Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Look, Slayer, are you sure you want me to tag along on your family fun trip to Walt Disney Hell?"

"Don't call it fun," Buffy says. She rips another sheet of aluminum foil off the roll. "Gimme more tape."

Spike's hand sticks up from under the Winnebago's little dinette table, where he's hiding from the sun still shining through some of the windows. There's a strip of tape on each finger.

Buffy grabs a piece and sticks one corner of the tinfoil to the wall, covering the edge of the window. She frowns at it: she made it a little crooked.

Spike continues, "All I'm saying is—"

"You're coming!" Buffy snaps. She lets go of the foil and it falls off the wall, and she comes pretty close to putting her fist through the stupid window, except then there would be glass shards everywhere and this stupid van has to be safe for Dawn. "End of discussion, okay?"

They've gotta make it safe for Dawn.

Spike blinks up at her; normally when she yells at him he looks kinda turned on because he's a horny freak and majorly annoying, but right now he just looks worried about her. Turns out she misses the horny.

"Alright," he says, and reaches over to grab the crinkled foil off the floor. He holds it out to her, pinching it carefully so he doesn't ruin any of the pieces of tape. "Just don't wanna overstay my welcome is all. Gonna be crammed in here like sardines, you know, and it happens I can think of a few people who might not fancy my company."

Buffy takes a deep breath, then snatches the foil back from him. She re-tapes the first corner and criss-crosses a second piece of tape over top. He stretches up and tapes that bottom corner for her, too, and she shuffles over to the far side of the window.

"Like it or not, we're gonna need your help if Glory finds us," she tells him. "If anyone doesn't get that, I'll make them."

Spike hands her another strip of tape.

Buffy says, "But have you thought about being less annoying? Like, just since you brought it up."

"I'll see what I can do," says Spike.

~*~

"Buckle up, kids," Spike tells the Scoobies cheerfully. "Daddy's putting the hammer down!"

Buffy thunks her head back against the tinfoil window.

~*~

Buffy is curled up on the couch in the back room, hugging some weird pillow that whoever actually owns this moldy dinosaur probably drooled all over. Her eyes itch like she's either gonna start crying or doze off again; she doesn't really wanna do either, but she's too tired to do something else.

The wooden panel that divides the back from the rest of the RV slides open—it's probably Dawn coming back to report on the results of Anya's cooking adventure, so Buffy doesn't bother getting up.

Which means obviously it's Spike.

Buffy sits up and tries to make it look like she was reading the map, which was crumpled up under her arm.

If Spike sees through it, he doesn't say anything. He just smiles at her like he's been doing lately sometimes, when they're alone.

It'd be easier if he made fun of her or something.

"Uh, mind if I hide out back here?" he asks, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Tara keeps playing peek-a-boo with the blinds and, well, I've heard third degree burns're passe."

"No, see," Buffy says, gesturing brightly, "I read in Cosmo that they're coming back this summer! You could be a trendsetter."

Spike laughs and, after a second, slides the door closed behind him.

Buffy pulls her legs up underneath herself so there's more room on the sofa. "Willow can't get her to stop?"

"Nah," Spike says, waving her off. He sits down next to her—a little closer than she would've sat to him, but not so close she bothers moving away. "Seems like it makes her happy."

"Oh," says Buffy. "That's… weirdly nice of you."

Spike shrugs with one shoulder. "Uh, also, Red's making these bracelets—" He holds up his hand, where there's some kind of murky crystal wrapped in twine around his wrist. "Said they're some kinda ward, so Glory can't use locator spells on us. I've, uh, got yours here."

"Oh, um…" Buffy holds out her hand to take the bracelet, but Spike must think she's asking him to put it on for her—he wraps it around her wrist and ties a cute little bow. "... Thanks?"

Spike clears his throat and glances at the map. "Made any headway?"

"Ugh, a little." Buffy cracks her neck. "Giles says he knows a campsite for tonight, but after that? It's kinda a 'cross that bridge when we come to it' thing. Except we can see the bridge and it's totally broken and definitely on fire!"

Spike smirks sympathetically and offers, "I've put a little thought into it, if you want my opinion."

Buffy says, "Sure."

Spike leans in a little closer, dragging his finger across the map. "Well, way I see it, we've got two options. First one's sticking to the truck stops and campsites. Maybe a town here and there for supplies."

Buffy hums.

