Buffy slowly unpacked her small suitcase, no more than all she owned stored tightly inside. Worn upholstery covering the hard corners of the valise, torn in some parts but soft dark rose color showing where the fabric was intact. It smelled of sweet dust and lavender and sentiments. The memories this bundle probably held, how many she could only guess. Decades up in the attic of her home that used to stand tall and proud with the knowledge that it soon would be passed down to the next Summers girl or boy. There was no telling what this little suitcase of hers would say if it could talk. It would probably spill some mischievous secrets only lonely wives and stubborn husbands should know of.

The suitcase of the past. Hmm. Buffy liked the sound of that, it sounded like some title to a kid’s novel. A book, one filled with adventures of a magical travel bag that would whisk people off to captivating lands.

The thought made the blonde girl smile slightly. It was her little tattered suitcase, which was nice because not much was hers anymore.

Inside the old wooden carrier were some clothes, three books, her grandfather’s old wristwatch, two pairs of shoes- she only had the two asides from the pair on her feet –some makeup, and a little flip book of photos with singed edges. She had some money in her jean jacket’s pocket, a locket around her neck, and a ponytail on her wrist. The girl had only brought with her what she had left. What the fire hadn’t destroyed.

Taking a deep breath and allowing two teardrops to slip from her eyes, the young woman swallowed hard and let out a shuddering breath.

Two tears, no more than that today.

She’d been in her Grams’ house for no longer than forty-five minutes and already it felt nicer than the hotel room she’d stayed at back in San Francisco. She was currently standing in her new bedroom. It was simple and not too large, as well as had a sweet southern feel to it that she liked.

The walls were deep champagne, but it was attractive. The mattress was soft and had so many homemade quilts lining it you’d think the thing was going to be used to catch a skydiver falling without his parachute. The dark wooden frame of the bed was obviously antique, and matched the molding that lined the room. The one large window she had was open, letting in the lovely smell of honey and autumn.

Alabama wasn’t so bad.

The chest of drawers by her door was tall and had cream colored lace draped across it. There was a purple shaded lamp next to a small angel statue adorning the piece of furniture as well. Next to her bed was a tiny two-drawer table, white painted wood with cold metal handles. The girl, sitting at the head of the mattress, leaned down and opened her nightstand. The bottom drawer was bare. The top one though held nothing other than a bible. Buffy smiled again and murmured to herself. “That’s Grams.”

Grams- her grandmother.

Buffy arrived not too long ago at the place she now called home. It had been a pretty slow bus ride from California to Alabama. Every mile farther she got from San Francisco she felt like a part of her was drifting away.

The move was sad and yet uplifting, as well as scary and hard; new and also uncomfortable. Her emotions were pretty hard to discern most of the time.

At present the girl was alone in her new house, breathing in the southern air and soaking up the warmth. Her Grams was out to the market. After picking Buffy up from the bus station and settling her in, the older woman had gone out to do the grocery shopping, claiming her granddaughter needed a hearty southern dinner after her long journey.

Buffy had declined the offer to go with. Instead she’d stayed back and gave herself the grand tour of the southern abode, including the creepy cellar- yes, she’d forced herself to go down there. She’d also explored the garden, admired the lettuce and other foliage growing in the back, and inspected the freshly painted kitchenette.

All together the place was inviting and homey. Tranquil.

Anne, her Grams- (hence why Buffy’s middle name was Anne as well) –had been a widow for over twenty years now. She’d lived in a small town her whole life, never planned on leaving. She was Buffy’s only really close family left at this point, and had taken the girl in.

The older Summers woman was always instantaneous with her love and care, and the young blonde adored her grandmother for that.

Her Grams’ affection was all that was keeping Buffy strong, for only a month and a half ago everything had changed…

The teenager was torn from her thoughts by a voice. It was accompanied by the rattling of the screen door up front of the house.

The girl ran ahead into the living room and pulled on the handle, letting her grandma inside and quickly taking one of the two large paper bags from the lady’s arms.

“Oh thank you dear.”

“Grams why didn’t you come get me to help you with these?!”

The woman eyed her granddaughter over the brown sack still in her hands. “Oh relax child I’ve been doin this here by myself since your granddaddy passed on. I know how to carry a grocery bag or two.” She admonished in her southern drawl.

Buffy’s brain immediately went to Papa at the ‘granddaddy passed on’ part of that sentence, but she knew her Grams hadn’t meant him. She didn’t let the look of sadness stay on her features for too long, quickly hiding it before Anne could notice. “Well I’m here now, so next time just come an get me.”

