By the time Wednesday had arrived, Spike was about ready to rip his hair out. Either that or eviscerate something to help ease the tension. He was starting to understand why Anya had never hired help for the shop during her tenure as owner: no one met her standards.

There were eight interviews which end in eight rejections. There were another six that didn't even make it to the interview stage. Anya was ruthless, weeding out those who didn't meet her standards. "That one would have never been able to understand the subtleties between amulet types," she informed him after the latest rejection left the shop. Someone would have asked for something to perform a fertility ritual and he'd accidentally give them something to cause impotence."

"How could you possibly know that? You only asked him five questions."

Anya gathered the application papers together and carefully tapped the edges against the table to straighten them. "Because he's shopped here before and butted into a conversation with a customer I was having and did precisely that. Either he's incompetent or malicious...and incompetent is more likely. I only interviewed him because I wanted to see if he'd actually learned anything since then."

In the three years he'd known her, there had been moments Spike had wanted to wrap his hands around Anya's neck. This was one of them. "What about the Wicca girl, then? Not the "earth mother', 'moonbeams,' 'ancient sisters' and all that rot one, but the one who actually seemed to know some basics about spell casting. What was her name?"

He reached for the pile of applications, setting them awry again as he searched for the application he wanted. "Debra. What was wrong with her?"

Anya raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Did you notice her reaction when I mention the restricted section? The way she shuddered?"

"So she's not comfortable with the dark stuff. We just keep her away from it. We actually stock most of it for our research anyway, don't we?"

"Spike, how many of our customers dabble in grey areas? How many buy things that could be harmful? How has the traffic in pre-packaged vengeance spells been doing?"

Better than Spike would like to admit. In fact, they were running low, end of school angst having brought out the nasty in girls who got dumped or otherwise mistreated around the prom. Drawing on her experience as a vengeance demon, Anya had created a line of small, relatively harmless spells to serve the call, with "Jock Itch For a Week" and "Have the Car He Loves More Than Me Develop a Problem He Can't Diagnose" proving especially popular.

"Can you picture her being comfortable with that?" Anya continued. "What about our books on curses? Whoever works here needs to understand that some of these things are not hippy-dippy white magic and we're going to keep selling them."

He hated it when she was right. "I didn't have this much trouble hiring minions," he complained.

"Minions you can kill if you're unhappy with them; employees are more difficult to get rid of. There is always the possibility you could be sued for wrongful termination and there's the state Employment Development Department to deal with, as well as the additional taxes and costs associated with an employee. There were reasons I intended to pay you and Tara in cash."

The idea of hiring help suddenly sounded much less appealing. For a moment, he thought of trying to go it alone. Then he looked out the front window and saw the afternoon sun shining down. "I've got to have someone here. What if I need an errand run?"

"I see your point," she admitted grumpily. "I just feel there are certain standards that need to be adhered to and I hate to see things slip."

"If you're that worried, I'd be happy to sell..."

"No." Anya's voice was firm. "Running the shop was part of my life with Xander. I've put that behind me. Time to find something else to occupy my time -- between buying trips for you and Giles, of course. I just need to get you trained up."

Spike decided he was very glad Halfrek had bailed five minutes into the first interview. He didn't even want to think what type of innuendo she could come up with from Anya's last statement. Hmm, maybe there was a candidate for evisceration.

Dawn and Buffy were supposed to meet them at the shop shortly after six and they'd head off to dinner before going to the roundtable after Spike had finished closing. Another reason to be glad Halfrek had decided shop business was too boring for her notice. If she'd been there, she would have invited herself along.

The girls were on time, but with Anya closely watching how Spike closed down, it was nearly six-thirty by the time they made it to supper. With the meeting starting at eight and Anya eager to be on time, if not early, the meal ended up being rather rushed with what little conversation there was dominated by Anya's descriptions of the various figures in the local political machine as Dawn listened intently. But Buffy reached for his hand under the table at one point, so all was right with the world.

They were still holding hands as they walked into the Community Room of the Sunnydale Public Library, following in Anya's wake. A number of familiar faces were already present, the networking Spike was rapidly becoming familiar with in full swing. He'd never had the chance to really witness Anya in this environment and it was a sight to behold. She not only knew everyone, she seemed to know what was happening with their businesses. Watching her press the flesh as she made the rounds called to mind smooth political bosses of days and places past.

