Chapter 7: Fully
Chapter Notes: A laundry room and a mud room are the same cramped and cluttered thing.
A persistent driving rain was not the slightest deterrent to Dawn’s enthusiasm for seeing Giles’ horses. Had the weather been more accommodating she would have been anticipating a thrilling jaunt through hill and dale aboard some shining steed named Thunder or Lightning.
As it was the prospect of feeding carrots to the horses was enticement enough. After their leisurely lunch was finished, Giles donned his long riding coat. He handed an umbrella to Dawn and another to Buffy. Giles and Dawn set off from the side door. Buffy lingered a moment with Spike.
“We don’t have to go. Horses…that’s Dawn’s thing.”
“Are you joking? There’s no way I’m missing an opportunity to walk in the rain with you.” Spike took the umbrella from her hand and opened the door.
“Are you going to be okay?” Buffy wasn’t exactly sure what the exceptions to the rule were regarding daytime exposure. Spike looked out into the misty vista.
“Never thought I’d say I missed the old pea soupers. I’ll be fine. Those clouds make a right nice blanket. If the storm breaks we can make a run for it.”
“Okay.” Buffy walked out through the door and followed the flagstone path to the end of the small kitchen garden. Once through the gate in the low stone fence she saw the vast expanse of formally designed gardens and beyond them the barns. Dawn and Giles disappeared inside a far building.
Giles walked to a wooden crate and slid aside the lid. Inside was an impressive assortment of carrots. He gathered up a handful and handed them to Dawn.
“We’ll just need to walk a short distance into the field to get their attention.”
“What are their names, Giles?”
“Well,” Giles smiled, anticipating a reaction. “There’s Bill and her two babies, Bull’s Eye and Buttercup.”
“Bill is a mare?”
“Yes.”
“And the reason she’s called Bill is…?”
“It’s a perfectly good name. Plus, I had dogs named Bill when I was a boy.”
“Dogs? More than one dog named Bill?” Dawn wrinkled her forehead. “Wasn’t that confusing?”
“One at a time, Dawn.”
“Oh, I see, no imagination.”
Dawn looked around the interior of the building as the potent aroma of the barn wafted into her lungs. A slightly bedraggled gray tabby rubbed hopefully against her leg.
“You have a cat!” Dawn asked Buffy at least once a month for a cat and her answer was always the same. No. Dawn would have to wait until she had her own place to have a pet.
“Well, more to the point Dawn, I have mice. A good mouser or two is an important ally in that regard.
“Two? There’s more?”
“There’s a nest of kittens–” Giles should have prepared himself for the squeal that burst from Dawn’s throat. She almost dropped the carrots.
“Kittens?!”
“Yes, this fellow here has a mate and I believe five kittens.”
“Tell me you haven’t named them all Bill, please.”
“I call them all Kitty. It seems to suffice.”
“Giles! Can I name the kittens? Pleasepleasepleaseplease?” Giles laughed out loud at Dawn’s innocent enthusiasm. She ran to the barn door and called for Buffy.
Buffy and Spike hurried inside. “What is it Dawn? God, I thought you’d been skewered by a pitchfork or something.”
“Don’t say no Buffy,” Dawn’s excited demeanor and her tell tale kitten-face betrayed her. “Giles has–“
“No kittens, Dawn. No puppies, bunnies, gerbils, salamanders or tarantulas.” Dawn’s brow darkened.
“The tarantula thing was a joke Buffy. God! Get a sense of humor, why don’t you?”
“No pets, Dawn.”
“No pets, Dawn,” Dawn aped Buffy’s tone. “Well, I’m gonna pet them, and name them, so there!” Dawn stuck out her tongue. Sometimes Buffy’s attitude really floored her. Dawn would swear that Buffy thought she was nine years old.
“Do you still want to feed the horses, Dawn?” Giles asked in a gentle tone.
“Yes, I do.” Dawn turned in a huff and walked out of the barn with Giles. They headed toward the field.
“We live in an apartment, Spike. I can’t have an animal in there.”
