I don't own or profit from BtVS.

I suggest rereading chapter 24 of Dawn of a New Age. It will give you a clearer understanding of the subtext in this chapter.

Many thanks to ObscureBookWyrm.

The Dawning

Chapter Ten

Spike stood in elegant dishabille, his pointed white collar and two-inch cuffs in sharp contrast to the ultra-black rumpled Hugo Boss suit, and poured himself a glass of Glenlivet from the cut-crystal decanter that sat atop of the polished chrome and glass wet bar inside his office at Eden. He silently offered to pour one for Dekker, shrugging when the demon shook his head, keeping his sentinel position by the door.

Dekker eyed the whiskey, knowing the nearly full decanter would be empty by the end of the night.

"You doin' okay, boss?"

"Never better." Spike belted back the whiskey and poured himself another before taking the decanter and his tumbler back to his desk.

Spike's spirits hadn't improved after holding his baby girl for the first time a few days ago. If anything the vampire's mood had worsened. He was unpredictable and nasty, nearly breaking two of a Centoid demon's eight arms when the male dared to grab one of the working girls.

Arm-breaking fell squarely in Dekker's job domain, so Spike branching out to commit violence against the customers made the bodyguard squirrely. Something was going on with the guy, and like usual, Dekker was pretty sure it had something to do with the Slayer.

He couldn't understand the appeal himself. Sure, the Slayer was strong, but she was an unattractive, scrawny bag of bones. All golden hair and skin. Downright ugly, she was.

But the boss loved her. He claimed differently, but it was clear to anyone who knew him. He loved her, despite how ruthlessly she broke his heart.

Seeing his baby girl and his woman hadn't improved Spike's mood one bit. The visitation had only made it worse. Being with the Slayer and holding Dawn had made Spike long for the family he'd never have, and it made him as mean as a Fyarl demon in heat.

Dekker could sympathize. He was a mated male with eight broodlings. He couldn't imagine his life without his family, and if anyone dared to take them from him, they'd be greeted by one awesomely pissed off Purgos demon in his full brute strength glory.

The smell of wood smoke was Dekker's only warning before dark shadows began to boil out from under the small crack beneath the door. Dekker scowled, resisting the urge to try stomping on the unformed shadows with his size twenty X-element motorcycle boots with the steel-reinforced tread.

Not that it would do any good.

The smoke swirled to the center of the room, forming into a towering, dark male irreverently dressed in dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Wicked, flame-like tribal tattoos swirled up the male's left arm, disappearing under his tee before reappearing at his collar, climbing all the way up his neck and along his shaved skull, ending at his temple. The black tattoo melded with his dark skin, becoming nearly invisible in low light, but something about the way it twisted and flared told of old, ancient magic that made Dekker's insides clench. The magic of the tattoo was evident in its very existence, going from soot black to bright reddish-orange when the demon became enraged. A demon of his power shouldn't be marked permanently in any form, either by scarring, burning or inking, yet the tattoo existed in all its burning glory.

"Dammit, Smoke. You're supposed to knock," Dekker snarled.

Smoke's oily-black eyes swiveled to Dekker, before centering back on Spike. Smoke's gaze disconcerted Dekker on a primal, predatory level. The black eyes, completely devoid of any color, even white corneas, designated Smoke as being a descendent of primordial demons. One of the first demons to be birthed out of the darkness before the war between light and dark.

In the hierarchy of demons, it should be Smoke who claimed the crown of master of Sunnydale, but the taciturn man never made a move to dethrone Spike. He even went so far as to serve Spike as one of his cadre. His nonchalance toward demon hierarchy made Dekker nervous and it was because of this, that he was determined not to show the greater demon any reverence.

Dekker was Spike's man. His loyalty was the vampire's, completely and irrevocably.

Spike, on the other hand, didn't seem to care about Smoke's pedigree, and treated him the same as any other demon in his cadre. If you preformed well, you were rewarded; if you stepped out of line, you were punished. Fortunately, Smoke never stepped out of line. Dekker shivered to think what a clash between the fire demon and the vampire would look like.

"Why? Knocking would waste time."

"You can't just barge in. What if the boss wanted privacy?"

Smoke's dark eyes roamed over Spike, before settling on the bottle of liquor at the vampire's elbow.