"So it's true; Anya did sell you the shop." Cole Morgan, owner of the local butcher's was a round man not much taller than Spike with salt-and-pepper hair and a mustache that was still predominantly black. "I'll confess to being a little surprised when I heard."

"Surprise to me, too. Anya felt the need for a change, though, and she made me an offer I really couldn't refuse." It felt strange to speak socially to the man he'd bought blood from for the past three years.

Morgan looked over to where Anya was happily chatting up some representatives from the bank. "Won't be quite the same without her; she's been a rather vital part of the activities around here."

Somehow, Spike couldn't shake the feeling he was being judged and found wanting. "Do you know Buffy?" he asked for lack of anything else to say, tugging her forward.

Morgan smiled. "I'm quite familiar with Miss Summers...and her work." He glanced down at their clasped hands. "I should go find a seat. They're going to be starting soon."

"Don't know why I let Demon Girl talk me into this," Spike grumbled as the man moved away. "This is her thing, not mine. I imagine it wasn't Giles' either." Realizing Buffy was being rather silent at his side, he looked down to find her watching Morgan with a rather distracted expression. "What's wrong, pet?"

"He knows I go after vampires and other things," she said quietly. "I've asked him for information before."

And Morgan definitely knew Spike was a vampire; the man was no fool. "Did I put my foot in it?"

"Nooooo." Buffy shook her head. "It just feels a little weird. It's like everyone's learning we're seeing each other all at once. Except Anya. Does she know? She didn't say anything."

"She knows. She was in the shop when Dawn made a fuss over it, complaining that you'd gone all gooey-eyed."

"I did not go gooey-eyed! Well, not much."

Her slightly annoyed expression made him chuckle. "We'd better do some mixing before Anya has my hide."

By the time the call came for everyone to take their seats, Spike had managed to greet a number of familiar faces, enough that Anya should be convinced he'd at least made an attempt to network. A surprising number of people seemed to know who Buffy was, even if they hadn't actually met her. "I though slayers were supposed to be secret identity types," he whispered as they grabbed seats in the back row.

"A little hard when you lead your high school class in a battle against a giant snake," she whispered back.

He had a witty comeback, but the Mandybot was stepping up to the microphone, perky as ever, to start the proceedings. There were a few announcements, most of which might be of vague interest, he supposed. No matter how much Anya pressured him, he still couldn't drum up much enthusiasm for these things.

Announcements done, Mandy introduced the evening's guests. This Spike did pay attention to, listening to the brief biographies offered up. Three of the four men sitting on the platform had been part of the Sunnydale City Council during Wilkins' tenure as mayor and two of them were still in office; the fourth was head of the public works department, a position he'd held for nearly twenty years.

Each man made a brief statement about their positions on the issues facing Sunnydale; each was clearly positioning himself for a run for one of the five seats on the City Council or for Mayer that fall. A glance to his side told Spike Buffy was listening intently, her face focused toward the front. A tickle of worry began at the back of his neck as he wondered if perhaps there was something more serious at work than he'd originally imagined.

Most of the proceedings were as to be expected: bland questions with bland answers, concerns about business and taxes and what did they think should be done about crime in light of the recent daylight shooting on Main Street. Once again, the ability for denial among Sunnydale residents reached new and amazing proportions. Their concerns were genuine enough, but deaths from vampire bites became "wild dog attacks" while Willow's magical meltdown in the Magic Box was ascribed to "gang vandalism." Spike supposed he couldn't complain about that too much since this was the explanation that had been offered -- and accepted by -- the insurance company. The best one, though, was the concern about the hallucinogens that had been dumped into the water supply last November that had caused people to spontaneously sing and dance.

The politicians fielded the questions with little difficulty, and it quickly became apparent their appearance here was more to feel out what issues were important to potential voters than actually promote their positions. This was June; the election wasn't until November, which left plenty of time to duck and weave as needed.

As the event dragged on, Spike started to wonder if perhaps they hadn't wasted an evening; Johnson, the man Anya suspected of being behind the voter registration scam was present, but so far Anya had been silent. It was not to last, however, and when the Mandybot at last called on her, Spike couldn't help but tense a little.

Anya looked every inch the concerned business woman when she rose to her feet. "I was wondering what the candidates would do to prevent abuse of the system through voter registration fraud."

Instantly, there were four fixed smiles staring back at her. "Presumably," she continued, "Persons who are registered to vote who aren't actually entitled to would vote as they were told by the people who registered them."