"Plus side's, it's harder to predict where we might end up," Spike says. "And you've seen how Glory likes to live—not a fan of the backwater. If we're lucky, she's not gonna wanna get her nails dirty and we'll get the little nasties."

"God," Buffy says. "I'd love to kill a couple of those little fuckers."

Spike snorts. "Uh, downside's that our merry crew's something of a spectacle. If we show up somewhere nothing ever happens—"

"We're the thing that happens," Buffy says. "And then Glory asks around and knows where we've been."

"Might be a good idea to go places in shifts," Spike says. "Draw less attention."

Buffy leans her head back against the wall. "What's the other option?"

"Uh, big cities are anonymous." Spike taps his finger on Vegas. "No one's gonna look at us twice, let alone remember what direction we're heading. Hell, we could hide out somewhere a couple days if we had to, just moving around the city."

"Not seeing a downside there," Buffy says.

Spike says, "Well, I figure if Glory catches up to us, there's a lot more collateral damage this way."

Buffy looks skeptically at him. "Since when do you care about collateral damage?"

"Since you do," says Spike.

Someone shrieks with laughter in the other room; Dawn yelps, "Put it out! Put it out!" and Willow says something in Latin or some other dumb dead language.

Buffy knows most of them don't want Spike to be here; most of them don't wanna be here either. They probably all started talking about her as soon as she ran back here to hide—how she's going psycho or whatever and she's a fucking coward for running away. She's supposed to be the big hero. Bigger than anything.

When she told Spike they were leaving town, all he asked was, "How much time I got to pack?"

It literally can't matter why he wants to help—not if it's that he's just trying to get in her pants or waiting it out until he can kill her or even if he's really in love with her. Because:

"Protecting Dawn is the first priority," Buffy says. "It's the only priority."

"I know," he says.

Buffy nods with a quick jerk of her chin. "Okay, I think first we should pretty much just try and get as far as possible—but maybe not in a straight line?"

"Change highways a couple times," Spike says.

"Yeah, exactly." Buffy chews on her bottom lip. "And maybe we can, like, ask people for directions somewhere and then actually go somewhere else."

Spike hums.

Buffy runs her hands through her hair. "If we make it a few days, I think we can risk stopping places. Which I guess brings us back to where we're actually going."

"Your mamby-pamby council doesn't have safe houses or the like for this shit?" Spike asks. "Seems like it'd be the kind of rot they're good for."

"I guess Giles could call," Buffy says, frowning. "But I'm not sure it's a good idea to involve them. It's probably too obvious, you know?"

"Guess that rules out the City of Exes, then," Spike says, and Buffy's eyes drift down to LA. "Come to think of it, does loverboy know we've blown the joint?"

They haven't talked since Mom's funeral.

Buffy purses her lips. "He… doesn't even know Dawn's the key. I thought it was safer to leave him out of it."

Spike gets this look on his face for like half a second, where he looks really smug about it—like he's beating Angel in some stupid contest only he knows the rules of, as if he didn't only find out on accident anyway. But then it goes away and he just says, "For the best, I expect."

"I guess," Buffy says.

Awkward silence.

Spike clears his throat and asks, "Uh, you know where this campsite we're headed is?"

"Oh, um, yeah." Buffy nudges for him to hold the right side of the map so she can point at it; his fingers are cool against her hand when he takes it. "I think we're ending up here. Um, did you see how much food they have up there? We should probably wait a day or two before we stop anywhere if we can."

"How often do you humans need to eat again?" asks Spike.

Buffy honestly can't tell if he's fucking with her.

"I'm kidding, jeez." Spike knocks his knee into hers. "I don't think there's much—Harris was saying you caught him between grocery store runs."

"Damnit." Buffy rubs at a rudely huge spot of tension above her right eyebrow. "Ugh, and we're gonna need a butcher eventually, I guess. How long's what we've got in the fridge gonna last you?"

"Could stretch it two weeks, maybe, before I can't fight as good," Spike says. "But I could always hunt."

Buffy looks at him with—

"Animals," he says quickly. "Y'know, Bambi? We're gonna be in the woods, right?"

"Oh my God, ew," says Buffy, wrinkling her nose. "Like, you're just gonna—"

A mental image of Spike running through the fucking woods and tackling a deer to the ground at full speed suddenly jumps into Buffy's brain.

She bursts into hysterical giggles.

"What?" Spike demands. "What?"