“I didn’t say a thing. How about that walk? I see Giles has a little duck pond at the end of those trees.”
“Whatever you do, just don’t say ducklings to Dawn.”
“My lips are sealed. Come on.” Spike offered his hand and Buffy took it. They wandered down the hedgerow. Buffy looked back to see Dawn feeding carrots to three enormous horses and laughing with Giles.
The day held the scent of magic. No, the whole weekend had been magical. Delicious but surreal. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Buffy hadn’t stopped to analyze anything. She’d just lived it, rolling with the punches, and the kisses.
A weekend. It felt like much longer, weeks maybe. Time had become elastic. Buffy was really relaxed. The whole slayer training dynamic that bowled her over most days in Rome had evened out like the glassy surface of the pond in front of them.
“I see the set decorators have been busy,” Spike nodded to a conveniently positioned bench under the overhang of a willow tree.
“I’ve had a dream almost exactly like this,” Buffy whispered in awe as a wave of deja-vu flooded her mind.
“Me too,” Spike smiled. They cuddled together on the bench. Buffy let the umbrella slide to the ground. She wasn’t going to kiss Spike and hold a lopsided umbrella at the same time.
The whole scene struck Buffy as remarkably similar to those crappy romance novels that used to crowd Joyce’s bookcase. A stubbornly resistant, handsome and mysterious gentleman and a stubbornly resistant, independent woman finding the truth of love on a soggy bench by a duck pond. Very Harlequin.
“This is such a cliché,” Buffy rolled her eyes for emphasis.
“Not for us, pet. This is new and exciting.”
“You’re excited? A downpour, a few ducks and some lame algae? That’s what does it for you?”
“No pet. Let’s review. It’s daytime, we’re outside, and there’s no flames to get in our way,” his mouth quirked suggestively. “I’m a barrel of monkeys, Buffy.”
“I wouldn’t say we are completely flame free.” Buffy shifted her position to lay across Spike’s lap. “You may kiss me now.”
“And you think Dawn’s the romance freak?”
“Don’t call me a freak, and, um, didn’t you get your orders? Kisses and plenty of them.” Buffy tapped her lips impatiently.
“Demanding little minx, aren’t you?”
“Didn’t you say once that you were my willing slave?”
“Bloody hell, not that again. That was one of those things you were never, ever supposed to hear. It was a spell, love, remember? Just ’cause you didn’t have a chance to belt out some of your sexual fantasies at the time, don’t be dragging me back into that muck.”
“Muck? The thought of being my slave equals muck? Well, aren’t we the gentleman this afternoon?”
“I don’t want to be your slave, Buffy. Not anymore.” The truth behind that assertion burned in Spike’s eyes. Master-slave was not a dynamic he ever wanted to revisit. Well maybe if she asked really nicely and tickled him in that special spot he might consider it. Maybe. But for real? Never. That was a trail of tears and Angelus’ smug-faced parlor games. Spike wasn’t ever going there again, or back to the darkness of what had passed between he and Buffy in Sunnydale. He let himself be dirt under her feet.
Grasping at straws, that’s all he did then…grasp at disintegrating straws.
“Well, nobody’s asking you to.” Buffy’s voice rose slightly and she sat up away from him. “God, I am so bad with jokes. That was supposed to be a humorous aside, Spike.” She started to stand but Spike grabbed her wrist.
“What do you want Buffy? From me, from this, from us?” The words poured from his soul. He hadn’t meant to ask so soon. History taught him that Buffy didn’t deal well with this kind of questioning.
Buffy stared into Spike’s face and saw uncertainty there. How could he not know her feelings and wishes? Her initial response was an impulse for annoyance but that stopped when she saw his eyes. He really didn’t know.
Those were the eyes of a being who had been toyed with and lied to and tortured to distraction. Buffy knew in her heart that she had been one of the perpetrators. Angelus and Drusilla were not the only guilty parties. Buffy Anne Summers had done damage as well. Her contempt had been as vicious as anything Angelus could muster.