Silence as she waited for her answer. Both Spike and Buffy sat up straighter, watching for the reaction. It was hard to tell with so many people in the room, but Spike would have been willing to bet that heart rates on the platform were suddenly a bit more rapid.

The answers were all the same, decrying any such practices and promising swift retribution against the miscreants if they were discovered. At least, that was what the answered boiled down too, only with more words. When they were finished, Anya was still standing, though, looking quite unsatisfied. "Then I take it the voter registration table at The Alibi Room was sanctioned through the appropriate channels, although I don't recall a bar being used for that purpose before.

That started a buzz in the audience. Clearly more than a few people had some familiarity with The Alibi Room, although it was doubtful the place was ever discussed in polite company.

The smiles on the politicians were becoming more fixed by the moment. At last, Johnson took the mike. "We always encourage civic groups to participate in voter registration drives, such as the one the Chamber has planned later in June. I will admit that The Alibi Room is a somewhat...unusual choice for locale."

Anya wasn't giving up. "So, if I were to contact..."

She broke off and looked down at Dawn. "The California Secretary of State," came Dawn's voice loud and clear.

"...Then they would have records of a request to distribute voter registration cards at that location."

For just an instant, Johnson's smiled faded. "I'm afraid the city doesn't keep tabs on every group that wishes to help encourage citizens to do their civic duty, so I can't speak to this precise incident." He held up his hand to stop whatever follow-up she might have. "However, if you will give my aide," he indicated a slim and nervous-looking young man leaning against the wall, "the information you have, I assure you, Miss Jenkins, that I will personally look into the matter. Will that prove satisfactory?"

Anya's expression showed it wasn't what she wanted, but she let the matter go, sitting down in a huff as Dawn leaned in to whisper something. Johnson might have returned to his seat, but he was watching Anya and his expression was not exactly friendly.

The questions after that proved a bit anti-climatic and Mandy soon wrapped things up, giving the four gentlemen the opportunity to circulate among those who were gathered. "Somehow I don't think Anya's going to be terribly popular with this crowd," Spike told Buffy as they hovered at the edges.

"Maybe not with the politicians, but she seems to have made a hit with everyone else."

Buffy's words were a bit of an understatement. To a casual observer, it might appear that Anya was as much a candidate for public office as the men who'd been speaking, given the number of people gathered around her. It was a side of her Spike hadn't seen before and made him wonder if some of the put-downs Xander delivered in Anya's direction didn't result from feelings of inferiority.

Given that a number of people present had met him on previous occasions, Spike wasn't allowed to linger on the sidelines for very long. "I didn't get a chance to say hello before everything started," Maria said by way of greeting. "I've been meaning to stop by and see how you're settling in. How is Tara doing?"

Even though he hadn't seen Maria since the Mixer at the Magic Box, Spike found himself falling into easy conversation. "So we're rebuilding and Tara's being released from the hospital next week," he told her he finished the roundup of what was going on in his life. "Buffy's going to help see her through the recovery."

Again, there was recognition as Maria turned toward Buffy. "So nice to finally meet you, Miss Summers. You might know my son; he was in your graduating class. In fact, I was at graduation."

Spike had to look at Maria with a new appreciation as the woman told Buffy how much she appreciated what Buffy had organized. He wouldn't have guessed she had a son Buffy's age; a teenager, quite possibly but not one in their early twenties. It was also clear that unlike many in Sunnydale, she wasn't in denial about what went on in the town...which made him wonder if she realized what he was.

Anya made her way over to them, looking happy and a bit flushed, Dawn trailing in her wake. "Wasn't she great?" Dawn asked, the exposed page of her notebook covered with notes.

"It was fun to watch you put those men on the defensive," Maria said. "I noticed Mr. Johnson managed to avoid actually answering your question."

"Not surprising," Anya said. "He probably knows more than he's saying, given his reaction. Do you realize he's been a member of the City Council for twelve years? How much did he know about Wilkins and his plans?"

Maria nodded. "There really hasn't been a change in city government since then. Oh, we got one new person on the council in the 2000 elections, and Mayor Hopkins wasn't one of Wilkins' men, but I think there's a concerted effort to get him out of office."

"Someone needs to show them they can't just keep things status quo." Anya was beginning to look a bit indignant again. "Someone needs to stand up to them."

"Why not you, Anya?" Cole Morgan had joined the group. "I don't know what your plans are, but since you're not running the Magic Box anymore, would you have time to run for City Council?"

