When in Rome (1/4)
Chapter 1
Spike stared after Andrew as the door closed behind him, wondering how Andrew had managed to convince not one, but two women that he was straight. But mostly, the young Watcher’s words of advice were resonating in his mind.
“Well,” Spike said, resigned, “maybe it’s time we…”
“Yeah,” Angel muttered in response, heaving himself up off the sofa. “God, did we really just get dating advice from Andrew?”
“Pathetic, innit?” Spike replied, following him out the door. “Twerp’s got a point, though. What are we doing here? If Buffy wanted to be with either of us… well, she would be.” He fell silent, then, ruminating on Andrew’s message. Buffy must know that he was alive by now, but she hadn’t seen fit to call or come to L.A. or even send a bloody telegram. She’d moved on. He hadn’t really thought he had a chance anyway, but the blow still stung, the finality of knowing for certain. It was why he hadn’t told her he was alive, thinking he could spare himself the pain of the inevitable rejection as long as he never asked her to make the choice.
“This is good,” Angel said. “This is… now we can all move on. I can move on to Nina, and you can move on to… whatever… you know, knowing that we’ve grown. As people.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Shut up.” Pausing to scope out the alcohol-serving options on the street, he said, “You know, think I’m gonna pop in one of these places, have myself a drink ’fore we go. We used up your supply on the flight over.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Angel replied, dropping the faux cheerful act. “I could use a few.”
“Rather be on my own, ’f it’s all the same to you,” Spike told him, with a trace of vulnerability in his voice that he detested.
Angel started to protest, but stopped when he caught the expression on Spike’s face. “Fine. But if you’re not on that plane in two hours, I’m leaving without you.”
Spike nodded, finding a measure of relief in Angel’s return to his brusque demeanor. The last thing he needed was the poof acting sympathetic. He watched his grandsire’s retreating back before ducking into the nearest pub and ordering himself a whiskey. He knocked it back quickly, along with the two that followed in rapid succession, but even as he was ordering his fourth, he knew he couldn’t drink away his dejection.
That was when the Really Bad Idea occurred to him. Perhaps he was just a glutton for punishment, but part of him couldn’t seem to let go until he’d seen her, heard it from her own mouth that he didn’t have a shot. It was why he was in Italy tilting at windmills in the first place. He’d made the decision to give up way back when he’d recorporealized, and yet he still ran off at the first mention of her name, like a bloody Pavlovian dog.
It wasn’t like she could really hurt him any worse than she already had, right? And it would be better if he just saw her one last time. For closure, the final nail in the coffin, a goodbye that wasn’t empty promises and lies.
And that was how he found himself back at her apartment, fiddling with the lock until he managed to pick his way in. He collapsed on the sofa without the slightest idea of what he would say when she walked in, or what he would do if the Immortal was with her.
It was hours later when the footsteps in the hall awoke him. He sprang up from his seat as soon as he heard the key in the lock, watching the door expectantly. It opened - and an unfamiliar young blonde woman stepped inside.
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Spike demanded.
“Buffy Summers,” the girl responded tartly. “And this is my apartment, so I think the better question is who the hell are you?” She pulled a stake seemingly out of nowhere, and Spike could tell she meant business.
“Listen, you stupid bint. You’re not the Slayer. So just what sort of game are you -”
His sentence was cut off as she suddenly tackled him to the ground with ease. She sat astride his hips, the stake pressed firmly to his chest, one arm trapped behind his back, while she held the other twisted painfully at his side with her other hand. “Not the Slayer, huh?”
“All right,” Spike conceded, squirming against her iron grip with little success. “You’re a Slayer, yeah. But you’re not her. You’re not Buffy.”
“Who are you?” she asked him again, easing her hold on him slightly in surprise.
“Name’s Spike.”
Her grip tightened again, and the stake dug in harder, making a hole in his t-shirt and scraping his bare skin. “Wrong answer,” she shot back. “Spike’s dead. Every Slayer knows that.”
Despite his predicament, Spike couldn’t help smiling a little. So, every Slayer knew he’d died to save the world, eh? On the other hand, that also meant that Andrew possibly hadn’t squealed on him. Maybe Buffy still didn’t know he was alive. He was less sure how he felt about that. Suddenly, Buffy moving on to the Immortal took on a whole new level of possibilities. What if she’d only moved on because she thought he was dead? What if she really had loved him?