Buffy tries to make words come out, but then she pictures, like, Spike wearing one of those tragic camo hunter outfits like on TV shows and all that comes out is squeaking and also maybe actual literal tears rolling down her cheeks.

Spike says, "I'm nothing but a bloody joke to you, am I?" but he's smiling at her begrudgingly.

"I'm s-sorry!" Buffy manages, hiccuping when she tries to catch her breath. "And the deer, like—" She mimics throwing her hands up in surprise and makes her eyes as big as they can go. "Ack! Vampire!"

"Sorry bastards never see it coming," says Spike.

"Just minding your own business and, oops, teeth."

Spike says, "At least I still strike fear into something's heart."

Buffy tilts her head at him. "Is it, like, more fun for you to hunt? Like, should we be giving you more enrichment or something?"

Spike raises an eyebrow and says, "I'm not a bloody housecat, Slayer."

"Aww, we could get you a little collar!" Buffy says. "Property of Buffy—"

Okay, yeah. Nope. Words out of mouth: bad.

Spike looks like he's about to say something Buffy's gonna have to punch him for, but they're saved by Xander poking his head into the room. 

"Hey, Buff," he says, then sways a little bit like he might be sick. "Anya made something my lawyers have told me I'm not legally allowed to describe as food. You in?"

Buffy really wishes she had a less tragic out of this conversation, but innuendo-ers can't be choosers.

"Totally," she answers, standing up quickly. "You know me! Not super picky about what I put in my mouth."

Spike chokes.

"Uh, did I miss something?" Xander asks.

Buffy looks back at Spike and tries to look really annoyed. "Are you coming or not?"

"Yeah, baby," says Spike. "I'm so close."

Buffy reaches for the closest object—a little clock sitting on the built-in shelf—and chucks it at him.

He catches it with a grin.

"Okay, I definitely missed something," Xander says. "And for that? I'm just grateful."

Buffy just shoves him back into the main room.

~*~

It takes them most of the evening to get to the campsite. It borders a forest with dense tree cover and is at least five miles away from the highway, which is a plus. After they're parked and Giles has stretched his legs, they all grab books and spread out through the RV and outside on the dusty ground and do research.

Willow finds a barrier spell she can use to protect their campsite if she needs to, but no one learns anything new about Glory.

"Okay," Xander announces, poking his head into the RV. "On behalf of those of us who normally have jobs to wake up for in the morning, I'm declaring it bedtime."

"I'm pretty beat, too," Willow says. "Running from a scary lady who wants to kill you really takes it outta ya."

"Amateurs," Spike mutters.

Buffy kicks him under the table.

Dawn was outside with some of the others, but she follows Xander back into the camper. "Um, so… how do the beds work?"

"According to the owner's manual," Giles says, "there should be four of them. One above the driver's seat, one that converts from the dinette, the pull-out couch, and a bunk bed above it."

"Perfect!" Buffy says. "So Willow and Tara get one, Xander and Anya, me and Dawn, and you and Spike can cuddle!"

"Yes." Giles looks at her with that super British face that actually means: you are driving me into an early grave, you horrible child. "That does seem to be the most logical arrangement."

Xander rubs his hands together and says, "Let's bed it up in here!"

He goes to the front to set up the bunk bed there. Willow and Dawn start unfolding the dinette bed while Anya searches the cabinets for sheets and blankets which she hands to Tara to hold.

Buffy, Spike, and Giles wander into the back. Giles is a stupid tall person, so he works on getting the bunk bed set up while Buffy does the couch and Spike helps nobody.

Buffy tugs on the edge of the couch where it looks like the mattress is supposed to pull out of, but it creaks like it's stuck. She frowns and pulls harder—there's the sound of something metal and probably important grinding on something else metal and probably important, and the couch, which is built into the wall, makes a really fun screeching sound.

"Huh," she says.

"Ah, Buffy," Giles says. "Perhaps you should—"

"Is it stuck?" Spike asks, crouching down next to her. "Here, I'll get this side."

They each take an end of the couch and pull, fighting with the metal frame to un-jam itself.

The frame cracks on Buffy's end, ripping the couch away from the wall. It dumps her on her ass and, when she looks over to glare at Spike for laughing, she sees that they twisted the whole thing up so it's warped and uneven.

"Or you could break it," says Giles tiredly. "That's a splendid approach."

"Were you pulling out?" Spike asks Buffy. "I was pulling up."

Buffy snaps, "Why would you pull up?"

"'Cause that's how sofa beds work, love."