This was bad. The idea of a vengeance demon on the Sunnydale City Council boggled Spike's mind. The idea of this particular vengeance demon on the City Council was even worse. Then he saw the gleam in her eye. "I hadn't thought of that. Is the Espresso Pump still open? Maybe we should talk about this over coffee."

She led the way, linking arms with Maria and Morgan. Dawn didn't hesitate, but took off after the three. "Do we snatch the Niblet and run like hell for home or do we go and watch the disaster happen?" Spike asked Buffy.

"I think I want to know if Anya's going to go for this, so maybe we better tag along." As they headed for the door, she muttered under her breath, "I've already dealt with one apocalypse this year..."

***

"She's going to do it. She's really going to do it."

"She said she wanted a new challenge." Spike took a swig of the beer Buffy had found for him in her refrigerator. "Have to admit the choice is surprising."

They were sitting on the back porch, having escaped from the discussion at the Espresso Pump far later than either would have liked. They would have still been there if the café's staff hadn't shooed the group out so they could finish closing. There'd been more than enough time, though, for the groundwork for Anya's campaign to be laid. "At least Dawn's lost interest in pursuing the registration scandal," Buffy said, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"I wouldn't count on that. Oh, she seems excited enough to be de facto campaign manager for the moment, but if Anya brings up voter fraud any time between now and November, Niblet will be right back in it."

Buffy buried her head on her knees with a groan. "Campaign manager. How is she going to time to do that and her schoolwork?"

"Should get her a good grade in her civics class, at least." When Buffy answered this with another groan, Spike set down his beer and slipped his arm around her. "If you're worried about it, have a word with Anya, let her know Dawn's got some restrictions."

She sat up, shifting her position so she was snuggled into the crook of his arm. "It's not just that. While they were talking, I was thinking of everything I've got to take care of. There's Social Services to worry about. Tara's coming home next week and she's going to need someone here for most of the time for a while. I need to find a job, but if Dawn's gone in the mornings for school, I need to be here for Tara and I've got to leave some time for patrolling and no one seems to want to hire me anyway..."

Spike drew her closer, not for the first time wishing he had the words to make everything right. In some ways, it'd been easier to deal with Drusilla; he could simply shower her with jewels or bring her someone interesting to eat when she got bored. A new dolly could lift depression and make her eyes sparkle again.

Buffy was a more difficult proposition. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and take care of her the way he'd been taught a woman should be cared for, but he knew she'd never allow that...and it wouldn't be in the nature of the strong, independent, stubborn and annoying as hell woman he loved to do so. All he could do is listen to her problems and try to make her feel better, help her with Dawn when she'd let him and make her life a little easier in small ways.

"It's going to be alright," he assured her, not knowing what else to say as he smoothed her hair back from her face. "You'll find a job, something that suits you, gives you time to do the things you need to do." He paused as an ugly thought occurred to him. "The bank's not pounding at the door to repossess the house, is it?"

She laughed and shook her head. "That's actually the one thing I don't have to worry about. Mom took out insurance on the mortgage that paid off the balance when she died. And we still get a little money from the gallery each month; at least the manager Dad hired seems to be keeping it at break-even level, so I don't have to worry about putting money into it. Maybe I should talk to Dad, see about selling it or closing it down, using the money for something else like Dawn's college fund."

He hugged her a little closer. "See? Things aren't completely dismal."

"Talking it out helps. Talking it out with you..." She looked up at him, showing the first hint of a smile he'd seen since they'd arrived home. "It's been a while since we've talked like this. I've missed it."

"I've missed it too," Spike confessed. "Wish we hadn't stopped."

"You told me how you felt and I kind of wigged."

He caressed her cheek. "Not like I hadn't told you before," he whispered.

She was looking up at him, the porch light catching the green in her eyes. "This time I believed you. That's what frightened me."

"If it frightened you so much, why did you kiss me outside the Bronze?" He brushed his lips gently across her forehead.

"Because you were right; I wanted you. I was convinced it was wrong, though. Angel has a soul and you..."

"Would go to hell and back if that's what you needed." He kissed her then, effectively putting an end to the conversation. There was little sound for the next few minutes except for the words he murmured against her skin.

Finally, Buffy came up for air, pushing against him. "Spike. Don't..."

"Don't what?" He was nibbling his way down her throat, his hands slipping up under the hem of her shirt to stroke her back."