The stake point pressing ever more firmly into his sternum reminded him that the not-Buffy on top of him was still expecting an answer. She was just starting to draw blood, so he quickly said, “Not as dead as I thought, pet. Ask Andrew. He’ll tell you.” When she didn’t show any sign of letting him up, he added, “Come on. How else you suppose I got in here without an invitation?”
She hesitated, and finally he felt the pressure of the stake lessen a little. She eased herself off his lap and let him up. Still holding the stake at the ready, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Came to see the real Buffy,” Spike replied. “But clearly, you’re not her.”
“She doesn’t live here,” the girl said curtly. “I’m a decoy.” When Spike looked puzzled, she explained somewhat warily, “They thought Buffy would be too much of a target, so they set up a decoy to pretend to be her. She’s supposed to be retired from slaying, and partying publicly to prove it. It distracts attention away from the real Buffy.”
Only now taking the time to study his would-be attacker, Spike realized the resemblance. The girl before him was exactly the same build as Buffy, had the same wavy blonde hair and hazel eyes, even similar facial features. It wouldn’t be enough to fool anyone who knew the real Buffy Summers, but to a stranger, she could easily pass for the famous Slayer.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she warned him. “This is top secret Council stuff.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my job to know.”
Spike held back a growl of frustration at that. “What about Dawn? Thought she was living here, too.”
The girl shook her head. “Dawn’s at Berkeley now. She visits sometimes, you know, for appearances, but just me and Andrew live here.” Spike raised an eyebrow. “Not like that,” she assured him. “He’s my Watcher, or… my handler, or whatever. He commands a whole team of Slayers in Italy, too, but I’m kind of a side project.”
“And Angel doesn’t know you’re not the real thing?”
She gave him another dirty look and let out an exasperated sigh. “Did I mention the top secret part? No. No one outside the Council knows. It’s safer that way.”
Spike’s response was cut off by an explosion that threw them both up against the far wall. “You sure about that, pet?” he cried, before realizing that the girl was lying next to him, unconscious. Instinctively scooping her up in his arms, he bolted out into the hallway, as thick, black smoke filtered out of the kitchen, filling the apartment. Moments later, sirens began going off throughout the building, and he ran for the nearest exit.
Once they were a safe distance away, Spike allowed his again-conscious charge to scramble out of his arms. “I’m all right,” she assured him. “I just hit the wall pretty hard, is all.” She gave him an appreciative glance. “You sure know your way around a damsel in distress, though.”
Spike shrugged. “I’m a hero, pet. It’s part of the job description.”
“Still, thanks for the life saveage.” Spike rolled his eyes and let out a snort. “What?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
“You even talk like her.”
“Part of the job description,” she retorted.
Spike peered down the alleyway where the smoke was now billowing out of the apartment building. “So, any idea why someone would be trying to kill you?” When she gave him another contemptuous look, he said, “Right. Dumb question.”
The girl fished around in her pocket for a moment, her eyes widening with panic. “My mobile! I left it in my purse!”
“Upstairs in the burning building? Think we’ll call it a wash, pet.”
She shook her head. “I have to report in!”
Spike glanced around. “Pay phone?” he suggested.
“Yeah, that’s secure,” she scoffed. “No, I’ll need a disposable phone. There’s a grocer’s around the corner that’s open late. Do you have any money?”
Spike shook his head. “Got nothing but the clothes on my back, love. Lost everything in the other explosion I was in today.”
She wasn’t nearly as fazed by that as he’d hoped. “Guess you’ll just have to steal it, then.”
*****
Fifteen minutes and one misdemeanor later, Spike tossed the shoplifted phone into her hands. Without a thank you, she ripped open the package and quickly dialed the number from memory.
“Andrew? It’s me. I’ve been compromised… Well, Spike showed up, but it’s more than that… That’s not the point… Yeah, he -” She paused, a mildly disturbed expression on her face, then she dutifully leaned over and sniffed Spike. “I don’t know, mostly he smells like booze and cigarettes, why do you -”
Now it was Spike’s turn to look disgusted, and he lightly shoved the girl away from him. Andrew seemed to have taken over the conversation, despite the young Slayer’s numerous attempts to get a word in edgewise, and at one point, whatever he said caused the girl to look at him with raised eyebrows and obviously piqued interest.