"No it isn't!"

"Well, I think it's properly buggered now."

Xander appears in the doorway. "What's going on, guys?"

"Buffy broke the bed!" Spike says cheerfully.

"I so did not!" Buffy argues. "Spike broke it!"

Giles says, "I think we can all agree it was a solid team effort. Will you two master carpenters kindly get out of the way?"

Buffy crosses her arms over her chest and shoots daggers at Spike from across the narrow room.

He winks at her.

Giles sighs in that really snobby, British way. "Well, I don't think it's fixable. But I suppose one person could still sleep on it in, ah, couch form."

Anya appears behind Xander. "So we're down half a bed?"

"I'm afraid so, yes," Giles tells her. 

At that announcement, all the others crowd into the back room to look at the carnage.

"Wow, Buffy," Dawn says. "Nice slayage."

Buffy shoots her a look: don't start.

"Looks like someone's three to a bunk," says Spike.

"Or you could just sleep on the floor," Xander suggests.

Spike scoffs. "Yeah, right."

"Um, you do kinda sleep on a concrete slab most of the time," Willow points out. "This might actually be comfier than that."

"Well, yeah, but my crypt's clean," Spike says irritably. "This carpet's so moldy it's grown a personality and you lot have been treading your boots over it all day, and God knows where you've been."

Xander says, "We'll put down a tarp for you."

"I'm not sleeping on the floor like a bloody dog," Spike snaps, and then he looks at Buffy with this, like, really annoyingly earnest face. "Slayer, I did the RV for you, didn't I, and I'm on the run same as the rest of you. Least you can do is treat me halfway decent."

Xander snorts like he's expecting Buffy to obviously say no, but…

"Spike gets a bed," Buffy says, and then hates herself literally as soon as she does, because Spike's face lights up like it did when they were under that spell and she agreed to marry him and Xander and Giles look just as disgusted.

"You can share with me, Spike!" Dawn offers.

"No," says everyone else.

Except for Spike, who's back to looking offended. He says, "God, you people can't seriously think I'd try something, can you?"

Obviously Buffy doesn't, or she wouldn't let him babysit, but still—it's just weird. And if she spends any more time defending him, Xander's gonna start judging her majorly hard. Speaking of—

"Maybe you can share with Xander," Buffy says.

Spike snorts. "If you make me be bunk buddies with Harris, I will try something."

"Hey!" Anya protests.

"As in murder him," Spike clarifies, holding his hands up. "Don't worry, pet, he's not my type."

"Well, good," says Anya, and then when Xander looks at her funny, adds, "But, still 'hey.'"

Willow says, "Maybe Spike should just take the couch?"

"Yes, I think that might be best," Giles says. "Xander, perhaps you and I could share and the girls will split up how they like?"

"I'm not sleeping without Xander," Anya says. "And we want the front bunk, because it has a curtain for when we wanna have sex."

Dawn makes a gagging noise.

Giles says patiently, "Anya, I understand you have, ah, preferences, but I'm afraid we must all make sacrifices—"

"Xander snores like a Chirago demon," says Anya.

"Please do enjoy the front bunk," Giles tells them.

Willow says, "Aw, you can share with me and Tara, Giles. Guaranteed no sexy times or snores."

"That's, erm, kind of you Willow," Giles tells her, "but I'm not sure I feel entirely comfortable with that. These beds are a tight enough fit for two as it is, and…"

"Oh my God," Buffy cuts in. "Giles, take the couch. Dawn, cuddle pile with Willow and Tara on the dinette bed. I'll sleep with Spike."

The Winnebago goes silent.

"... Okay," Buffy says. "You all know what I meant."

"Works for me," says Spike.

Giles tells her, "I'm sure we can find another arrangement."

"We're done talking about it!" Buffy snaps. "God, can you guys let me make one decision anymore without looking at me like I'm crazy?" She turns to Spike. "Now talk off your belt."

Spike's eyes widen at her.

"So it doesn't poke me," Buffy says. God, her face feels all hot and sticky. She just wants today to die.

"Uh, hate to say this, Buff," Xander tells her. "But I'm more worried about something else poking you."

"Xander!" Willow scolds.

"What?" he asks. "We're all thinking it."

Dawn says, "I wasn't."

"Don't worry," Buffy threatens cheerfully. "If Spike pokes me, I'll poke him back."

Giles clears his throat unhappily.