She started to relax into his touch, then pushed him away more firmly. "I mean it. I don't...we made such a mess of it last time. I'd rather take it slow, be sure."

His hands didn't move from under her shirt, fingers tracing the line of her spine. "I'm sure."

"I'm not. I have feelings for you, Spike and I'm trying to figure them out. I don't know if I love you or I just want to jump your bones."

Spike grinned at that and moved in to kiss her again, but her arms stiffened to keep him at a distance. "Do you have any idea how easy it'd be to just drag you upstairs, fall into bed and not get out for a week? I could forget that I don't have a job, that Social Services isn't happy I'm unemployed, a hundred other things that bug me. I can't do that again. I can't hide from things that way."

The words brought echoes of what she'd said to him the morning after his crypt had been destroyed and it was enough to have him sit back. As much as he wanted her, something in the back of his brain was shouting that if he pushed at this moment, he could completely bugger things up for the future. Sure, he might awaken the next morning to find himself snuggled up to a nice warm slayer, but he didn't particularly want a replay of their first morning together which might happen if she had doubts.

The silence weighed heavy on them for moments that seemed to stretch uncomfortably out to infinity. Then, because he couldn't stand to listen to nothing but the sound of distant crickets, Spike cocked one eyebrow and let himself smirk. "Only a week? So it's a quickie you were thinking about?"

For a moment, it looked as if his mouth might have gotten him in trouble again, but then she slapped him on the arm. "Spike, you're a pig!" she informed him in a voice that was half annoyed, half laughing. He was laughing as well as he pulled her across the distance to him for a little more sweetness before he retired to a very lonely crypt.

***

Thoughts of him and Buffy together on the back porch were about the only thing Spike had to smile about the next day. There was the frustrating conversation with his supplier about the steady stream of petrified hamsters that kept making their way to the shop and which he kept returning -- at his expense. The postage was starting to add up and he couldn't understand why they kept sending them when their books had no record of orders being placed for that item for over a year.

Then there was the insurance company, although that had a slightly better outcome. Giles had asked Xander to do some estimates on rebuilding before he left for England and the insurance vultures at last agreed to a figure that would cover most of it, even though the shop would end up paying for it in increased premiums. But since Spike couldn't prove Buffy's training room was actually used for business purposes, its renovation wasn't going to be covered.

Reaching a settlement on the insurance meant he'd need to call Giles that evening. It also meant a call to Xander to tell him work could proceed. The discussion was civil enough, but when Xander told him he'd be by that afternoon so they could finalize details, the realization Spike would have to endure at least a couple of weeks of his company while the work was done slammed home.

To make matters worse, he'd asked Debra, the applicant he'd liked, to come back for a second interview. Anya had to be wrong and surely the girl would have no problem with the fact much of the shop's product fell into gray areas.

Anya was right. The girl was bright, capable...and didn't want anything to do with material that had even the faintest whiff of possibly being associated with dark magics. Tara hadn't cared for the pre-packaged vengeance spells either, but she'd agreed it was better for an angry female to clog up a guy's carburetor than try something worse.

Debra couldn't even deal with that. What started out promising quickly devolved and by the time the girl left without the offer of employment he'd intended to make, Spike's mood was grim.

It was a day where he tempted to put out the "closed" sign and creep home, catch Passions live rather than on video later that evening and the sound of the bell over the door was not a welcome one.

All that flew from his mind at the sight of a very depressed-looking Buffy. "I have no marketable skills. I don't know computers, I'm not familiar with the latest version of Office, I've never even looked at a spreadsheet or database program except for the tests agencies give me and I was so nervous I typed twenty-three words per minute with six errors."

Spike had no idea what the last part mean, but it clearly wasn't good. "So you didn't do well; there are other places."

As her face started to crumble, Spike realized he'd managed to stick his foot into it. "I think I've been to every temp agency in Sunnydale. I haven't done well at any of them."

He didn't know what else to do except put his arms around her. "I'm not good for anything except flipping burgers or sticking vampires with pointy pieces of wood."

"And where would we be without that?" he asked. "You stick vampires and save the world; sounds good to me."

"But it's not going to buy me groceries or pay the bills. Everyone else seems to be able to find a job." She looked up at him. "Even you. You're running the shop, something I never thought I'd see."

The telephone rang and Buffy pulled away. "You should answer that."

