‘Really?'
‘For the fifth time, yes.’
‘But what about the rest of the group?’
‘Those losers?’ he asked, snorting. ‘You want to know about them?’
‘They were important to her. Didn’t she see them?’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather hear about Angelus kicking the Council’s ass? Great story that. All possessive and bloody.’
‘Later. Tell me the story of her friends.’
With a reluctant sigh, the storyteller settled in to do just that.

~~~~~~~~~~
Spike was fairly certain this wasn’t how he wanted to spend his eternity. Or even, come to think of it, the next five bloody minutes. He did not, however, have a choice. 

“Protect the slayer,” he grumbled, fingering a cigarette. “Make sure nothing happens to her.” 

The implications of something happening to him should something happen to her needn’t be spelled out. Angelus hadn’t bothered in any case. 

“Off having all the fun while I’m stuck here,” he continued, though it wasn’t loud enough to attract any attention. Other than the movement of his lips, that was, but the only people to actually see him talking to himself were Buffy’s other guards, stuck in the same position as he. Guarding Buffy. Not having any fun. 

“If you’d like, Spike,” at the words, he jumped and turned, his cigarette crumpling in his fingers. He glared at the small woman before him, but she ignored him and blithely continued. “You can join them. I won’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” he said, his proverbial pounding heart calming. “Easiest way to get me staked, that.” 

“One of us should have some fun,” she pointed out. 

“And why didn’t Angelus take you with him?” he wondered. 

She cocked her head and offered a small sarcastic smile before gesturing him inside her rooms. He hesitated only a moment before following her – was he even allowed in here? Eh, screw it. 

“You really have to ask?” she questioned, pulling a cloth-covered rope near the bed. Someplace far out of his hearing range he imagined a bell ringing. “Come on, Spike,” she laughed. It was not a happy sound. “Mr. Overprotective himself? He doesn’t even trust me to eat, has Dru follow me around every meal time making sure I don’t try and starve myself.” 

“If it’s trust we’re talking about, Slayer, it goes both ways. However,” he forestalled her narrowed-eyed intent with a hand, just as a knock sounded on the door. Wow. That was fast. 

Buffy went to open it, and he took the opportunity to study her. He didn’t get far in his observations, distracted as he was by the exceedingly large tattoo on her back. “Holy Sh-” he cut himself off when she turned with a questioning look. 

Instinct had him smiling innocently (or as innocently as he could manage) at her as a vampire-maid entered with a tray of tea. She set it up, just as he remembered his mum doing, before bowing out of the room. Buffy sat on a small love seat, and poured herself a cup. Raising an enquiring eyebrow at him, she waited. 

“Sure,” he nodded, walking to a chair opposite the small couch. It’d been ages since he’d had a decent cup of tea, since he’d left England. No, wait. China. They had delicious tea over there. But that was damn near 100 years ago. 

Americans did a great many things better, and technology had definitely advanced, but tea was only truly good in England and China. 

“Ah, I didn’t know you did tea,” he commented. And immediately felt stupid. 

He was the Big Bad. He was the Vampire. He was supposed to make her feel small and insignificant. Not the other way around. She wasn’t supposed to look so bruised and graceful sitting on thick cushions as if she were the Queen Mum. (Who was a lovely lady, incidentally, and Spike truly mourned her death. Strong woman, that, resourceful and witty. Great dresser, too with the matching hats and purses, white gloves. You  just didn’t see that kind of style anymore. Even pre-Acathla.) 

“It’s soothing,” she said. And left it at that. 

“Right. No arguments there.” Spike picked up his own cup, a delicate bone china painted with blue flowers, and sipped the hot brew. Ahh, wonderful. 

“So why aren’t you off with the rest of them?” Buffy asked. 

There was no emotion in her voice, as much as Spike listened hard for it. Bitterness, resentment, anger, something. That just meant the situation was worse than he’d originally thought. Naturally. Nothing ever seemed easy any more. 

“The terms of my release from the dungeons.” She looked at him questioningly, and he snorted in laughter. Putting down his cup, he howled. Trust, wasn’t that what Buffy had brought up?  

“You mean he didn’t tell you?” Slowly, fire burning in her silver-green eyes, she shook her head. The tea table rocked once, but other than that, her obvious anger was contained within her small body. Spike was impressed. Again. Freaked out over seeing her evident show of anger, but impressed nonetheless. 

“He let me out of there if I swore to protect you. I think there was something else,” he frowned. He hadn’t really been listening to the prattling Angelus, but the gist was just that. Protection. “Anyway, I protect you, swore on my life, Dru’s life, yada, yada, yada, and he released me.”

Oh, right. Wolfram & Hart. It was amazing how easily those twerps slipped one’s mind. 