"With something wooden?" Buffy says. "And pointy? Oh my God, didn't you guys say you were tired? Let's all just—go to sleep."

Anya says, "Sounds good to me. How are we dividing up blankets? This one has ducks on it."

"Can we have the ducks?" asks Spike.

They are pretty cute.

Xander and Anya are the only ones who brought other clothes—turns out the group did actually listen about not going anywhere else, except for stopping at the Magic Box for all the money in the register and as many books as they could carry.

Anya lends Willow and Dawn pajamas, but Buffy would rather just stay in her clothes. Maybe when they stop at a town they can go thrifting or something, or at least find a laundromat. She's gonna minorly-to-majorly regret the leather pants fashion choice pretty soon otherwise.

Thank God the Winnebago has a shower. Giles says it's got its own water tank, so they've just gotta hook it up to city water every so often to refill it. With eight people and like twenty outfits between them, though, Buffy thinks they should probably get used to a little BO. Also, did anyone pack deodorant?

She's coming out of the bathroom, ruffling her damp hair with one of the towels nicely donated by the Winnebago's previous owners, when Dawn is on her way in. 

"Hey," Buffy asks her, squeezing her shoulders. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm still okay," Dawn says, then smiles tentatively. "Are you better?"

Buffy smiles back. "A little. I think it'll be better in the morning. I just wanna get some rest."

Dawn says, "I'm sorry we couldn't get you Mr. Gordo. I know he makes you feel better."

Sometimes Buffy hates having a sister who knows her so well—because now her throat is going all tight.

"It's good we left him outta it," she jokes. "You know how high-maintenance he is."

Dawn laughs. "So true."

Spike is drinking what must be cold blood out of a mug that says #1 Mom on it. He looks over and asks, "Who's Mr. Gordo?"

Well, now Buffy's gotta kill him.

"Oh, it's her stuffed pig," Dawn says, and now Buffy's gotta kill her traitor of a sister too. "She's had him since she was a baby. This one time, we thought we lost him on vacation and she cried so hard—"

"Okay!" Buffy says brightly. "It's bedtime. You need your strength so you can be the world's most annoying sister in the morning."

Dawn protests, "I was gonna shower! It's not even that late!"

Xander, from behind the curtain separating the bunk bed from the rest of the RV, loudly says, "Some of us would beg to differ, Dawnster."

Dawn asks, "Ugh, am I gonna be this lame when I'm a grown-up?"

"Yes," say the grown-ups.

Spike chugs the rest of his blood and leaves it in the sink. "See you in the morning, nibblet."

He brushes past them into the rear of the RV.

Buffy tells Dawn, "You can shower if you don't say embarrassing stuff about me while you're in there."

"What?" Dawn says, crossing her arms. "It's just Spike. He's like, so into you he'd think anything you did was cute."

"She's got a point," says Spike, who's literally only ten feet away and can obviously still hear them.

A muscle jumps in Buffy's jaw.

"Good night, everyone!" Willow says passive-aggressively.

Giles says, "Yes, good night, all."

Buffy rolls her eyes and heads into the back room, pulling the wooden panel closed behind her to muffle the noise from the shower—and of Xander's inevitable snoring, which is legendary.

There's no ladder to the bunk bed; Spike is already up there, though, and it's not like it's that high. Buffy takes off her boots, jumps up to grab the bottom of the frame, and pulls herself up.

The whole thing wobbles dramatically.

Giles tells her, "I do believe the intended method is to get a leg-up on that shelving below the window, but it's good to see you remain athletic as ever."

Buffy turns to look at Spike, whose face is a lot closer than she expected it to be. "How'd you get up here?"

He shrugs, which looks stupid because he's laying down with a duck blanket up to his collarbones and knocks his arm into hers. "Same as you."

Giles sighs loudly and rolls over on the sofa.

He was right about the beds being wicked small: Buffy and Spike's arms touch when they're both on their backs, and she's pretty close to rolling right off.

"Scoot over," she whispers, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Ow! To where, through the bloody wall?" Spike whispers back.

"Yeah, sure."

He shuffles over maybe half an inch.

Buffy sighs and wriggles under the blanket. At least Spike's got good taste in these—it's really soft. Even if it smells kinda like old socks.

His arm is cool against hers. She rolls onto her side instead, facing away.

It's been a while since she shared a bed with anyone—since Riley left, really. There's this weird prickle on the edge of her awareness, reminding her that she's not alone even if they aren't touching anymore.