Remembering why she’d called in the first place, she shook her head furiously and interrupted. “Andrew! This is important! Someone tried to kill me. They blew up the apartment.” She listened for a moment longer before hanging up and turning back to Spike.
“We’re going to the rendezvous point.”
“‘We’?” Spike repeated. “Look, always happy to lend my services to a bird in need, but I’ve got a plane to catch.”
Disappointment flickered across the girl’s face, but she quickly recovered and drew herself up to her full, less-than-intimidating height. “Fine. I can take care of this myself.”
“Yeah,” Spike replied. “Good. Fine. Good luck with your assassination attempts.”
*****
“So, does this happen often?” Spike asked, as they sat across from each other at the back-corner table of the café that had been designated as the rendezvous point. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, really. Angel wouldn’t miss him. “I mean, I’ve only been in Italy for a day, and I’ve almost been blown up twice now. Figure, what with you being the Slayer, public demon enemy number one…”
She shook her head. “This… never happens. Not since…”
“Not since you started dating the Immortal,” Spike filled in for her.
“Dating,” she scoffed. “Right. That’s what everyone’s supposed to think.” Spike looked at her curiously, and she went on, “The Council’s paying him to be my bodyguard. I mean, obviously, the demons aren’t gonna stop gunning for Buffy just because she’s supposedly retired, right?” She hesitated, her fingers idly playing with her espresso cup. “The first girl only lasted about a month.”
Spike flinched, disgusted at the Council’s casual sacrifice of a Slayer. Different dogs, same tricks. But he also felt a measure of relief that it hadn’t been the real Buffy who’d been killed, and then he immediately felt a wave of guilt for thinking it.
“Anyway,” the girl went on, shaking off her unease at the topic, “after a couple near-death experiences of my own, they figured I needed protection. So, they hired the Immortal to act like my boyfriend. He’s got enough clout in the demon world that no one’s gonna come after his girlfriend.”
“’Til now,” Spike pointed out. “Say, you don’t think he’d -”
“Double-cross the Council? No. Why would you say that?”
“Didn’t come home with you tonight, did he?”
She shrugged. “He doesn’t always. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Look, I’m just saying, he -” Spike abruptly cut himself off, tensing as he sensed someone approaching them. Glancing up, he realized it was Andrew and relaxed.
“Spike!” the young Watcher squealed in a stage-whisper, throwing his arms around the vampire’s neck. “I’m so glad you’re all right! You could’ve been killed… um, again.” Spike disengaged himself with a tight smile.
Not-Buffy rolled her eyes. “Hey, remember me? The ‘asset’? The one whose life was actually threatened?”
“Yes, yes,” Andrew replied, patting her on the head like an obedient puppy. “We’re all relieved you’re okay, too.” Taking a seat at the table, he propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand and gazing at Spike with a dreamy expression. “Tell me everything. You must have been so brave, like a white knight, charging into a burning building to save a Slayer.”
“He was already in the building, Andrew,” the girl corrected with exasperation. “Someone gave him an invitation to my apartment.”
“Yes, yes! And thank goodness I did!” He turned back to Spike, clutching his bicep with both hands. “Oh, just think of what could have happened if you hadn’t been there!”
“I’d be dead, which is maybe something we should talk about,” the Slayer said through gritted teeth, while Spike did his best to ignore Andrew. “Somebody’s trying to kill me. I don’t know about you, but I’m mildly curious to find out who.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Yes, of course,” Andrew replied. “I’ll contact Giles right away. But first thing, we need to get you someplace safe. Spike will act as your bodyguard -”
“Whoa, whoa - what?” Spike, who had zoned out, bored with the boy’s hero worship routine, suddenly sat up straight in his chair. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
“You’re the only demon in this city that we know is definitely not trying to kill Buffy,” Andrew pointed out. “Besides, you’re her ex and you’re trying to win her back - it’s a good cover.”
Spike grumbled, but he had to admit, the boy was right. For once. “Fine,” he said. “Sun’s almost up. Gonna need a place to hole up for the day.”
“You mean I can’t go out all day?” the girl whined.
“Vampire, pet. You want me as your bodyguard, we stay in.”
“Head for this hotel,” Andrew instructed, pulling a pen out of his suit pocket and scribbling on a napkin. “I’ll send some Slayers to stand guard.”