“You agreed,” she said, because it was obvious he hoped, not because she wasn’t sure whether he had or not. “Why?” 

“I wanted out, Slayer.” He chuckled again, and sipped his tea. Now that was obvious. 

“So you just vowed life and limb to protect me. You don’t even like me, Spike,” she argued. And there was the anger, the passion he’d come to associate with her. For a moment, he was afraid Angelus’d beaten it out of her. 

For a moment, he still wasn’t sure Angelus hadn’t. 

Studying her intently, he searched her eyes, her posture, her manner. Restraint. Control. Fire, anger, and fear. It was all there, still there, but tightly bound. She was going to snap if those emotions weren’t released, and soon. 

“Now that’s not entirely true,” he countered, holding his cup out for more. “I do like you, in that mortal enemy kind of way. This whole goddess love, honor, and worship you isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I discovered slayers. It was more a fight to the death – yours – and glory – mine.” 

“Having trouble adjusting, then?” 

Opening his mouth to agree, he snapped it closed again. “Not adjusting, no,” he said slowly. “Figuring out the new rules, some.” 

“Ah, yes,” slowly Buffy nodded. “They tend to change on you,” she warned, “look out for that.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ll do that. Now, let’s talk about you, shall we?” 

“No,” she snapped. “I don’t think we shall.” 

“Not even about trust?” he prodded. 

“Not even. I have to trust you with my life. Through no commitment or choice of my own. I don’t really see what we have to discuss. Unless you want to talk about how you managed to get stuck here, but I doubt there’s much more to say on that topic.” 

Setting the cup on the tray, Spike stood. He respected Buffy, liked her on some level he wasn’t aware had existed until Angelus changed the world, but she was probably right. Heart-to-hearts, when he didn’t even have a working heart, wasn’t something they did. They weren’t friends. 

“Agreed,” Spike nodded, but didn’t move. He wasn’t sure why, his brain fairly screamed at his feet to take him back out the door and to his post. They weren’t moving. Damn uncooperative feet of his. 

“Just one thing,” he said, and wished he’d shut the hell up already. But no, he continued talking. Damn mouth. “Trust – I heard about the little incident between you and the Hell Goddess.” 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed and the floor shifted underneath him in long rolling waves. He shifted his stance wider for balance and continued. “How much do you trust Angelus?” 

“Enough.” 

“Enough. Not good enough, pet,” Spike shook his head. “Angelus is the type to demand all or nothing. I’m sure there’s something in the agreement between the two of you that requires that.” 

Buffy nodded once, a jerk of her head, more than anything. 

“And you? How much does he trust you?” 

“Not enough,” she said. But this time her reply was slower, more measured and controlled. The floor stopped rolling, though Spike wasn’t sure that was a good sign. 

“You gotta fix that then, pet,” Spike advised. And wondered where these words were coming from and how to stop them. Please make them stop! “It’s tearing you apart, I can see it just from our tea. Angelus is over in England obliterating the Council because they tried to hurt you, to take you away from him.” 

“Yes,” she agreed, “because they tried to take me away. Not because they tried to hurt me.”

“You’re wrong there, Buffy,” Spike said softly and kneeled on the floor before her. “He’s over there because you’re the most important thing in the world to him.” 

“Being the most important thing in the world and sustaining his trust don’t seem to go hand-in-hand, Spike. If they did, half of our problems wouldn’t even exist.” 

Nodding, he agreed. “True, true, but then where’s the fun?” Buffy snorted at that. “This is it, pet. This is life. You’ve learned, you’ve acclimated, you’ve accepted. But you haven’t understood.” 

“And there’s a difference?”

“There is to Angelus.” 

She was silent for long minutes before nodding. She didn’t say anything, didn’t comment on her life or Spike’s words. Looking into the swirling morasses of colors her eyes had become, Spike wondered. 

If he’d have guessed before coming to SunnyHell, he’d never have thought he’d be here, dispensing advice to the Slayer/Goddess of a Hell-world his GrandSire created so the two of them could be together. Then again, he’d never have thought said GrandSire would’ve been in love with a slayer to begin with. 

“Life’s funny like that,” he murmured. “And it’s a bitch.” 

“Yup,” Buffy nodded, “it certainly is.” 

Rising again, he turned to leave. “Back to the post,” he said as his hand closed around the doorknob. “And if you should be bored in your solitude,” he smiled, the smugness showing in his eyes, he was sure. Catching Buffy’s gaze, he smirked. “That dress is especially fetching over your back.” 

Laughing at the annoyed-puzzled look on her face, Spike resumed his place in front of her door. Ready for anything.
~~~~~~~~~~
Half his life went by before something happened. Maybe not that long, but he didn’t deal well with boredom. Guius was with him, still as stone and just as silent. 