It's not, like… totally in a bad way. 

Spike is a pig, obviously. And the crush thing is largely creepy and weird, and the whole Buffybot thing was obscene. But he's also, you know, here, and he so didn't have to be, and he physically can't hurt her, anyway. 

On some level or whatever, she's glad he agreed to come.

Spike rolls onto his side, too.

Then onto his back again, and then he flops onto his front which makes the bed wobble again, and just kidding, Buffy takes it back.

"Oh my God," she whisper-hisses. "Stop moving around!"

"I can't get comfortable on this sodding thing," he complains. "My concrete has more give to it."

Spike rolls fitfully onto his side again and smacks his face into the wall. "Ow."

"You'd get comfy if you stopped moving around," Buffy tells him.

Spike whines, "I'm not even tired, you know. You know how early it is?"

Yeah, she does. Xander and Anya might be in bed by ten these days, but Buffy's nights don't get fun until eleven. When she closes her eyes, even between Spike's stupid dying fish flopping, she feels dead-tired in her chest and like the rest of her is screaming to move.

Spike sighs dramatically and turns onto his other side.

Buffy offers cheerfully, "If you want, I could knock you out! That'll make you nice and tired."

"If the pair of you don't bloody shut up," Giles says evenly, "I will gladly knock you both out myself."

Buffy asks, "Wanna go patrol?"

"God, yes," says Spike.

Buffy rolls off the bed and lands on her feet with a quiet thud. Spike drops down beside her and hands over her boots.

"Thanks," she whispers.

Giles says, "Do take your time, you two."

Spike is lacing up his boots. "Sweet dreams, Rupert."

They slip out of the room—Buffy leaves the door open so it'll be easier to sneak back in—and then make their way to the front of the RV.

"Buffy?" Willow asks sleepily, lifting her head. "What's wrong?"

"We're just gonna do a perimeter check," Buffy tells her quietly. "Don't worry about it."

Willow hums and burrows back under the blankets.

The front bunk is squeaking. From the look Spike gives Buffy when she raises an eyebrow at him, they're on the same page about what's going on there.

Outside, there's a half moon and way more stars than Buffy's used to seeing in Sunnydale. She tilts her head up to look at them and feels a breeze tickle her cheeks.

"Feels good to be out of that sodding van," Spike says, and when she looks over, he's looking at the stars too. "Smells like rat piss in there."

"You're the one who picked it," Buffy reminds him.

Spike stretches his arms above his head and cracks his back. It pulls his shirt up over his tummy, showing off a moonlight-pale strip of skin. "You're the one who wanted the family circus. We could be cruising in a Porsche as I bloody speak."

Buffy rolls her eyes. Like there's a universe where she'd leave everyone behind.

"Right, so—to grandmother's house?" Spike asks.

Buffy blinks at him.

"Into the woods," he says.

Buffy says, "You're so weird," and heads for the treeline.

Spike follows behind her, their footsteps almost silent as they move through the underbrush. Sometimes Buffy can forget that they're both built for the same thing, and sometimes it's so obvious that she thinks she doesn't forget so much as take it for granted.

There's mostly nothing out here—not that she really expected there to be. It's not a good hunting ground for vamps; they like being where the people are. But it's nice to be doing something familiar anyway.

"Are you gonna, you know—" Buffy makes vampire fangs with her fingers. "Eat a bambi?"

Spike snorts; he's a little hard to see, but he makes himself easy to read in the dark: he's teasing the both of them, but mostly himself. "After your little outburst this morning? I think I'll cling to my last shreds of dignity, thanks."

"Mm, you stopped having dignity when I dropped a piano on you."

"It was a bloody pipe organ, and if anything the jig was up when Joyce hit me with an axe."

Buffy laughs. "I still can't believe she did that."

"She was a hell of a woman," Spike says, "That's where you and the little bit get it from, I expect."

And then it gets quiet.

Buffy purses her lips together and hops up onto a fallen log, walking across it like a balance beam.

"Maybe I should hunt something manlier," says Spike. "You know, like a moose."

Buffy laughs. "A moose? Mooses are basically just Canadian deer."

"Have you ever seen a bloody moose?" Spike asks, all offended all of a sudden like he's a moose salesperson or something. "They're the size of fucking cars, Slayer. And they damn well know it."

"Uh huh." Buffy does a backflip off the log, just because she can, and then goes into a back handspring. "You could've just said 'bear,' you know."