“Spike,” she started slowly, feeling the weight of the words. She needed to say this the right way. “I’ve lived with you in my life and without you. It’s better with you. Even the bad old days when you wanted to kill me was better than this last year. I wasn’t exactly living when I thought you were…” Her voice tapered off and then returned in a small yet determined tone. Buffy had months to think things through and to accept the wrongs she had inflicted. The intervening time had allowed her to focus upon and embrace her own wants and needs.
“I want you. I want this. I want us. I want everything.”
Spike had seen that look on her face before. In the caverns below the high school in the blistering light of the amulet Buffy looked at him in exactly the same way. She had been transparent before him then just as she was this day with the raindrops softly anointing them both.
After that declaration there was nothing but the sound of the raindrops piercing the calm surface of the water. The occasional quack from one of the pond residents went unnoticed by the couple who had only the truth of their affection for company.
*
“We were going to arrange a search party for you two. You’re soaked to the bone. Come drip in here.” Giles indicated a small laundry room off the kitchen. Dawn crowded in the doorway.
“You two are totally soaked, didn’t you notice?”
“Not particularly, Bit.” Spike smirked at Buffy.
Giles took charge, like always. “Get undressed and put your clothes in the dryer there and I’ll find you something to wear. Buffy, really, you’re shivering. This was not the brightest idea you’ve ever had.”
Giles backed out and closed the door. Dawn looked at him with a knowing expression.
“They were so doing it, Giles. They probably used one of your poor unsuspecting trees. See what I’ve had to deal with since Friday?”
The door opened a crack. “Dawn! Stop that! We were just talking for crying out loud.”
“I’ll just run and get some clothes and towels then, shall I?” Giles disappeared in a timely manner.
Dawn looked crossly at Buffy. “Penguins, Buffy, remember? If you can think it, you can do it…be the penguin! You too, Spike!”
“Yes, Dawn.” Spike’s contrite response sailed out of the room.
Buffy closed the door. “What do you mean, ‘yes Dawn?’ We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Just trying to embrace my inner penguin, is all.”
“God, you’re soaked, take off your coat.” Spike slipped his duster off and hung it on a hook. Buffy removed her shoes and socks and looked at him with an expression he recognized well.
“Buffy,” he warned in a low voice. “Stop that, this is your Watcher’s soddin’ mud room.”
“You’re all wet, Spike.” Buffy smiled and backed Spike against the large washing machine.
“Yeah, and you’re shivering, and Giles is gonna be outside that door in a minute.”
Buffy pulled her wet sweater over her head and plopped in on top of the dryer. “Take off your tee shirt Spike,” she whispered seductively. “I want to see your chest dripping with raindrops.” She tugged at his waist and yanked the cotton shirt over his head.
“I love your chest. Have I ever told you that?”
“B-Buffy…Giles won’t be long.” She knew exactly what she was doing. The détente that Giles offered so willingly was not something Spike wanted to jeopardize. Unfortunately Buffy’s palm cupping his hardening erection did nothing to soothe his fears.
“You’re so hard, Spike. The rain’s made your jeans extra tight too. Mmm, you feel so good.” Her tongue tasted the tiny trickles of water that cascaded down his pale chest. Her skin was cool, as evidenced by the gooseflesh she wore, but her tongue was a blazing ember. “Buffy…fuck…”
“Funny you should mention that Spike, that was just what I had in mind.” Buffy bit playfully at Spike’s right nipple.
“This is Giles’ house.” Spike put that out there as a required token protest. It didn’t matter. He’d fuck her on the London Bridge if she wanted it.
“I think I’m warming up a bit, Spike. Do I feel warm to you?” There was a half smile and a flurry of hands as they clawed in animal fury at each other’s impossibly wet jeans. Zippers were lowered after several tries. Wet heavy denim was not the most cooperative of fabrics.
“Spike,” Buffy whined in a hiss. “I can’t, it won’t–“
“I’m gonna peel you like a grape, pet.” Buffy started to giggle as Spike began to peel off her jeans. The knock at the door was not unexpected but it still jolted them. Spike snapped his palm over Buffy’s mouth.
