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Chapter 4:

Spike parked in the most out of the way corner of the underground parking lot that he could find. As he got out of the car he popped the trunk. This was not the first time he'd had to make a quick getaway, and he always kept two emergency bags in the trunk; one for him and one for Dru.

He paused for a moment, looking at the two bags. What the fuck was he going to do about Dru? Even if he could get to her, there would be no telling what she would think about him freeing the Slayer. At least he knew she was safe. The Master took family very seriously. Dru might receive a beating for not keeping her Childe in line, but the Master wouldn't hurt her seriously.

He slung his bag over his shoulder leaving the other one behind. Even if he thought Dru's things would have fit the tiny Slayer, there was no way he would let her touch anything that belonged to his Dark Princess.

"This way," he absently told the Slayer as he led her away from the car.

They'd barely gotten five feet from the car when Spike suddenly smelled slayer blood. He spun around, half expecting to see an attacker and the Slayer fighting for her life. Instead she almost bumped into him. Seeing his reaction the Slayer instantly started to look for some sign of danger.

"What is it?" she hissed.

"I was about to ask you that. You're bleeding."

"Huh? Oh yeah, I cut my foot on something."

Puzzled, Spike looked down and realized for the first time that the Slayer didn't have any shoes.

"Bollocks!" he cursed.

"What's the big deal? It's just a scratch you know. Doesn't even hurt. Shouldn't we be moving? There is a plan right?"

"Yes," he replied impatiently. "There is a plan. And it involves a trip through the sewers. Not to mention, vampires and lots of other nasties track by scent. Rather not be leaving a trail of slayer blood behind."

While he was speaking, he'd dropped the bag to the ground, knelt down, and started to rummage through it until he found some bandages.

"Lift your foot. You can lean on my shoulder if you need to."

She snorted and lifted her foot as delicately as if she were a ballet dancer. She stood there, perfectly balanced and making a great show of the fact that she was not leaning on the evil vampire.

He grabbed her foot a little roughly, hoping she'd topple over, and bandaged her foot.

"Think you can make it the next three meters without sustaining any more injuries?" he asked her derisively.

She just glared at him and put her foot down gracefully.

When they got to the man hole cover Spike climbed down first. When the Slayer reached almost to the bottom he plucked her off the ladder into his arms.

"Hey!" she protested indignantly. "What do you think you're doing?"

'Does she have to make everything into a bloody battle?' Spike asked himself, ignoring the fact that they were mortal enemies.

"Sewer. Barefoot. Remember?" he told her.

"I'm not some girl, you know. I can handle a little slime."

"Funny," he said pointedly looking down the front of her tank top. "You look like a girl to me."

She blushed bright red, and quickly crossed her arms over her chest to hide her cleavage from him.

After chuckling for a moment at her reaction he explained, "Don't want you to get an infection."

"Didn't know you cared," she replied sarcastically.

"I don't, except that blood poisoning ruins the taste."

Before she could protest any more he headed into the sewers. They were soon enveloped in blackness. He automatically slipped into his game face and moved quickly and surely through the gloom.

As if on cue the Slayer blurted out, "Say-"

"Something," he finished for her. "Yeah, I know. Right then. . . so um. . . when you're not fighting for puppy dogs and Christmas, what do you do?"

"What do you mean what do I do? I'm the Slayer."

"Yeah, but you can't slay all the time. After all most of the beasties don't come out until it's night time."

She relaxed in his arms, uncrossing her own, to put one around his neck and resting the other on his chest as she leaned her cheek against him.

"I train and study."

"And. . . "

"And what?"

"Look, what do you and your mates do?"

"Mates?"

"Friends, kitten, friends," he explained.

"I know what mates means," she said in such a way that he imagined she was rolling her eyes at him. "I'm not stupid. I'm the Slayer. I don't have time for friends. I have a sacred duty."

"Sounds rather dull, well except for all the fighting. I suppose you do get a lot of quality violence in, though."

"Quality violence? What is that supposed to-"

"Here we are," he interrupted. "Feel in front of you. There's a ladder there."

She quickly found the rung of the ladder, and climbed up, pushing the sewer grate up above her head. He followed behind her. They came up under an overhang designed to keep the sun off of cars. The overhang was attached to a cruddy looking motel. He quickly got them a room, hoping for a chance to relax and figure out what the hell he was doing.

"So this is the plan?" the Slayer asked as she looked around the motel room he'd procured for them.

"For now," he said wearily, sitting on one of the beds.

It was almost afternoon, and Spike had been up since the sun went down the day before. All he wanted to do was get some sleep.

"And then?"

Unfortunately, he had an impatient Slayer on his hands. She was pacing around the room and generally being jittery. Suddenly, Spike had a great need to get away from her. This whole thing was madness. Looking over her ragged appearance, her matted hair, her dirty gray clothing, and her bare feet he thought of the perfect excuse.

"Look, we'll find a proper place once the sun goes down. Until then, I suppose you need some things. So I'll be back." He hurried toward the door.

She grabbed him by the arm, brining him up short.

"Wait. You can't go. It's too quiet."

Exasperated he tried to pull his arm out of her grasp, but the more he pulled the tighter she gripped his arm.

"Look, turn on the telly. That should keep you plenty entertained."

Her voice took on a special quality as if she was quoting someone else as she said, "Television is for people who have no purpose in life, and haven't the intelligence to read."

He just stared at her a moment as if a second head had sprung out of her chest. Then he smirked. "Scared Slayer?"

Her face fell, she let go of his arm, and sat down on the edge of one of the beds. "Yes. You should go."

"Huh?"

She wasn't supposed to admit she was scarred, even though they both knew she was. She was supposed to defiantly claim she wasn't and that she didn't care if he stayed or went.

"You're right. I'm scared." Then she adopted that other voice which struck Spike as vaguely British, "A Slayer must face her fears. She cannot allow fear to make her decisions if she wishes to survive. So go. I'll be fine."

"Right well. . . " he started for the door. "Um. . . what's your shoe size?"

"Six."

"Right, bye. Back soon," he promised, as he quickly left the room.





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