Fed up with the absolute lack of anything to do, Spike demanded, “Does anything ever happen outside her door?” 

“Yes.” 

And that was all he got. 

“Like what?” Spike wondered, curious. 

“Intruders,” the large guard stated. 

Spike was about to ask the one-word demon what kind of intruders would be stupid enough to enter this inner sanctum, when he realized Guius meant there was an intruder (singular not plural) coming their way now. 

“Ah,” Spike said softly though there wasn’t really any danger of the human hearing him. “Looky who it is.” 

Sauntering forward, he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lighted it. “And I suppose you’re lost, eh, mate?” 

The human, Lindsay MacDonald if Spike remembered rightly (and he did), looked at him with contempt. Ha! Like better humans and demons hadn’t looked at him that way before. (Ah, for his beloved Cecily. Though she never held a candle to his darling Dru, she was enough to set his human – and limited – senses on fire. He wondered whatever happened to her…) 

“I’m here to see the Goddess,” MacDonald said.  

Spike gave him credit – there was no fear, no wavering of the voice, no sign of weakness. The guy had balls. Not much brains, but big steel balls. 

“Sorry, she’s not seeing visitors.” Spike smirked, folded his arms and waited. Nothing in his life was ever easy, and he sincerely hoped this wasn’t either. He really wanted to thrash the man. A little exercise, a little fun, fulfilling his word to Angelus. It really worked no matter how you looked at it. 

The floor moved under his feet, big undulating waves of anger. Spike stopping his next words and wondered if the clear expression of Buffy’s anger was over this visit or an extension of her general anger over her situation. And then he remembered the tatt. 

His grin widened. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when she confronted Angelus! 

MacDonald looked disconcerted, his stance a little wobbly, but said nothing about the floor’s motion. Guius grunted. Spike looked at the big demon but wasn’t sure if his illustration was of amusement or a bodily function. 

“If you’d tell her I’m here,” MacDonald gestured to the closed door, composure fully regained, “I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to see me.” 

“Nope.” 

Rocking back on his heels, Spike took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked it away. Mental note: make sure the damn thing doesn’t set anything of importance on fire---Just In Case. 

“It’s like this, MacDonald. You sniffing around here isn’t good for the place. You come in, thinking you’ve got the Goddess thing all wrapped up – she’s human,” he jerked his thumb behind him, “you’re human,” a finger at MacDonald’s chest, “it should work, yes?” Spike snorted and didn’t bother to give him a chance to respond. 

“You’re so very wrong I don’t even feel like listing the hundred or so ways you are. She’s not interested in you, MacDonald. She just happens to be one of those chosen few,” the irony of his words was not lost on Spike, “who actually care. Our benevolent Goddess has chosen to expend some of that caring on you, for reasons no one seems to understand,” he shook his head sadly, “and you’ve taken that kindness and exploited it.” 

Spike dropped his hands, curling them loosely into fists. Please attack. Wait – I don’t need an excuse to kill the guy. That hadn’t been part of the agreement between him and Angelus.  

“Now, you have two choices. You can one,” he held up a finger, saw MacDonald’s eyes flick to it then back to Spike’s gaze. The fear in that look was gratifying. “Pretend you never wandered through these hallowed halls, turn around and never bother our Goddess again. Or two,” Spike added a second finger to the limited line up, and again MacDonald’s eyes flicked toward it. 

“Two, I can beat you to within an inch of your life and toss you to the masses. I’m sure a nice looking human like you would attract attention, mutilated or not.” 

“I see,” MacDonald nodded. “Please give my regards to the Goddess.” 

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and walked back the way he came. 

“Wanker,” Spike sneered. 

Guius was beside him in a minute, and Spike wondered how he’d missed the huge demon’s move. No wonder these guys were in charge of protecting Buffy. 

“We're going to have problems with that one.” Spike continued to watch the retreating figure of MacDonald, until the double doors opened and he disappeared through them.  

 “He keeps sniffin’ after the goddess when Angelus warned him off, not once but multiple times.” He looked up at Guius as he said that. “The little snot keeps slithering back. That means someone’s holding his leash, offering him something he wants more than his fear of Angelus, and that’s bad. 

“Agreed,” Guius said. 

“That also means he’s stupid and greedy, a bad combination that makes a man rash. Underestimating Angelus is rash,” Spike paused. “It’s also bad for the health – his, mine, and yours should Angelus catch him around his woman again.”

“Donato is looking into them.” 

“Good,” Spike nodded, “But I’m thinking we’re going to need more than that.” 

“Your allegiance – is it to our Lord and God, or our beloved Goddess?” 