*****
Next
Spike stared after Andrew as the door closed behind him, wondering how Andrew had managed to convince not one, but two women that he was straight. But mostly, the young Watcher’s words of advice were resonating in his mind.
“Well,” Spike said, resigned, “maybe it’s time we…”
“Yeah,” Angel muttered in response, heaving himself up off the sofa. “God, did we really just get dating advice from Andrew?”
“Pathetic, innit?” Spike replied, following him out the door. “Twerp’s got a point, though. What are we doing here? If Buffy wanted to be with either of us… well, she would be.” He fell silent, then, ruminating on Andrew’s message. Buffy must know that he was alive by now, but she hadn’t seen fit to call or come to L.A. or even send a bloody telegram. She’d moved on. He hadn’t really thought he had a chance anyway, but the blow still stung, the finality of knowing for certain. It was why he hadn’t told her he was alive, thinking he could spare himself the pain of the inevitable rejection as long as he never asked her to make the choice.
“This is good,” Angel said. “This is… now we can all move on. I can move on to Nina, and you can move on to… whatever… you know, knowing that we’ve grown. As people.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Shut up.” Pausing to scope out the alcohol-serving options on the street, he said, “You know, think I’m gonna pop in one of these places, have myself a drink ’fore we go. We used up your supply on the flight over.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Angel replied, dropping the faux cheerful act. “I could use a few.”
“Rather be on my own, ’f it’s all the same to you,” Spike told him, with a trace of vulnerability in his voice that he detested.
Angel started to protest, but stopped when he caught the expression on Spike’s face. “Fine. But if you’re not on that plane in two hours, I’m leaving without you.”
Spike nodded, finding a measure of relief in Angel’s return to his brusque demeanor. The last thing he needed was the poof acting sympathetic. He watched his grandsire’s retreating back before ducking into the nearest pub and ordering himself a whiskey. He knocked it back quickly, along with the two that followed in rapid succession, but even as he was ordering his fourth, he knew he couldn’t drink away his dejection.
That was when the Really Bad Idea occurred to him. Perhaps he was just a glutton for punishment, but part of him couldn’t seem to let go until he’d seen her, heard it from her own mouth that he didn’t have a shot. It was why he was in Italy tilting at windmills in the first place. He’d made the decision to give up way back when he’d recorporealized, and yet he still ran off at the first mention of her name, like a bloody Pavlovian dog.
It wasn’t like she could really hurt him any worse than she already had, right? And it would be better if he just saw her one last time. For closure, the final nail in the coffin, a goodbye that wasn’t empty promises and lies.
And that was how he found himself back at her apartment, fiddling with the lock until he managed to pick his way in. He collapsed on the sofa without the slightest idea of what he would say when she walked in, or what he would do if the Immortal was with her.
It was hours later when the footsteps in the hall awoke him. He sprang up from his seat as soon as he heard the key in the lock, watching the door expectantly. It opened - and an unfamiliar young blonde woman stepped inside.
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Spike demanded.
“Buffy Summers,” the girl responded tartly. “And this is my apartment, so I think the better question is who the hell are you?” She pulled a stake seemingly out of nowhere, and Spike could tell she meant business.
“Listen, you stupid bint. You’re not the Slayer. So just what sort of game are you -”
His sentence was cut off as she suddenly tackled him to the ground with ease. She sat astride his hips, the stake pressed firmly to his chest, one arm trapped behind his back, while she held the other twisted painfully at his side with her other hand. “Not the Slayer, huh?”
“All right,” Spike conceded, squirming against her iron grip with little success. “You’re a Slayer, yeah. But you’re not her. You’re not Buffy.”
“Who are you?” she asked him again, easing her hold on him slightly in surprise.
“Name’s Spike.”
Her grip tightened again, and the stake dug in harder, making a hole in his t-shirt and scraping his bare skin. “Wrong answer,” she shot back. “Spike’s dead. Every Slayer knows that.”
Despite his predicament, Spike couldn’t help smiling a little. So, every Slayer knew he’d died to save the world, eh? On the other hand, that also meant that Andrew possibly hadn’t squealed on him. Maybe Buffy still didn’t know he was alive. He was less sure how he felt about that. Suddenly, Buffy moving on to the Immortal took on a whole new level of possibilities. What if she’d only moved on because she thought he was dead? What if she really had loved him?