"Why?" Smoke asked in the same casual tone as before. "It isn't like the boss is going to be in here fucking some female."

Spike growled, ivory fangs flashing briefly beneath his curled lip. Dekker tensed, coming off the wall he'd been leaning against.

Smoke merely raised a brow. Everyone in the room knew Smoke spoke the truth. Spike wasn't going to be fucking any females anytime soon. No matter how broken-hearted, he still belonged to Buffy. A weakness that didn't need to be spoken aloud.

"Do you have a reason for being here, Gamesh?" Spike spat. Calling the fire demon by his given name, instead of his handle, had the same result as having his leash yanked. The demon straightened, his expression hardening.

"Just checking in with the latest intel."

The reason no one fucked with Smoke, other than his being a primordial, was that his insubstantial form gave him access to all kinds of hidden places. The male could disperse himself so thoroughly that even his subtle wood smoke scent couldn't be detected in a closed room. There wasn't a locked room or hidey hole that could hold the demon at bay. Because of this it made him a deadly effective spy and assassin.

"Let's have it." Animosity forgotten, Spike leaned forward on his elbows, giving all his attention to his man.

"Vampires calling themselves the Mitutu are nesting out by the Slayer's end of town––"

Spike cut Smoke off with a slash of his hand. "Don't worry about them."

Smoke raised a brow. "They're worshiping ––"

"I know. Alright." Spike shook his head, looking slightly constipated. "I know what they're worshiping, and just no."

"No?"

"No."

"Alright, moving on. Some demons have moved into a penthouse in downtown. Their sole purpose in life seems to be amassing the largest Dolce and Gabbana collection known to man."

Spike sat back in his chair. "Okay…"

"They're especially fond of snakeskin. Snakeskin pumps. Snakeskin belts. Not above leopard and zebra print dresses either."

Spike scrubbed the back of his neck. "Nothin' wrong with that, I suppose."

"And red. They really like red."

The three men shared a look and shrugged.

"Demons and vampires have been gathering, rallied by some sort of throwback of the Initiative. Something that escaped during the raid."

Spike ran a hand down his face. Dekker knew his boss didn't like to be reminded of anything to do with the Initiative. Those assholes had cost the man everything he held dear, and they continued to be a thorn in his side.

"What do you mean rallying?"

"Apparently this guy is offering up some sort of new world order. A place where demons and vampires will rule over the humans together."

"Christ, a fanatic," Dekker groaned. "I hate those guys."

"Do you have anything other than supposition?" Spike snapped, causing Dekker to eyeball him. When the boss started hurling around five dollar words it usually meant someone was going to get their ass handed to them.

Smoke shrugged, unaffected by Spike's nastiness. "I'm going to check it out now. They're hiding out in some cave in Breaker's Woods. Thought I'd swing by to let you know before I head out."

"Fine. Get some useable intel. I don't really care what some power-hungry demon is up to, just as long as it doesn't affect our people."

"Or the Slayer?" Smoke asked, seemingly unaware of how close his ass was getting to the fire. Or maybe he thought he was immune, being a primordial fire demon and all.

Spike tensed, and Dekker stepped forward, ready to defuse the situation.

"You still stalking that little girl?" Dekker smiled at Smoke, flashing rows of shark teeth.

Instantly, the vibe in the room changed. Smoke's demeanor changed from superior to almost sheepish. "I'm not stalking her," Smoke growled.

"Nah. Just watching her as she sleeps." Dekker chuckled and crossed the room, being sure to pass between the two men to disrupt the charged glare Spike was still sending the fire demon. He opened the cabinet beneath the wet bar, pulled out a silver bottle, and poured himself a glass of mercury-colored Slit'shr. The stuff was worse than hillbilly moonshine; even Spike with his cast iron gut didn't know how the demon could stomach the rot.

Spike leaned back in his leather chair, taking a sip of Glenlivet. "I know a bloke who likes to watch the girlies through their bedroom window."

Smoke snarled, dark strands of shadows standing up on his arms, waving like sea-swept tentacles. "I don't watch through the window." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I stand over her bed," he admitted.

Spike blinked, and Dekker's toothsome smile grew wider. "Creeper," the demon muttered through his rows of teeth.

"She has nightmares!"

"Yeah, and you standing over her bed is just what the doctor ordered."