Spike says, "Yeah, I could do a bear."

Buffy rolls her eyes. Somewhere above them, an owl hoots.

"Mooses do have those, like, giant antlers, though," she says. "Ooh, imagine if you had a bear but with moose antlers. Or a moose but with bear teeth."

"There's a demon like that," Spike says. "Smoked a cigar with one in Madrid once. Nice bloke."

"Shut up," Buffy tells him. "You're just making shit up."

Spike says, "Am not!"

"I'm gonna ask Giles about it in the morning," Buffy taunts. She turns around to walk backwards so she can look at him. "And then you're gonna look really stu— fuck."

She trips over something on the ground and lands on her ass for the second time in one night.

Spike laughs so hard he's gotta bend over to brace his hands on his knees.

Buffy throws a rock at him; it bounces off his shoulder.

"Need a hand there, pet?" Spike asks.

Buffy glares at him and gets up on her own. He still catches up to her, though, and they walk basically side by side for a while. She's not really keeping track of where they're going, but she doesn't think they've walked too far from the campsite.

"... I guess I should say thank you, or whatever," she tells him after a while.

"Why's that?" Spike asks.

"For coming with us," Buffy says. "I know it's basically insane and everything, and you didn't ask to be a part of it."

Spike shoves his hands in his pockets. "Psh, please. Girl of my dreams asks me to run away with her and commit a felony? Not what I'd call a hardship."

Buffy glances over at him. "We committed a felony?"

"Uh, yeah," says Spike. "We did steal the van, love."

"I mean, I know," Buffy says, frowning. "But what makes it a felony?"

Spike tilts his head. "No sodding clue. I just assumed, to be honest."

"I guess vampires don't, like, deal with the law. Unless they're dinner," Buffy says.

"I did get arrested for tax evasion once," says Spike.

Buffy laughs. "Shut up."

"No, I'm serious," Spike insists. "Ask Angel next time you see him, he was there."

"What," says Buffy. "Spill everything now."

Spike reaches up and drags his fingertips over a lower-hanging tree branch; it wobbles a little from the force he puts on it, and Buffy hears it snap back into place when they walk past.

"So, there's this bloke called The Immortal," he explains. "A real wanker is what he is. Thinks he's better than us and all—we were old rivals—"

"Like you and Dracula," Buffy says.

"Drac owes me money," Spike says. "The Immortal had me arrested for tax evasion."

Buffy says, "I like him already."

"He's got this whole pompous schtick," Spike rants, apparently mostly ignoring her. "He's never good nor evil, doesn't use magic 'cause it's dirty, blah blah blah."

"That's stupid," Buffy says.

"And this one time he—" Spike stops short. "Well, yeah, but which part?"

Buffy says, "The not being good or evil thing. I mean, everyone's good or evil."

"Bollocks," Spike says with an edge to his voice. "It's not that simple."

Buffy shrugs. "I mean, good people can do bad stuff and bad people can do good stuff, but it's like, when you know what the world's really like, you've gotta pick a side, you know? Anyone who says they're neutral is trying to make themselves feel better about not being good."

"So which one am I?" Spike asks.

A twig crunches under Buffy's foot. Her body turns towards him but she can't really make her face do the same.

"I mean it, Slayer," Spike says. "When you look at me, which do you see?"

Looking at him makes her feel sick. It makes her think about tasting a little bit of blood when she kissed the corner of his mouth, and about throwing him down to the ground in a dirty alley behind the Bronze and paying him for the pleasure.

Buffy says, "Mostly when I look at you, I'm thinking about how stupid your hair looks."

Spike says, "You take that back," and Buffy is saying, "Make me," before she even really thinks about it.

There's a split second where he just looks at her, and her teeth feel extra big and white when she flashes them at him, and then she's taking off through the trees at a full sprint.

"Oi!" Spike shouts. "Slayer, what the bloody hell?"

Buffy laughs. She leaps over a log and veers left, crashing through the trees when before she was so careful, which was stupid. What's she supposed to be scared of? 

And he's following her, obviously. Even if she couldn't hear him she'd be able to feel him, because that's what they are: things that hunt each other. 

Buffy runs until her lungs are burning in the crisp air and her cheeks are stinging, and she knows he'd never be able to catch her. She's faster and nimbler and even if he didn't kinda want it, she could kill him. But eventually she gets a little bored with just running and she slows to a jog and then turns around to wait for him.

