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Part Two, The Unexplained Plan



“What city are we in again?” Buffy shouts, landing a solid kick into the abdomen of the closest vampire.



The vamp’s belly is solid, and the impact sends shoots of pain up to her wound. Thankfully, the vamp doesn’t notice her gasp under the volume of his own grunt, and as he falls to the ground, she aims the gun at his heart and fires off a round.



Dust billows, and the vamp’s death is marked by the familiar sucking roar.



She resists the temptation to blow over the tip of the gun like in the cartoons. She loves these missions. The fighting makes something in her soul come alive. . . more so than she’s felt since going underground. . . more so than since Spike came back into her life.



She’s dusted twelve; he’s done in at least that many.



Spike dodges a poorly swung punch and lashes out with his leg at the vamp attacking him, neatly tripping him. He shoots a well-aimed bullet into the vampire and grips the next one’s shoulder. “Prague, pet. We’re in Prague.”



“Right, I remember now. Came here once with Giles. Had fried everything at what’s it,” she slams her elbow into the vampire behind her, firing the gun back without looking and sending a bullet into the one in front of her, “Novuko, I think.”



“U Nuvako,” he corrects, aiming his gun right at her.



“Spike, wha-?”



“Duck.”



She’s heard him say that before. This time she doesn’t question him. Dropping into a roll, she arrives neatly at his feet as he dusts the final vampire.



She takes the hand he offers her up. Normally, she’s fine without the assistance, but he knows that she’s hurt. “Where’d that last guy come from?”



“He was hanging out in the dark, waiting.”



“What for?”



“Dunno, but we have to get out of here.”



Wiping the back of her hand over her sweaty forehead, Buffy checks her wrist computer. “Fifteen minutes. We have fifteen minutes to get to the shuttle. We’ll never make it.”



“You’re right. But I have a plan.”



Spike walks away from her, taking the right fork in the road.



She stares at him for a few heartbeats, taking in the swagger he’s had since she met him in Sunnydale and the well-known leather coat moving around his legs. Then, she hurries after him, moving double time to keep up with his long strides.



“What’s going on, Spike.” Her words come out harsher than she intended.



He doesn’t say anything, but he seems different. . . even more distant than normal. “I’m going to get us out of this mess.”



“Isn’t this the wrong way?”



“Yes.”



She races ahead and blocks his path. “Then, what are you doing?” Reading his eyes in the moonlight, she continues, “You’ve been here before, haven’t you? You’ve been here for longer than my trip here with Giles.”



“Buffy. . .” His arm goes up to push around her.



She draws her tiny form to her full height and sets her jaw. “No. Explain. We’re going the wrong way. . . I have a right to know why. I don’t want to get stuck here.” Pain shoots through her side, and she bends forward protectively, tears welling in her eyes.



His expression softens, and he touches her arm. “We don’t have a choice, pet. They’re going to close the barriers. And I have a way that we can navigate here.”



“They won’t close them. They need what we got.” She pats the pouch at her waist. “I got it, you know. You didn’t ask.”



“Was a bit distracted.” He reaches into his coat and unzips his own pocket. “Hold still.” He brings out bandage strips and antiseptic spray, deftly ripping open the package and stuffing the wrapper in his pocket. Shaking the can, he reaches for the edge of her shirt again. “Let me help, love.”



He hasn’t called her “love” since she found him again. . . deep within the third largest underground city, training demon hunters. That was three years ago. The nickname means something now and stirs something in her heart. She complies without complaint.



He squats in front of her, fingers brushing over hers as he handles the blood-soaked fabric, lifting it up and away from the wound. Buffy sucks in a breath before she realizes what she’s doing.



“It’s more than a scratch,” he murmurs.



Buffy peers down at the gash. She’s seen enough wounds on her body that she’s no longer shocked by how much blood she can lose and still function. “Must have opened up more during the fight.”



“Hold on. Gonna spray and bandage.” Spike is true to his word, and Buffy’s wound is covered in less than thirty seconds.



She speaks before he has a chance to rabbit again. “So, this doesn’t get you out of telling me what’s going on.”



There’s resignation on his features as he breezes past her without so much as a tiny acknowledgment of the tenderness he’d just shown her. “I know, but we have to hurry.”



Side and heart stinging, she resumes following him. She decides to be less open-ended, “When did you come here?”



His jaw clenches. “Oh, round about 1997.”



“You were here right before. . .”



“Yeah. Right before Dru and I came to Sunnydale.” He pauses to check something on one of the buildings and mumbles something unintelligible to himself.



Things start to slide into place in Buffy’s mind. “You and Dru came here. . . that’s why you had to do that spell with Angel in the church. . .she was hurt here.”



“Go to the head of the class.” He rounds the next corner without slowing down.



“C’mon, Spike. We’re on this mission together. You gotta let me in on. . .” Buffy stops short. She hadn’t been paying attention to where Spike was leading her.



Her mouth hangs open.



He’d brought her to demon central.





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