“Um, yes, Buffy…I’ve got towels and something for you both to wear. Whenever you’re ready, they’ll be here outside the door. Ah…carry on–” Spike heard Giles sigh and mutter a ‘bloody hell’ for good measure.
“Thanks Giles!” Buffy’s voice sang out from behind the door. The mud room door opened and a pale slender forearm and hand scooped up the dry things and brought them inside.
“You’ve got me curious now, Spike”
“What’s that, Buffy?”
“I’ve never been peeled before.” She smiled as he knelt at her feet and peeled her jeans down her legs.
“Peeling’s only the first part, love, then I get to dry you off.”
“I get to peel you first!” Their clothes soon found the receptive metal bin of the dryer and a reasonable time limit was selected. Buffy pressed the start button on the machine, knowing full well that Dawn would be keeping her eyes on the clock if they should tarry for any longer than expected.
It wasn’t going to hold her back however. Buffy felt free in a way she hadn’t expected. Love and connection strengthened her where previously she had feared it could burden her. She was going to have Spike in Giles’ cramped laundry room.
Spike wrapped the towel around her shoulders and rubbed against her skin. Her lips were no longer blue.
“That’s not going to work, Spike.” She hushed into this ear.
“You cold pet? Let’s get you dressed.”
“No. I’m still wet, feel how wet I am.” Spike mouthed her name as she lifted her leg to his hip. She brought his hand to the area in question: two fingers, then three and a thumb to her clit.
“You’re bloody boiling down there…Slayer.” His fingers worked deeply as he simply looked into her face. Blood pooled unevenly in her cheeks, announcing her arousal. Buffy licked her lips and Spike responded. His fingers left her depths and raised to her face.
“Taste how wet you are.” Buffy locked eyes with Spike and opened her mouth. She sucked the evidence of her desire from his fingers and felt it fuel her feral need for more.
“Lift me,” she said as her hands gripped the edge of the activated dryer. Spike lifted her and cupped her ass, holding her firmly. Buffy spread her knees and curled her shoulders toward him. “I want to watch you.” She looked at him briefly and then her eyes returned to his now rigid and careening shaft. Spike focused and impaled her on his hungry cock. Buffy watched transfixed as he slid deeply inside her and then withdrew, covered in her juices, over and over again.
The sound of lust mixed with an urgent resolve vibrated from Buffy’s throat. “Mmm,” she cooed as she watched the spectacle, “that’s what I like.”
“Yeah?” Spike spoke softly into her left temple.
“Mmm hmm.” Buffy thought she’d feel naughty or deliciously dirty doing this in Giles’ house, but instead she just felt release and fullness and love. There was no comparison at all to their Sunnydale encounters. Being in love made it so much better. Anything was possible now. Buffy believed that with a conviction borne of fire and sorrows, sacrifices and missed chances. But not again. Not ever again.
*
“So Giles, where’s all your games?” Dawn scanned the bookshelves in search of something familiar. Nothing went together better than a rainy afternoon and the sharp clatter of a pair of dice on a game board.
“Let me think,” Giles paused. He had a deck of cards somewhere and his father’s onyx and marble chess set…but that was more for decoration. “Oh! I know. There’s a Scrabble game somewhere…” Giles knelt down and pulled out the squished and worn box from the bottom of a pile of newspapers. “It’s been a while, but I think I remember how to play.”
“How to lose, you mean?” Dawn’s eyes flared. “Okay, the rules are…no foreign words, demon languages included, no slang or proper nouns, you keep score; oh, where’s your diction–” Dawn’s recitation was stopped by a piercing scream from the laundry room. Buffy’s scream. Giles flew like a bullet to the door and burst through, taking a hinge with him.
Buffy crouched on the dryer, hiding her nakedness behind a towel just in time, and pointed into the corner.
“What the blazes is going on here?” Giles’ heart pounded in his ears.
“It was looking at me, with teeth,” Buffy sputtered breathlessly.
Squatting in the corner totally naked, Spike shifted a few terra cotta pots and saw a recognizable tail scurry away beneath a floor board.