The stake point pressing ever more firmly into his sternum reminded him that the not-Buffy on top of him was still expecting an answer. She was just starting to draw blood, so he quickly said, “Not as dead as I thought, pet. Ask Andrew. He’ll tell you.” When she didn’t show any sign of letting him up, he added, “Come on. How else you suppose I got in here without an invitation?”
She hesitated, and finally he felt the pressure of the stake lessen a little. She eased herself off his lap and let him up. Still holding the stake at the ready, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Came to see the real Buffy,” Spike replied. “But clearly, you’re not her.”
“She doesn’t live here,” the girl said curtly. “I’m a decoy.” When Spike looked puzzled, she explained somewhat warily, “They thought Buffy would be too much of a target, so they set up a decoy to pretend to be her. She’s supposed to be retired from slaying, and partying publicly to prove it. It distracts attention away from the real Buffy.”
Only now taking the time to study his would-be attacker, Spike realized the resemblance. The girl before him was exactly the same build as Buffy, had the same wavy blonde hair and hazel eyes, even similar facial features. It wouldn’t be enough to fool anyone who knew the real Buffy Summers, but to a stranger, she could easily pass for the famous Slayer.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she warned him. “This is top secret Council stuff.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my job to know.”
Spike held back a growl of frustration at that. “What about Dawn? Thought she was living here, too.”
The girl shook her head. “Dawn’s at Berkeley now. She visits sometimes, you know, for appearances, but just me and Andrew live here.” Spike raised an eyebrow. “Not like that,” she assured him. “He’s my Watcher, or… my handler, or whatever. He commands a whole team of Slayers in Italy, too, but I’m kind of a side project.”
“And Angel doesn’t know you’re not the real thing?”
She gave him another dirty look and let out an exasperated sigh. “Did I mention the top secret part? No. No one outside the Council knows. It’s safer that way.”
Spike’s response was cut off by an explosion that threw them both up against the far wall. “You sure about that, pet?” he cried, before realizing that the girl was lying next to him, unconscious. Instinctively scooping her up in his arms, he bolted out into the hallway, as thick, black smoke filtered out of the kitchen, filling the apartment. Moments later, sirens began going off throughout the building, and he ran for the nearest exit.
Once they were a safe distance away, Spike allowed his again-conscious charge to scramble out of his arms. “I’m all right,” she assured him. “I just hit the wall pretty hard, is all.” She gave him an appreciative glance. “You sure know your way around a damsel in distress, though.”
Spike shrugged. “I’m a hero, pet. It’s part of the job description.”
“Still, thanks for the life saveage.” Spike rolled his eyes and let out a snort. “What?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
“You even talk like her.”
“Part of the job description,” she retorted.
Spike peered down the alleyway where the smoke was now billowing out of the apartment building. “So, any idea why someone would be trying to kill you?” When she gave him another contemptuous look, he said, “Right. Dumb question.”
The girl fished around in her pocket for a moment, her eyes widening with panic. “My mobile! I left it in my purse!”
“Upstairs in the burning building? Think we’ll call it a wash, pet.”
She shook her head. “I have to report in!”
Spike glanced around. “Pay phone?” he suggested.
“Yeah, that’s secure,” she scoffed. “No, I’ll need a disposable phone. There’s a grocer’s around the corner that’s open late. Do you have any money?”
Spike shook his head. “Got nothing but the clothes on my back, love. Lost everything in the other explosion I was in today.”
She wasn’t nearly as fazed by that as he’d hoped. “Guess you’ll just have to steal it, then.”
*****
Fifteen minutes and one misdemeanor later, Spike tossed the shoplifted phone into her hands. Without a thank you, she ripped open the package and quickly dialed the number from memory.
“Andrew? It’s me. I’ve been compromised… Well, Spike showed up, but it’s more than that… That’s not the point… Yeah, he -” She paused, a mildly disturbed expression on her face, then she dutifully leaned over and sniffed Spike. “I don’t know, mostly he smells like booze and cigarettes, why do you -”
Now it was Spike’s turn to look disgusted, and he lightly shoved the girl away from him. Andrew seemed to have taken over the conversation, despite the young Slayer’s numerous attempts to get a word in edgewise, and at one point, whatever he said caused the girl to look at him with raised eyebrows and obviously piqued interest.
