It was full dark the next week, and Spike was heading home after his patrol with Xander. The boy had a few useful skills, Spike admitted, but not many. Still, Spike had to tolerate him for the sake of the Slayer.
The Slayer. Spike didn't have any idea what was going on with her; it was that confusing. Ever since her visit to the church that past Saturday, she had been, well, off. It hadn't affected their sex life; she'd snuck to his house between classes for a quickie today in fact. It was great as usual, only there was some new element he couldn't pinpoint. Buffy had to be hiding something from him. Not precisely hiding, but avoiding thinking about something. She was guarding herself from his most subtle mental probes. While he had no qualms about peeking into people's heads, he was reluctant to do so to Buffy.
*You're a vampire, dammit,* he thought at himself. *Since when did you get ethics? Why does the thought of seeing in her mind give you the wiles? Are you scared?* No, he decided, he wasn't scared. It was the pain he did not want to feel. If he searched her mind and found she still loved Angel or loved that Riley bloke, he didn't know what he would do. Probably kill someone, or at least break something, preferably something huge, expensive, and heavy.
Abruptly his contemplation was invaded by approaching trouble. Out there in the dark, he observed with no small amount of amusement, there were two hunters on the trail of some prey. How little did they know that their intended prey was stalking them. The stalker wasn't a vampire for sure, but it was a demon. If it was a demon, then the logical conclusion would be that the 'hunters' were members of the Initiative.
His instincts told him to do nothing at all, except his promises to his newfound allies forced him to act. He was not allowed to stand around and let the idolt marines get toasted. So what if the Initiative had screwed up his plans, his obligations were different now. Also, he could enjoy the opportunity to kick some demon ass.
Heading across the campus at a fast clip, Spike sensed the battle begin without him. Undoubtedly the demon had gotten a jump on the stormtroopers. Spike arrived at the conflict in time to watch a large polgara demon throw a trooper over the edge of a gully. Before Spike could stop it, the demon used one of its bone skewers to slice and dice the torso of the other marine.
The marine hit the ground already dead, and Spike mentally dismissed the corpse. Dead bodies were nothing new to him; it was no big deal. His objective was the polgara who had caught site of Spike. It hesitated, shaking its strangely shaped head, for it recognized him as a vampire. Spike grinned, reflecting that this was almost as much fun as pretending to be human. Since he looked so human, the victims would let him get too close for them to have any chance of escape. Most demons tended to treat him like a fellow evil creature of the night, unaware of which side he was on.
Again, Spike had no scruples about using his powers to read that the polgara had labeled him as a friend. Approaching it with a casual swagger, Spike put on his vampiric features. "Hullo, mate. Seems to be an infestation of humans here."
The polgara nodded, and Spike recalled that they did not have enough intelligence to speak more than a few words. His powers gave him the impression the brain space was taken up by primal urges for violence. Touching its anger was very tempting, but he knew he could easily lose control if he let it penetrate to far into his head. It was bad enough to surrender control when he was with Buffy, he had no idea what could happen if he was trapped by the polgara. He set up a slight shield in over his emotions and used his tongue for the tool instead.
"You left one alive down there," Spike jerked a thumb at the gully. The other marine was certainly alive. Alive, in pain, and very scared, even shielded Spike 'heard' it clearly. "Do you mind if I . . ." Spike drew a knife from his duster. To the casual observer, the knife appeared relatively normal. He had been told different. Red had said she cast some of her strongest anti-demon spells on it. However, she had also mentioned, if he tried to use it on a human, the results of what the magic would do to him would not be pretty.
For a second the polgara tried to understand what Spike meant. It didn't get the concept.
"I want to gut him," Spike said savagely.
The word 'gut' was familiar to the demon because it nodded and shook its bone skewers enthusiastically. It spread its arms to let Spike walk by.
Which left it totally open for his next move. Spike inclined his head and made to walk past the demon. As he crossed by the polgara, without any warning, he turned and buried his knife in its left eye. It died quickly in shock, not comprehending his betrayal.
Spike pocketed his knife and drug the dead commando to the demon. Flipping through the combat fatigues, he found a knife and planted it in the demon's punctured eye. That was all he could do to cover his tracks at this point.
In the case of the commando down in the gully, Spike was keenly aware of the painful injures caused by the commando's tumble to the bottom. He briefly debated doing nothing. He'd killed the demon; wasn't his job done then? The muscles in his temples tightened warningly to remind him he was, of all things, the 'Voice.' And Buffy would be pretty pissed if he didn't help.
Though it was against his better judgment, Spike descended down into the wooded gully. He recognized the injured marine as one of Riley's little pals, Forrest.