“It’s a bleedin’ mouse Buffy! You’ve faced off against the biggest, ugliest demons out there and never once have I heard you shriek like that.” Spike looked up casually into the horrified eyes of Giles. “Is there something I can help you with, Rupert?”
“Ah, no. Actually, it was the blood curdling scream that drew my attention.”
“You have mice, Giles,” Buffy’s breathing had not evened out. “Mega mice. With mice teeth.”
“Welcome to the countryside, Buffy: moles, mice, hedgehogs, and foxes. My neighbor’s Vietnamese potbellied pig was terrorizing the dahlia’s just last weekend.”
“Don’t tell Dawn about that, Giles. I don’t need her getting any ideas.”
“Well, you two seem to have…things…well in hand here,” Giles cleared his throat and stilled his hand as it reached for his glasses. Buffy knew all his tricks. He really needed to come up with some new material. “Feel free to put on some clothing, when you get the chance…I did bring some down.”
Spike stayed in the crouched position, shielding himself from Giles, as his erection was still an issue. Giles beat a hasty retreat. Rampant nakedness and assorted naked activities was not something he wanted to think about.
“I think Giles fancies me.”
“Is that mouse gone?”
“Buffy, fess up. How much of that was the mouse? Really?” Spike stood up again and turned to face her.
Buffy jumped down from the dryer. “It startled me, and I was just about to…you know, and well, I couldn’t help it.”
“So, what do you figure? 80% Spike, 20% mouse? 90% Spike?” The ratio suddenly seemed important to Spike.
“I don’t know, 60-40 maybe? That was one big ass mouse.” Buffy grinned and turned her attention to the clothing Giles brought them. There was a warm terry robe and an elaborately embroidered silk caftan. She handed the silk item to Spike.
“Sure you don’t want this one, love?”
“Spike, it’s huge. Look at the neckline, my boobs would fall out.” The black, red and gold item had a deep vertical split bordered by intricate stitching. Definitely not boob friendly…well, not for civilized company anyway.
“That wouldn’t be a problem for me, sweetheart.” Buffy pulled on the robe and noted with interest that it was almost a perfect fit. Hmm.
“Spike, would you do something about that?” Buffy playfully swatted his erection. It attained flagpole again status at her touch. “You’re going to look like a tent with that.”
“Fuck, that doesn’t help things at all.”
“Oh, you want help? Well say something nice…” Buffy stroked his engorged shaft slowly. “Say pretty please…” She grinned and knelt before him.
“Pretty please…”
*
Buffy and Spike walked into the sitting room and found Giles and Dawn seated at a small table, engrossed in a game of Scrabble. Dawn cast a glance their way and was stopped by the image in front of her.
“Not a word, Bit.” Spike stood in the room almost lost in the flowing fabric, but it was his feet that held her attention. He had on a pair of fluffy white bunny slippers complete with ears, eyes, nose and whiskers.
“What? You look cute, Spike.” Dawn smirked.
“He beat me to the bunny slippers,” Buffy admitted looking down at the thick socks she wore.
“Nibblet, do remember these are Giles’ togs, yeah?”
“So Giles? What’s the what?” Dawn turned her attention to her opponent.
“What?” Giles looked up from his tiles. It was difficult to make a move with all U’s and E’s.
“Yeah, Giles,” Buffy added her voice of inquiry. “Bunny face slippers?”
“They were a gift.”
“Nice and comfy, that’s what’s important.” Spike flopped down in a side chair and spread his knees wide in a familiar pose. He scanned the room’s stuffed interior and zeroed in on a turntable with speakers in the corner.
“Here we go. Music, that’s what this shin-dig needs. A turntable? Rupert, now I know you’re an anachronism.”
“The word is connoisseur, Spike.” Without looking up Giles counted up his points and marked them down. Buffy strolled over and leaned against Dawn’s chair. Word games were never her forte, but she stared intensely at the board anyway.
“You’ve been holding out on us, Watcher,” Spike spoke as he flipped through Giles neatly organized album collection. “Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, Metallica… Buffy your man Rupert here is a closet head banger.”