Smoke tossed Dekker a truly evil look that a normal demon would have taken as a threat to watch his back. Dekker just threw back his head and laughed.

"How is the little mouse?" Spike asked while booting up his PC. Keeping Eden afloat and profitable was never-ending work.

"Still healing."

Spike's lips firmed, his chin dipping. "She'll be compensated."

"Yeah, she will be," Smoke promised, casting his boss a dark look. "'Til then I'm keeping an eye on her."

"Sure, cause sane, normal women just love to be creeped on. You're lucky she's human. A demon woman would have dismembered you by now. Why, my lovely, sweet Fec'lamar would have pulled my scrotum clear over my horns if I tried peepin' on her."

"That's because your wife is a nasty, flesh-eating giantess who's beat every male down at Willy's in arm wrestling," Smoke sneered.

"Oh, yeah." Dekker rubbed his belly, his satisfied smile growing. "She's some kind of woman. Not some timid human who's afraid of shadows." In a small explosion of air, Gamesh dispersed into smoke and floated beneath the door, ignoring Dekker's pleased laughter chasing him from the room.

"Oh, come on, Firestarter. Was it something I said?" Dekker boomed. The air vibrated with a growl, and Dekker continued to laugh long after Smoke trailed away.

Spike watched the men's antics, leaning back in his chair. His long fingers played along the edge of his leather blotter, his other hand wrapped around his glass as if loath to give up his grasp on the whiskey even briefly.

"You'd think he'd know better than to get involved with a human woman." Dekker's laughter died away, and he watched as Spike swallowed down more of the amber-colored alcohol. "Sure way to get his heart broken."

Dekker finished off his own drink, setting the glass aside. He only allowed himself one drink when working, and he never drank at home. He crossed his arms, tucking his fingers beneath his pits, trying for hearty nonchalance.

"No worries. Don't think that one has a heart."

Spike slugged back the last of his drink, finally setting his glass away from him as he turned toward the computer screen. "We've all got hearts, no matter how we try to dig them, still beating, from out chests."

Dekker was saved from having to reply by a timid knock on the door. Spike looked up from the screen, inhaling deeply.

"Come in, Chantilly."

The little flower demon shuffled inside, her hands clasped tightly together. Dekker didn't need Spike's super sniffer to tell something was wrong.

Dekker strode towards her, careful to stop a few feet away. Ever since being a prisoner of the Initiative she had been skittish. No one knew what happened to her there, but they had their suspicions. Just the thought of what she must have suffered made his fists knot up with the need to hit something repeatedly.

"What's the matter, girl?"

She lifted her head just high enough to send Spike a skittering glance from beneath the thick fringe of her coral lashes.

"It's Graham."

Dekker ground his teeth together in order to keep his bitter words to himself. The soldier was one man he'd like to get beneath his fists. Dekker didn't care that the male claimed to have a change of heart. He was a soldier of the Initiative. As far as Dekker was concerned that was enough to sign the man's death warrant.

"What about him?" Spike asked.

Chantilly's swallow of fear was loud enough for Dekker to hear, even feet away. "He's missing." She unknotted her hands, her long finger skimming along her throat. "I'm afraid something's happened to him."

Spike leaned back in his chair. "How do you know he's missing?"

"He was supposed to come over for dinner last night."

Dekker couldn't contain his scoff. It was bad enough the male entered their territory with his declarations of regret, but to try and claim one of their females as his own? It was unconscionable. Worse, Chantilly seemed to be falling for the man's manipulations and lies.

"Maybe he was off torturing some other female and forgot the time."

Chantilly scowled at him, nearly setting Dekker back on his heels. As a pacifist demon, she never scowled. Never got angry that he'd seen.

"Graham isn't like that."

"Sure he isn't."

"Knock it off, Dekker." Spike turned his attention back to Chantilly. "Is it possible he stood you up?"

Chantilly blushed. "No."

And there it was, transcendence of love in a single word. Her conviction of Graham's utter devotion to her. And wasn't that the fate of every single man there, even Gamesh. Devotion to a single woman, despite the heartbreak or tragedy it could potentially bring them.

Spike rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth, unsettled deep in his core, and wondering if he'd ever be free of Buffy. Wondering if he ever wanted to be.

"Well, then. I guess we better find him."