Feeling somewhat distracted, Spike picked up the phone. "Magic Box...yes, I put the ad in the paper..."

He listened with only half a mind as the woman at the other end of the line rattled off her credentials: Robinson's-May, Borders, a few other generic retail establishments, his attention focused on the woman who had seated herself at his research table. He'd left a copy of the day's Sunnydale Press there and she opened it to the classifieds, clearly picking up the search despite the latest setback. "Actually, I don't think I want to schedule any further interviews at this point," he told the caller when she paused for breath.

Hanging up, he headed for the table and settled himself on a bench next to Buffy's. "You need a job that allows you to take care of Tara and gives you time to slay, right? Something that's not going to pay you just minimal wage. I need someone who can help me in the shop, won't freak out over the stuff we sell and can run errands in the sunlight."

He was nuts; he had to be for even considering the idea. All he could see at the moment, though, was how it would help the both of them. "Why don't you come work here?"

She stared at him for so long, he started to wonder if he'd slipped into game face. "Spike," she said at last, "Do you remember me sitting in your crypt drinking whiskey and telling you how much I hated retail?"

"I remember. I also remember that I said you weren't a shop girl. You aren't. You are however, in need of a job just as badly as I'm in need of help. Retails not my favorite thing, either. I'm stuck with it for the moment though." He reached out to lay his hand on hers. "It'd help you and you know I'm not going to get upset if you have to run off and slay something. Look, how much did they pay you at the Doublemeat Hell-Hole?"

She mumbled a figure which sounded pathetic to his ears. She'd had to endure the humiliation of menial labor and a stupid hat for that? When he'd talked to Giles about bringing someone on, he'd learned there were rules about the minimum one was required to pay; the Doublemeat clearly felt its employees weren't more than that.

He took a deep breath. "Look, I'm serious about this. I'll pay you better than your last job and we'll work on the hours. I'd rather have you here than anyone I've talked to...and you can keep me from killing Harris while he's doing the rebuilding."

The bell rang and this time it was a customer, one that was clearly trying to catch his eye. Reluctantly, Spike went to take care of business, hoping Buffy wouldn't bolt while he was gone. The transaction proved fairly straightforward and he found himself back at the table within ten minutes.

Buffy hadn't bolted, but her expression was serious as he sat back down. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, yes, it would solve my job problem, but I'm not sure about us spending that much time together."

He reached out to stroke the back of her hand. "Might help you figure out how you feel about me, seeing me for non-slaying things."

"I don't have a lot of patience with customers."

"So I have you do mostly mail orders and stock the shelves. Hey, I've managed to avoid killing anyone so far."

She fell silent again. The longer it took for her to reject the idea out of hand, the more likely it was he could get her to say yes. It wasn't just the idea of having her there each and every day; it was knowing she wouldn't be spending all her time worrying about how to juggle earning a living with the other responsibilities.

Just as he was trying to come up with another argument to sway her, she met his eyes. "Would I have to wear a nametag?"

Gotcha. "Do I look like the nametag type?"

Buffy sighed. "I probably need my head examined, but I'll do it."

He was on his feet in an instant, sweeping her into his arms. "When can you start?" he asked, not caring if he was grinning like a madman. He'd offered her help in a non-slaying capacity and she'd accepted it.

Now she was grinning too, her face lighter with a burden lifted. "Now?"

"Just the answer I was hoping for."

By the time she pulled back, they were both breathing hard. "I'm not at all certain I should work here if we keep doing this," Buffy said.

"No!" He didn't mean to voice the sudden panic he felt, but the idea of her deciding she wouldn't take the job was enough to make him swear he wouldn't touch her during business hours. Convinced he sounded like a complete git, he blathered something about keeping his distance and maintaining a professional relationship.

Only when he realized she was watching him with a warmth he'd rarely, if ever, seen her show him, did the flow of words slow down. "You only offered me this job because you didn't want me to starve to death, didn't you?"

"It wasn't the only reason," he admitted. He wasn't going to lie to her and claim that had nothing to do with his offer; he didn't lie very well and she always knew when he tried. Besides, if he tried to lie and she caught him, she might decide she didn't want to work with him.

She didn't get angry though, but reached out to caress his cheek. "That's probably one of the sweetest things anyone's ever done for me."

Sweet? Big bad vampires weren't "sweet." They were tough, fierce, evil creatures of the night. If the guys at Willy's ever heard him called "sweet," he'd never be able to show his face there again. He was about to tell her as much, but she was looking up at him with something approaching tenderness and his chest did a flip-flop.