“Th-those are old albums from my school days,” Giles finally looked up, colored and shifted uneasily in his chair. “Really Buffy, my tastes are more refined.”
“This is AC-DC’s last album, and on vinyl no less.” Spike flipped through the titles: Eric Clapton, Elton John, Cream… “Bloody hell! You’ve got an Iggy Pop album! Good for you, old stuff!” Spike’s expression ping-ponged from amazement to incredulity due to some of the dodgy titles in Giles’ collection. Mantovani’s ‘Songs to Make Love By’ was an embarrassing gem from his parent’s experiment in applied grooviness, British style.
“What the bloody hell is this?” Spike crowed with disbelief as he turned an album over and over in his hands. “Sounds of the Lakes and Forests?!”
“That’s enough, Spike. Those albums are carefully categorized.” More than a hint of irritation mingled with Giles’ words.
“You’re jokin’, right? This is a bleedin’ sound effects record!”
“It is highly relaxing, if you must know.” The flutter of Giles’ eyelashes was as defensive a maneuver as ever he made.
“I think you just put the scare into me, Rupert.”
“I have eclectic tastes, Spike.”
“Hey Nibblet! Evidence of eccentricity right here,” Spike waved the record in her direction.
“Spike!” Dawn spoke sharply. “I can’t concentrate with your yammering. I must obliterate Giles, my reputation is on the line.”
“Sorry, Bit. I’ll just be snickering in the corner then.”
Dawn muttered to Buffy. “If only I had an ‘S’ I could get the triple word score.” Buffy looked at Dawn’s tiles again: P Y X U and B. The game was winding down. Giles just played the word ‘shirt’ across the bottom, leaving the triple word score square ripe for the taking in the corner. All of the ‘s’ tiles had been played, so Giles was confident that space was safe.
Buffy whispered a suggestion into Dawn’s ear. “What?” Dawn looked puzzled, “what?” Buffy whispered again. “That’s not a word, Buffy.”
“Try it.”
Dawn shrugged and placed three tiles down the side in the corner making the words ‘buy’ and ‘shirty’. She raised her eyebrows at Giles expecting him to say something. His jaw dropped somewhat, acknowledging Dawn’s big triumph.
“Hey Spike! Guess what? Shirty is a word!” Dawn busied herself with tallying her score. Buffy looked over at Spike and smiled knowingly. All of a sudden the sound of a cicada filled the darkened English room. That was followed by the lonely moan of a loon and the lull of a lapping shoreline.
“Two triple word scores! Sixty points, Giles. I rule!!” Dawn wiggled in her chair in triumph. “That puts me…” She looked over at the scorecard. “Ahead by twenty-eight points. Eat my dust! What’s that weird music?”
“I get it Rupert,” Spike stretched out in a chaise and wiggled his bunny toes. “Relaxing is the word.”
*
After Giles fed them their tea, Buffy and Spike retired to the laundry room once again to get dressed in their dry clothes. Their newspaper stuffed footwear was still a little damp as was Spike’s leather.
Buffy lingered at the door, knowing that Giles was phoning the airport to get an update on the flight.
“Spike?”
“Hmm?” Now that the moment had arrived, Buffy paused, not exactly sure of how to proceed.
“So what do you think? Any interest in some free lance hero-ing? Accommodation included?” It was a lame way to ask but her mind suddenly emptied.
“Are you offering me a job?” Spike wrinkled his brow. “Or are you offering something interesting?”
“We made a good team once. But if you’re all tuckered out from the whole dragon thing you can be a vampire of leisure.” Her face was open and earnest. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all.
“I hate Rome, Buffy.” That response concerned her. Maybe he had plans. Something he hadn’t told her. She started to scramble for words.
“I’ll admit it’s not the English countryside. Not too many misty duck ponds there. Dawn’s got five more credits to finish for her high school diploma and then she’s off to someplace brainy.” Buffy looked into Spike’s stony facial façade. He did inscrutable better than anyone, Angel included. Uncertainty clouded Buffy’s mind as she strained for some convincing argument.