Forrest had seen better days because it seemed that he had at least a broken leg and a dislocated shoulder. All the heavy army gear he had been carrying was strewn across the landscape. He had also been attempting to radio for aid from down there, but the radio was so dented it was worthless.
Hearing Spike approach, Forrest's head snapped up in relief. It was rather short-lived when he saw what greeted him. Forrest tried to scoot away as he frantically searched for a weapon.
Spike favored him a toothy grin, for he still wore his game face. "My, my, and what have we here?" He licked his chops evilly. "A soldier boy all broken." He got closer to the prone Forrest.
"My partner will be here any minute," Forrest raised his chin.
"I don't think so, mate," Spike corrected him. "If you are referring to the wanker who got shish-kabobbedd up there, he won't be joining us. Bad luck for him, killing the polgara as it killed him." Spike decided to get a rise from Forrest, "Lucky for the polgara though. A computer chip in the head would have cramped its style."
Forrest inhaled quickly, finally recognizing exactly who he was talking to from all the Initiative's files, "Hostile 17!"
"The one and only," Spike struck a 'diabolical' pose he picked up from a soap opera. "Now what do I do with you? More like, what should I do with you in the evilness of my heart?"
The commando positively shook in pain and tension. "My friends are coming." Forrest was lying, Spike sensed.
"I don't think so. If fact, I think they won't even mount a search for you until tomorrow morning." His comments ere confirmed by the flash of fear in Forrest. "So, let's see, that leg's not looking too good. Neither does that shoulder. You should really see a doctor about that. What to do? What to do?" Spike pretended to do some serious thinking. "I know. How about I wait for you to die and then eat you."
"The sun'll come up first," Forrest said.
"True. Since I can't do this the old fashioned biting way, I guess I'll just have to kill you quickly."
"The chip won't let you!" Forrest exclaimed without fear as Spike picked up a straight stick from the ground.
"Even if I can't kill you, I can cause you extreme pain," Spike pulled on Forrest's broken leg.
Breaking into a cold sweat and swearing loudly, Forrest struggled to remain conscious. "What did they put in my head?" Spike's demanding voice penetrated the haze, and the pain lessened.
"I can't tell you," Forrest wheezed.
"Suit yourself,' Spike redoubled his efforts.
An agonized screech erupted from Forrest, "Fine!" Spike paused and listened. "It's a neurological chip to stop hostile subterrestrials from performing any action intend to cause pain to a living human."
"No kidding," Spike said dryly. "So how do you turn it off?"
"Classified," Forrest answered automatically.
"Wrong answer," Spike pushed on the leg.
"Stop!" Forrest yelled. "Okay," He took a deep breath when the pain ceased. "The chips are controlled by the Initiative central computer, but I don't know the password."
Well aware Forrest was telling the truth, Spike asked, "So what happens if the chips stop working?" He needed to know this to plan his future, or more likely, the future of him and Buffy. If they had a chance of lasting past the life of the Initiative, he had to find out.
Forrest was silent. Annoyed, Spike raised his hand over the leg warningly.
Forrest relented and said, "I don't know. Everything would probably go back to normal."
Also the truth. However, Spike could sense that Forrest was worried about the direction of the conversation. Not because he wouldn't spill the Initiative control chip secrets, but because he didn't know anymore about the chips. And if Spike wanted more, Forrest was in trouble.
Watching Forrest squirm was fun, but Spike needed more questions for the marine. It was just Spike's luck to get a medium level grunt at his mercy. If he had Riley or that Professor, things would have been different, though they may have required more persuasion. Still he had to make up some line of questions soon because his thoughts kept drifting to the Slayer. He knew she would probably not be particularly pleased with his treatment of Forrest.
"All right, I see. Based on your mental abilities and tiny IQ, you are not likely to know a whole bunch more." That should please her. Spike tapped the pocket of his duster, trying to banish her from his head. "I don't suppose you have any smokes?" And Spike hadn't wanted some since he quit for Eve. Did the Slayer have any idea she was driving him crazy, thinking about her all the time.
"Don't smoke," Forrest replied through clenched teeth.
"Pity. See what she does to me?" Spike plopped down, removing some cloth from his pocket. He gave the commando a discriminating once-over. "Oh, why the Hell not? It's not like you're going to be able to tell anyone. What do human girls want in romance?"
"What?" Forrest exclaimed, confused by the turn of the conversation.
"What do girls find romantic? You're in the marines, army, her Majesty's Secret Service or what not. You have to have something in that bald head of yours."
"Umm . . . flowers?" Forrest suggested uneasily.