Remembering why she’d called in the first place, she shook her head furiously and interrupted. “Andrew! This is important! Someone tried to kill me. They blew up the apartment.” She listened for a moment longer before hanging up and turning back to Spike.
“We’re going to the rendezvous point.”
“‘We’?” Spike repeated. “Look, always happy to lend my services to a bird in need, but I’ve got a plane to catch.”
Disappointment flickered across the girl’s face, but she quickly recovered and drew herself up to her full, less-than-intimidating height. “Fine. I can take care of this myself.”
“Yeah,” Spike replied. “Good. Fine. Good luck with your assassination attempts.”
*****
“So, does this happen often?” Spike asked, as they sat across from each other at the back-corner table of the café that had been designated as the rendezvous point. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, really. Angel wouldn’t miss him. “I mean, I’ve only been in Italy for a day, and I’ve almost been blown up twice now. Figure, what with you being the Slayer, public demon enemy number one…”
She shook her head. “This… never happens. Not since…”
“Not since you started dating the Immortal,” Spike filled in for her.
“Dating,” she scoffed. “Right. That’s what everyone’s supposed to think.” Spike looked at her curiously, and she went on, “The Council’s paying him to be my bodyguard. I mean, obviously, the demons aren’t gonna stop gunning for Buffy just because she’s supposedly retired, right?” She hesitated, her fingers idly playing with her espresso cup. “The first girl only lasted about a month.”
Spike flinched, disgusted at the Council’s casual sacrifice of a Slayer. Different dogs, same tricks. But he also felt a measure of relief that it hadn’t been the real Buffy who’d been killed, and then he immediately felt a wave of guilt for thinking it.
“Anyway,” the girl went on, shaking off her unease at the topic, “after a couple near-death experiences of my own, they figured I needed protection. So, they hired the Immortal to act like my boyfriend. He’s got enough clout in the demon world that no one’s gonna come after his girlfriend.”
“’Til now,” Spike pointed out. “Say, you don’t think he’d -”
“Double-cross the Council? No. Why would you say that?”
“Didn’t come home with you tonight, did he?”
She shrugged. “He doesn’t always. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Look, I’m just saying, he -” Spike abruptly cut himself off, tensing as he sensed someone approaching them. Glancing up, he realized it was Andrew and relaxed.
“Spike!” the young Watcher squealed in a stage-whisper, throwing his arms around the vampire’s neck. “I’m so glad you’re all right! You could’ve been killed… um, again.” Spike disengaged himself with a tight smile.
Not-Buffy rolled her eyes. “Hey, remember me? The ‘asset’? The one whose life was actually threatened?”
“Yes, yes,” Andrew replied, patting her on the head like an obedient puppy. “We’re all relieved you’re okay, too.” Taking a seat at the table, he propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand and gazing at Spike with a dreamy expression. “Tell me everything. You must have been so brave, like a white knight, charging into a burning building to save a Slayer.”
“He was already in the building, Andrew,” the girl corrected with exasperation. “Someone gave him an invitation to my apartment.”
“Yes, yes! And thank goodness I did!” He turned back to Spike, clutching his bicep with both hands. “Oh, just think of what could have happened if you hadn’t been there!”
“I’d be dead, which is maybe something we should talk about,” the Slayer said through gritted teeth, while Spike did his best to ignore Andrew. “Somebody’s trying to kill me. I don’t know about you, but I’m mildly curious to find out who.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Yes, of course,” Andrew replied. “I’ll contact Giles right away. But first thing, we need to get you someplace safe. Spike will act as your bodyguard -”
“Whoa, whoa - what?” Spike, who had zoned out, bored with the boy’s hero worship routine, suddenly sat up straight in his chair. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
“You’re the only demon in this city that we know is definitely not trying to kill Buffy,” Andrew pointed out. “Besides, you’re her ex and you’re trying to win her back - it’s a good cover.”
Spike grumbled, but he had to admit, the boy was right. For once. “Fine,” he said. “Sun’s almost up. Gonna need a place to hole up for the day.”
“You mean I can’t go out all day?” the girl whined.
“Vampire, pet. You want me as your bodyguard, we stay in.”
“Head for this hotel,” Andrew instructed, pulling a pen out of his suit pocket and scribbling on a napkin. “I’ll send some Slayers to stand guard.”
*****
Next