Spike thought about the reality of living with Buffy. They’d probably drive each other starkers. That was their well established groove. Buffy was arrogant and insufferable and always had to have the last word in any fight. Despite his best efforts the pout had not surrendered. He’d need to work on that because her pout always clobbered him.
“God, but you’re sexy when you pout.” Truth be told he couldn’t wait. He’d live in a puddle with her.
Dawn’s booming voice from the other side of the door interrupted them. “Spike? Are you coming with us or not? I have to tell Giles to ask about ticket availability.”
“Please?” Buffy saw his stern façade melt into the face of the man she loved.
“Wherever you go, pet, that’s where I’ll be.”
*
“Thank you,” Buffy hugged Giles at the curbside in the departures drop-off lane. “For everything.”
Dawn punched Giles playfully in the shoulder. “Yeah, thanks Giles. I enjoyed beating you at Scrabble.”
“You’re most welcome to a rematch at any time Dawn.” They hugged briefly before Dawn gathered up her luggage, carry on bag and her purse.
“It’s been fun, Rupert.” Spike nodded toward Giles and followed Dawn into the terminal. Giles walked around the car and opened the driver’s door.
“Say hello to Althenea for me, Giles,” Buffy called from the curb.
“What’s that, Buffy?”
“I like the new GQ you. I approve — of that, and her. One hundred percent.” Buffy winked at Giles knowingly. There was a pair of ladies panties in Giles laundry room and the robe that obviously fit a woman. Buffy knew from Dawn that Althenea spent a lot of time in London these days. She thought it would be a good match for both of them.
Giles blushed and grinned like a school boy before he waved a last good-bye and got into his car.
*
“What’s taking him so long, Buffy?”
“It’s the heightened security precautions, you know that Dawn.” Buffy searched the crowd for any sign of Spike. He’d been called out of the first security check through line. A long leather coat and an unreadable facial expression? Of course the security people would start swarming.
Buffy tried to quell the churning in her stomach. At least Spike knew their Rome address if anything came up to separate them on this end. There were other flights, but Buffy had a bad feeling. She figured she was due for some catastrophe or another because the weekend had been too perfect.
“Buffy, they’re almost finished with the babies and old people. We’re gonna be called next.” Their tickets read Row 12, seat A and B. Spike had seat C. A tinny voice chimed through what sounded like furry speakers.
“International flight 1-3-7, non-stop to Rome is now boarding. Passengers in the first twelve rows are requested to board through gate 82 at this time.”
“Buffy?”
“Go ahead Dawn, I’ll wait to the end.”
“No Buffy, I don’t want to be separated from you. Maybe we should ask at the desk. They’d help us, it’s like their job, isn’t it?”
“You’d be surprised Dawn. Let’s give it a few minutes…” The seating provided surrounding gate 82 emptied as the passengers boarded the plane.
“This is the final boarding call for international flight 1-3-7 to Rome. All passengers should make their way through gate 82.” The voice on the speakers sounded alien and metallic.
Buffy approached the ticket desk, feeling nauseated yet prepared to grovel before the pipsqueak aviation professional she saw before her. His name tag read ‘Blayne’ and he had the worst highlights she’d ever seen in her life. A chill swept down her spine and pooled in her stomach. Buffy’s bad feeling now permeated her entire being.
“Excuse me,” Blayne glanced at Buffy’s boarding pass and sighed.
“Ma’am you need to board the plane right away; we’re locking the gate now.”
“Yes, but–“
“Come on girls, that plane’s not gonna wait for us.” Buffy whirled around and saw Spike striding toward the gate with his passport, ticket and boarding pass in hand. He tossed Dawn a packet of cherry licorice bits.
Dawn scowled at him. “We’re going to miss the plane, come on.”
“Apparently I have bloody fascinating footwear. I tell you, that’s news to me.” He smiled at Dawn and Buffy.
“Spike–” Buffy grabbed his arm tightly and pulled him into a hug.
“Shall we go home, love?”
Buffy whispered softly into his ear. “Rome is just a city, Spike. You’re my home.” The trio passed through the doorway and into the tunnel that led to the airplane.