The shop bell rang and Spike reluctantly pulled himself away from the green eyes he wanted to drown in to discover Xander had arrived. "I was beginning to wonder if those insurance buzzards were ever going to come up with something...uh, hello, Buffy."

She drew back her hand, but let it come to rest on Spike's arm. "Hi, Xander. Spike tells me he's got the go-ahead for you to start reconstruction."

Xander looked from one to the other, his eyes focusing on Buffy's hand. "Okay, I so did not need to see that."

"Spike just hired me to fill in for Tara," Buffy said by way of explanation.

It clearly wasn't the most welcome of news. "And you accepted him why?"

Spike opened his mouth to give the whelp what for, but Buffy beat him to it. "Because he's the only one who's offered me the hours I need at a living wage. He's the only one who won't fire me if I have to run off to fight something or some big ugly comes after me."

Xander winced a little at that one. "Okay, so my last retail experience wasn't so wonderful," she continued, "and Spike and I may well end up killing each other, but it's the best offer I've gotten so far."

If she wasn't going to admit to her disastrous experience with the local temp agencies, Spike wasn't going to mention it either. She was willing to stand there next to him in front of Harris, which made it a moment to treasure.

Xander still looked uncomfortable, but he appeared to have gotten the message. If he hadn't, Spike would be looking for a new contractor no matter what he'd promised Giles. No way was he going to put up with Xander giving Buffy grief.

Fortunately, the troops fell in line with the general's wishes and they were able to get down to business. While Buffy filled out the pile of paperwork one needed from a new employee, Spike and Xander discussed where it would be best to start first. As much as he would have preferred it otherwise, Spike was forced to agree with Xander's assessment that the shop area should be done first, before any work was started to restore the training room.

At length, Buffy finished the paperwork and Spike scrawled a note to Colleen before dispatching Buffy to take the papers to the accountant. It felt good to see that the spring was back in her step as she headed toward the door, promising to be back as soon as possible.

The minute the door closed behind her, Spike turned to Xander. "You've got five minutes, Harris. You want to say something, here's your chance."

"Oh, like it's going to change anything? You've got the shop, you've got Buffy in some type of thrall...you've even got Giles convinced it's a good idea to have you around." Xander made another note on his pad. "I'm doing this because Giles asked me to and because it's one way I can help Buffy, making sure she's got a place to train. If it wasn't for that, I wouldn't have even taken your call."

"I don't want the bloody shop, but Demon Girl won't take it back, so I might as well make the best of it. Second, Dru's the one who knows how to do thrall, not me. Buffy and I...we're still trying to figure out what the hell we're doing."

"Looked like the two of you were pretty cozy when I saw you at dinner."

The pad was down on the table now and Spike found it difficult to suppress a grin. He'd end up with one hell of a headache if it came to blows, but better now than later. Xander was keeping his distance, but the tension was impossible to miss. "That why you came over to bother us? Because we might actually be having a conversation?"

"That why you hired her? So you could have more 'conversation' with her?" Xander's fingers were twitching, though he didn't look like he was actually going to go for a punch. At least, not yet.

"I hired her because she needs a job. Contrary to what you might think, I don't fancy Buffy starving or being hounded by bill collectors. Once, it would have been a different story. Now, I want to help her just as much as you do."

"So hiring her for a job she hates is going to help her? I heard Anya's description of how she did the couple of hours she worked here."

"I heard, too. Came to my crypt and cadged my whiskey to drown her sorrows." Xander's eye was twitching now. "Even if she hates it, working here is a damn sight better than the Doublemeat Palace."

Spike waited for a comeback, but there was none forthcoming. "Anya said she really sucked at being a sales clerk," Xander said at last.

"I have no illusions. Don't think I haven't noticed she's a bit lacking in the bedside manner from time to time."

Another pause. "I still don't like you. I don't like you being around her."

"And if I hurt her, you'll stake me. I know."

"Well, probably not now. I stake you, Buffy's out of a job again." The corner of Xander's mouth twitched. "I might pad the bill a bit, though."

"You're a contractor; I expect it."