"Come on, bloke," Spike said in exasperation, "I'm not asking for things I already know. Try to be a bit deeper than that." He clutched Forrest's leg and straightened it with a quick motion.
Through the pain, Forest coughed, "Chocolate."
"Chocolate? There's a possibility. Supposed to be an aphrodisiac, something in the taste. Not that I would know. Anything else?"
"Poetry. As long as you don't write it yourself."
"I'm not that dumb," Spike rolled his eyes. "I must be making this too difficult for you. We'll try again. I'll make it easier. What is the most romantic date you ever took her on?"
This must have been comfortable ground for Forrest since he answered without hesitation. "Prom."
"Prom?" Spike was vaguely mystified. He understood what Prom was in a general sense, thanks to Harmony's endless rambling. It was a high school get together that required dressing up and dancing. "Why is dancing in the gym so romantic?"
"Not that part. You wear a tux, and she gets the world's most expensive dress. You get her flowers for her wrist and take her to a candle lit dinner."
"That's all?" He had been out of the serious dating scene for a little too long. Dru had been crazy so her idea of romantic had been pretty strange, and Harmony had been so dense she thought shopping was romantic.
"Then after dinner at the dance, you have to dance to your special song. If you do all that, later sometimes, you get lucky. "
"Nice to see some things don't change much. Basically in Prom and like my good old days in Victorian England. You dress up like a ninny, treat her like God, and she'll be ready for shagging. How does that make any bloody sense?"
Forrest shrugged with difficulty, "Don't ask me. I only know how it works."
"All that time I spent watching soaps and movies isn't wasted after all. And here I was thinking it only worked because it was on the telly. Thanks for the help, mate."
"Don't mention it," Forrest said, almost amused at the Sub-T's behavior. He'd never seen one act like this in the lab.
"You've been down-right accommodating. Almost makes me sorry how much this is going to hurt." With brutal efficiency, Spike slapped the leg and the stick together, wrapping them with the cloth. Forrest practically fainted, and Spike whistled as he wrapped.
Returning to a semi-awake state, Forrest gazed in disbelief at his splinted leg. "You . . . you-"
"Yeah, not quite ER, I know," Spike replied, sucking a fang.
"But you . . ." Forrest realized where all of Spike's actions had been going. "You tricked me! You were moving my leg till you could help me. That's why you could hurt me."
"I guess there is a brain in there. As you said, hostiles must 'intend to cause pain.' I was helping."
"Why?" Forrest was very surprised.
"Tough. Can't tell you. Classified." He arched a brow, "Or maybe bigots like you need to take another minute to recheck your secret agent code. 'Sides, you can't tell anyone about this meeting," Spike pointed out. "It's called fraternizing with the enemy."
Forrest couldn't deny it, "So what happens now?"
"I drag you up the hill, drop you by the body, and disappear You use his radio to call for help. Tell the higher ups your mate killed it, and you splinted yourself. Don't mention the part where you owe your life to a vampire. Probably wouldn't look good on the report, the possible repercussions of receiving help from me and all."
"So, I'm in debt then. I owe you one?" Forrest sounded very suspicious.
"Assuming you army fellows operate on the honor system. Someday I may have to collect." Spike brought his face close to Forrest's, so the marine could see the whites of his yellow eyes. "Try to hand me over tonight, and you'll pay in blood."
"I may have to catch you someday."
"Then you catch me. Or I catch you. But if it never comes up, you owe me." That was the last thing Forrest heard because Spike popped Forrest's shoulder back into place, pushing him into unconsciousness.
Forrest woke alone by the polgara and Cole. True to his word, the vampire was long gone.
After he radioed for help, Forrest had a chance to wonder at the Sub-T's behavior. Why had the vampire aided him? Despite all his questions and threats, Hostile 17 had been trying to help him the entire time. Maybe there was more depth to the creatures than he had been giving them credit for. That vampire had some type of ethical code to rely on. Even more, it was conceivable to infer the vampire was in a serious relationship with a human girl. Perverted as it may have been, that had to mean there was emotion that would be related peacefully to humans.
Seeing his thoughts were bordering on treasonous, Forrest stopped thinking about it and decided to forgo telling them about his meeting with Hostile 17.
The next Wednesday another delivery arrived for Buffy during Psych. Instead of roses though, it was a box of chocolates with a note attached.
Willow could hardly contain her excitement when she caught Buffy. "Okay, what is it this time? Special occasion?"
