gather her up in his arms, everything was happy and perfect and they lived happily ever after.  In her dreams. 

Taking his hand, though, and feeling the cool strength of him was even better.  Messy and real.  Passion and fire. Buffy and Spike.  Warrior and champion.  “'kay, but I'll stick to soda.  Remember, Buffy and alcohol are non-mixy.”