So, okay—she's not expecting him to crash straight into her and knock them both to the ground. That's a plot twist.

There are a bunch of leaves in Buffy's hair now, and she's definitely laying on at least one very poke-y stick. She pouts and says, "Hey, you shouldn't be allowed to do that."

Spike is braced above her; his hand is cupping the back of her head. "Wasn't trying to hurt you."

The stupidest thing is: Buffy knew.

"Tag," she says, "I'm it."

Spike scrambles to his feet and runs. 

~*~

"Okay," Buffy says, who knows how much time later. She's, like, permanently breathing hard and her calves might literally be on fire. "Maybe this wasn't, like, plan of the year? Where the hell are we?"

Spike is leaning on the same tree she shoved him against the last time she caught him; there's bark in his hair and he looks like he should be smoking, except for the fact that the stupid jerk is totally not breathing on purpose to look cooler.

"Not to worry, love," he says, which gives away that he's just as tired as she is. "I'll run us home."

Buffy narrows her eyes suspiciously. "We're in the middle of the fucking woods. There's no way you kept track of where we are."

"Don't need to," he says. "I can smell camp."

"Oh my God," Buffy says. "No you can't."

"Gasoline and someone's campfire the day before," Spike tells her.

Buffy says, "That's so wiggy," but she follows in the direction he starts walking. "So can you, like, track any of us?"

"Not from memory," Spike says. "I'd know you and the nibblet—maybe Giles from his aftershave. And Joyce was easy, 'cause of that perfume she always wore."

Buffy glances over at him. If he knows that, then he knows Buffy started wearing it after they picked out a coffin. She probably doesn't smell much like Mom anymore, though—not since the shower and all the sweating in the woods. And she didn't take it with her.

"Freesia, wasn't it?" Spike asks. "It suited her."

Buffy says, "Yeah," and thinks, all ache-y and distant about it, about the flowers she kept finding on the grave. Pretty white ones, kinda like irises but smaller, and when you found them fresh they smelled just like resting your head on Mom's shoulder.

"She liked you, you know," Buffy tells him. "I mean, she thought the crush thing was creepy, but she liked you besides that."

Spike clears his throat. "I liked her too. I didn't get to tell you, really, when it happened. But I liked her too."

Fuck. Buffy has to blink up at the sky through the trees and it only kinda helps. Shouldn't she be done crying?

"How did your mom die?" she asks.

Spike says, "Tuberculosis," with less emotion than he talks about the weather.

Buffy says, "I'm sorry," and then, "Were you close?"

"Too small a word," he says.

Buffy steps over a log. She's pretty sure she can see a marked trail to their left, but neither of them bothers making their way over.

"She kicked me out this one time," she says, and hates herself so much for admitting it that she almost turns around and walks back into the woods. "I mean, you were kinda there."

Spike doesn't say anything, but she knows he's looking.

"Right after she found out I was the Slayer." Buffy tucks her hands under her armpits. "She said if I went to the mansion I shouldn't bother coming back. So, you know the next part. And then I spent the summer in LA."

Spike says, "She told me."

Buffy has to force her head to turn towards him.

"One day while Dawn was still at school," he says. "She told me. Said it was the worst thing she ever did."

Buffy's voice cracks. "I never told her that I forgive her."

"Do you?" Spike asks.

Buffy wants to run again, but she already fucking did that. She keeps doing it too soon, when it doesn't count. She should've saved it for right now.

"I know she loved me," Buffy says instead. "I didn't make it easy."

"Rot," says Spike.

Buffy doesn't let herself look away.

"Loving you's so easy I did it on accident, Summers," Spike tells her, and it's so honest on his face that she wants to throw up. "Just blinked and I was there."

Buffy swallows so hard that it hurts. She says, "Take it back."

Spike says, "Make me."

~*~

They walk the rest of the way back in silence.

~*~

Buffy's not sure how long they've been gone, but the moon's definitely a really different place in the sky. It's still all inky black, though, so they're not cutting it too close to sunrise. 

They slip into the Winnebago, which is way darker than out in the open thanks to the blacked-out windows, and dead silent except for the way the door hinges creak when Spike closes it behind them.

She's pretty sure they make it back into the bunk bed without waking Giles.

Curling up under the blanket actually feels good this time, after all the energy she burned off—and based on the fact that Spike isn't flopping around next to her anymore, he probably feels the same.

Buffy rolls onto her side, facing away from the edge of the bed, and falls asleep.