"I don't know," Buffy admitted. She and Spike had been getting along fine. It hadn't taken her much time to figure out that he had no idea she could see in his head when they made love. No, she made love; he had sex. At least, she thought that, since she had to take care not to fall too far into his mind. Waking up once in touch with his inner demon had warned her off being too close, and she didn't want to find out he didn't love her, even if she suspected it was true.
"Did he send a note?" Willow asked impatiently.
"Yeah," Buffy unfolded it and laughed.
"'Fools rush in where
Angels fear to tread.
I am Fortune's Fool.'
Then it says, My place, Friday 8:00, come to Prom.' Is this another English lesson?"
"That was Alexander Pope and William Shakespeare," Willow confirmed. "I'm beginning to think maybe you should keep him. This mystery man speaks English real good."
"Really well," Buffy corrected absently and froze. "Will, did I actually fix your English?"
"Looks like it," Willow smiled, "And having sex with him must make you smarter."
"No, if I was smarter, I would understand a message like this one."
"It is a little cryptic," Willow mentioned. "I think he is doing something on a whim."
"Okay, a whim. Like?"
"He's doing something rash."
"Now that sounds like a skin disease. No, I know what rash means. He's getting all daring."
"It could be. Buffy, this is killing me. I wish you could tell me who he is."
"If I could I would cause I really want to talk about-" Buffy stopped.
"Not again," Willow cried. "Tell me! I won't pry, even though I really, really, really want to."
Buffy wavered for a few minutes, biting her lip before giving in. "You reach the point with Oz where you were not sure what you wanted next? I mean after you got the whole having sex part out of the way."
"Sure," Willow's brow furrowed, "He turned into a wolf, did the nasty with Veruca, and left me. Maybe I'm not a good example."
"Neither am I. Angel and I never got past the sex, and Parker was happy with just the sex. It's that I finally get that I want to keep him. You know, exclusively mine, no sharing with the other kids."
"And he feels the same way?"
"That's it; I don't know. He has always been protective of me with other guys. Only I want us to last, and I'm not clear on whether he wants the same thing."
"Buffy, run while you still can," Willow said half-jokingly. "The guy wants you to be only his, he asked you to some type of Prom, and you still wonder if he plans on a long time?"
"Most fish have longer lives than my relationships. I'm afraid we won't make it."
"You're getting all depressed, which isn't bad since you've been through alot, but, like you are always telling me, lighten up."
"I guess you are right," Buffy agreed reluctantly. "Broody Buffy is not a fun person. Okay, think happy thoughts."
Willow encouraged, "You can do it."
"Oh, he asked me to Prom! That means dress shopage!" Buffy's face fell. "Oh, no. Depressing thought."
"What?" Willow asked, wary of what pratfall Buffy had thought up.
"I only have two days to shop for the dress."
Two nights later Buffy placed the finishing touches on her hair. It was wrapped all around her head with a various assortment of shiny pins, which allowed extra pieces to fall around her face, curled in ringlets. She was wearing what Willow referred to as The Dress.
The Dress was a deep blue that had a purple shimmer buried in the fabric. It was in two pieces, the bottom a straight satin skirt, and the top a matching satin bodice with small silver flowers woven into its front. There were small off-the-shoulder sleeves, leaving the golden skin of her shoulders open to the touch. The top had boning and didn't need anything under it. In fact she wasn't wearing any underwear except a thong and the Prom required garter.
She didn't have a clue what Spike had planned. All he would say was to be sure to come on time, not early or late. Dropping her cell phone in her minuscule purse, Buffy began to exit the room and ran straight into yet another delivery man.
This one handed her a wrist corsage and a small slip of paper. He rushed off, and Buffy went back to her room.
'Pike up the other note. Turn off the light.'
Mystified, Buffy took the old note off the pile of Willow's textbooks on the desk. "Turn off the light?"
"What?" Willow had been watching her from the bed.
"He says turn off the light." Buffy shrugged and turned off the light. She saw the glowing letters on the page and noticed the message had changed significantly. It now said;
'Fools rush in where
Angel fears to tread.
I am your Fool.
Come to me. Nice blue dress. Now put on the bloody corsage!'
"So?" Willow asked as Buffy turned the light back on.
*Where Angel fears to tread?* Buffy thought. Then she caught something. Spike knew the color of her dress. She hadn't told him about her dress, and he hadn't told her about the vision he must have had to know her dress color. He would have to explain that, but she needed to placate Willow. "It says, 'Come to me, put on the corsage.'"
Buffy complied with the written request, noting how the white roses and silver ribbon matched her dress, and tucked both notes in her purse. "I guess I'm going."
"Have fun," Willow called from her bed. "See you tomorrow." The witch actually winked at her.