The long hallway was silent now, except for the faint hissing of his discarded cigarette. Its angry movement had stopped, but he thought he detected the faint sound of breaking items. Buffy’s anger was clearly not spent. 

“I’d have to say,” he eventually replied, “it’s to the Goddess. Angelus is my GrandSire, and I have an obligation and commitment to him, but…” he trailed off, unwilling to call Buffy anything other than Goddess in this company, no matter how stupid the sentence then sounded. 

It was so difficult being a renowned poet; everything had to be just right. 

“Our Goddess,” he started again, “deserves my loyalty and devotion. It’s to her I pledge my life and my services.” 

Guius nodded. “We’ll have to give the guards at the door new instructions,” he said in the longest sentence Spike had heard him utter. “Theoretically everyone has access to the God and Goddess, however that is proving problematic.” 

Spike agreed, but wondered why Angelus cared what others had to say. And if Buffy actually spoke to anyone outside her merry little band of humans. Returning to his position by the door, he searched for another cigarette. Blast – that had been his last one. 

“I think it’s time to find the Goddess a secretary and office. Whoever wants to see her can damn well make an appointment like everyone else in the world. She doesn’t have to be accessible 24 hours a day – she’s bloody well not Mother Teresa.” 

Guius nodded again, and smiled. It was scary, even for Spike who chose to take it in the spirit it was meant. Some weird treaty. His life was getting stranger and stranger by the day. 

“I’ve suggested that,” Guius said. “I think it’s time to implement it.” 

They stood in silence for several moments before Guius asked, “Why do you serve here?” 

“Just told you, mate,” Spike snapped, bored and fidgety. “I pledged my life and loyalty to the S…Goddess.” 

“I asked,” Guius said slowly as if Spike were the idiot, “why you served here. Why are you guarding our Goddess?” 

Spike glowered and was ready with a sarcastic reply when the large wooden door shook with the force of a 10 on the Richter Scale quake. His eyes slid to the seemingly sturdy object, but nothing came through. Oh, she was pissed. 

Looking back at Guius, he realized the giant wasn’t asking ‘why’ in general, but now. Right. Like that was something he wanted to admit. Still, there were two ways to play this. Tell Guius the truth and have his faults and failings exposed, or brush him off and never earn the demon’s trust. 

“Why do you ask?” he wondered instead, still trying to figure out whether it was relevant to have Guius’ trust or not. 

“It is my job to see to our Goddess’ well-being, not merely her safety.” 

“And is this job one you chose or one which was forced on you?” 

“It is one that comes with great honor,” Guius started. “And one that we have trained for for millennia. We are the last of Acathla’s Royal Guards, trusted with his safety until that time he chose to come to this planet.” 

This was new. Not that he’d ever really thought about – or cared – where Buffy’s guards came from, but he wouldn’t have guessed this. Cool.

“Then I suppose,” Spike said, “we’d better get started.”
~~~~~~~~~~
As Spike and Guius were chatting away about the merits of torture verses intimation, newfound conviction in each other firmly in place, Buffy once again opened the door. 

“Guius, I’m going to see Cordelia.” 

Spike looked for any sign of anger, that earlier bitterness, but she was as poised as ever. Trying to peek behind her into the room, all he saw was her cool green gaze and suddenly the slamming of the door.  

“Oy, Slayer!” 

She ignored him, as did Guius. 

He hadn’t heard a scream and was pretty impressed the ceiling hadn’t fallen. Maybe she hadn’t looked. Maybe she already knew about it and his senses were off when it came to this new and improved slayer. 

Maybe he should mind his own dammed business. The immediate last time he hadn’t had earned him a cell cage with annoying humans he couldn’t eat for company and the displeasure of the GrandSire he’d betrayed. 

But no, she hadn’t known and she had looked. The floor had rolled and the screaming was loud enough to penetrate even Angelus’ paranoid-proof walls. Apparently, she was just better at composing herself than before. 

“Yes, my Goddess,” the big demon bowed. “Spike will escort you, milady. I have several things to attend to.” 

Buffy narrowed her eyes, first at Guius then at him, and Spike wondered if that had ever happened before – Guius skiving off his duties. But all she did was nod and start down the hallway. Not in the same direction as MacDonald had fled, but deeper into the bowls of this private wing. 

He hadn’t been further than Dru’s rooms, now their rooms, and Angelus’ office, but knew there to be several more rooms along this corridor. Where the bint was staying, he hadn’t a clue. Didn’t really care, either, until Buffy decided to visit her and make him care. 

“This is going to be a private conversation,” she said without looking at him. “I don’t want you eavesdropping, vampire hearing or not. If I think you’ve heard one word of our conversation, Spike,” she warned, “I’ll make your time in the dungeons look like a spa retreat.” 

He believed her.

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