They weren't okay with each other -- likely never would be -- but there would be a truce of sorts for the near future, at least long enough to get the shop rebuilt. By the time Buffy returned, the two men had come up with a tentative order for the work and Xander was seated at the research table to make some lists. Since traffic was quiet, Spike started taking Buffy through some of the shop procedures, assuring her he didn't expect her to get it right the first time. After all, he hadn't, although he and Tara had been able to bury the evidence before Anya had returned. "The one thing I insist on is that you write legibly," he told her as they went over the hold procedures. "Give me any of that fruit-fly writing like Giles does and I'll sack you."

Buffy laughed even as the door opened to admit Anya and Dawn. "Well, I've done it," Anya announced. "You are looking at the newest candidate for Sunnydale City Council."

"At least once she gets a hundred people to sign the petition nominating her," Dawn chimed in.

"Dawn's going to figure out exactly what I need." Anya smiled proudly. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

"My teacher's thrilled. She thinks this is a great project. I see an 'A' in my future."

Xander looked up from his lists, a puzzled expression on his face. "Wait a minute. You're running for City Council?"

Anya turned a slightly cool eye on him. "Yes. My fellow businessmen enlisted my participation and I was more than happy to answer the call."

Making campaign speeches already. Spike made himself a mental bet she'd manage to tell Harris this meant she had no time for him, get him to sign the nomination petition and work on the campaign.

"Isn't it a little...sudden? I mean, people don't usually run for public office on a whim, especially with as well an established a machine as Wilkins left." There was genuine concern on his face. "That's who you're running against, Ahn; the guys who last time backed a giant snake."

"Whom Buffy blew up most effectively, I might point out." Anya turned her attention to Buffy. "I can count on your vote, of course."

Buffy gave her impression of a deer caught in the headlights. "Sure...but don't you have to be registered or something like that?"

"Dawn, we need to make sure Buffy registers to vote."

"Already made a note of it."

It was going to be a long time until November. "I need to talk to you," Anya continued, clearly on a roll. "Dawn suggested that your house would make an excellent campaign headquarters."

As Buffy squawked, Dawn explained, "Anya and I have been talking and at first a lot of the work will be done evenings and weekend, so someone will be there to help with Tara while you patrol. Oh, and I ran into some of Tara's friends from her Wicca group at UC Sunnydale. They're willing to come in and help from time to time so you can get out of the house."

"Which might help your earning potential, so you can find a job that doesn't pay less than your last one," Anya said.

"That's great, but..." Buffy looked from Dawn to Spike, then back to Dawn again. "I just got a job."

Now it was Anya's turn to play deer. "You hired Buffy? Are you out of your mind? We've tried it before and it didn't work."

"We're trying it again," Spike said firmly. "I called the paper and pulled the ad."

"I know you were getting desperate, but..."

"I hired Buffy." His voice was even firmer. "Who owns the shop now?"

Since he wasn't offering to sell it back at the moment, she didn't have much of an answer and changed the subject. "How's it going with the insurance? I assume that has something to do with why Xander's here. Have they settled?"

"Finally. We're getting the work started...when are we getting started, Harris?"

"Hopefully tomorrow afternoon. I've got a two week layover until the next job starts up, so I want to get as much done during that time. What I don't get done then will have to be evenings and weekends."

Anya arched an eyebrow at Spike. "Did they include the training room in that settlement?"

"No," he had to admit. "Couldn't prove it was used for business purposes."

"See, this is why I said you needed to turn it either into a storeroom or more retail..."

"And again I say no. That's a closed subject."

Anya sighed, just as she always sighed when he refused to listen to her suggestions. "There's got to be a way you could make that space earn its keep."

"And as soon as you come up with one that lets Buffy keep her training room, let me know. Besides, shouldn't you be saving your brain power for campaign strategy?"

It wasn't the most graceful of brush offs, but Anya took the hint, pulling over Dawn over to the table to begin strategizing. After two minutes, Spike realized he was well on his way to winning his bet, given the expression on Xander's face. Nor did he have any illusions that he'd escape being drawn into this campaign despite his non-voting status.

If the old Wilkins crowd was behind the voter registration at Willy's, there was no doubt Anya was going to shove their noses out of joint before the election was done. Whether the fighting would stay political or move into areas where he and Buffy could actually swing an axe at something remained to be seen.

Buffy asked him a question about how they were supposed to charge shipping for special orders and he turned his attention back to the book that lay on the counter in front of him. He wouldn't worry about the campaign for the moment; here was enough to occupy his mind.

Back to Part 1

Back to Episode 14: Aftermath

On to Episode 16: Answers