The women walked into the kitchen. “Do you have any other bags?”

“No dear.” They both set the filled packages down on the countertop. “And I wouldn’t a brought these things in with me on my own had you come with me down to the market.”

Buffy looked down a little guiltily, but her Grams gently pulled her chin back up. “Elizabeth, ya do realize sooner or later yous gunna have to get that cute little butt a yours out the house.”

The girl smiled slightly at the name, not many people actually called her that back home. Elizabeth was her given name, Buffy was just a nick. “Can’t I just keep my cute little butt inside? I mean, if you think it’s that adorable- Well there’s just no tellin WHAT will happen when I walk by a group of boys.”

Anne’s eyes squinted accusingly. “Oh now don’t you go pullin that stuff on me. You’re not a youngin anymore, Buffy, you’re nineteen! I think it might be good f’ya got some male attention ‘round here, but that’s not what I want you ta go out for an you know it.”

The teen rolled her eyes. “I go out, Grams.”

“Yeah, you go out.” The woman started methodically unloading the groceries. “Ya go walkin ‘round the block with your nose in a book, ya go to grab coffee somewhere and never bring ya eyes off a the page you're workin on.”

Okay so Buffy had always been a fan of books, she enjoyed reading. Ever since the incident a month and a half ago she’d taken it up dramatically, too. It was a nice escape- and without her friends she had more time on her hands.

To tell you the truth the books were better company than Buffy’s pals in California had been.

“Reading’s good.” She pouted inadvertently.

“You’re right, it is good.” Anne shut the refrigerator door and her voice turned soft. “But Buffy ever since…” A look was exchanged and no words needed be said to elaborate on the painful topic. “You just closed off after everythin. And I know you said you was givin farewells to ya friends last week back in San Francisco, but darlin’ asides from me when else have ya talked to anybody?”

“The funeral.” Buffy mumbled and looked hard at the wall.

Grams sighed. “I’m sorry honey. I didn’t mean ta-…”

The woman engulfed her granddaughter in a hug and the teenager returned it. A few tears slipped past her green eyes no matter how hard she tried to will them away.

“S’just I think I’m the only one you’ve opened up to at all, an none that wasn’t family came to the services… I just don’t want you to get lonely, especially now since you’re gonna be takin time off f’school an won’t have many people your age to hang ‘round with.” Her voice was worriedly strained.

The two women pulled apart and looked on at one another, both sets of eyes wet from sadness.

“I’ll be fine, Grams. I promise.”

She gave the girl a look.

Buffy sighed. “Tomorrow. Okay? I’ll go out tomorrow. I just got here, and I’ll need to explore. Haven’t seen this old town since I was, what- ten?”

Her grandmother laughed and wiped at Buffy’s eyes. “It has been a long time.”

The teenager smiled. “I think the last time I was here you didn’t have grey hair.”

“Hey now!” Grams slapped the girl’s arm playfully. “Watch your mouth, you may not be ten anymore but I sure as can put you over my knee if I havta!”

“Oh you wouldn’t!” Buffy grabbed a loaf of bread off of the counter to defend herself with at her Grams’ threatening move forward.

“Yeah.” The lady nodded. “You’s smart to be scared. I may got grey hairs but that means I’m older. I’m tougher. I’d take you out in a heartbeat lil missy.”

Anne had a smile lying beneath those eyes, and Buffy wore a similar expression.

Already it felt a little bit better being away from California.

***



After a nice dinner and some much needed laughter, the two Summers women found themselves curled up for the night watching movies. There were four, two Buffy chose and two Grams picked out.



It hadn’t taken long for the ladies to get fully absorbed in the films, and it also hadn’t taken very much time for Buffy to realize (for what had to be the thousandth time) that her and her Grams were very much alike.



They enjoyed the same movies, old and new. They liked each other’s tastes in music, food, often ended up telling one another the same jokes over and over again. They held the same mannerisms, like the biting of the lower lip habit. And Grams had many a time recommended a book for her granddaughter to read that of which was loved by the teenager.



The only difference between the two relatives Buffy herself could discern was the way they dealt with sadness.



Grams was open and would talk about her feelings, while Buffy… didn’t. She tried to close up when upset; it was the way she was wired.



She had known this for some time about herself, and although she welcomed what little happiness given to her from those close to her, she was not close to many.



As Buffy closed her bedroom window and started removing quilts so she could lie down in bed for the evening, Anne came into the room and turned the lamp on, sleepy smile stilled on her face. “Just came in ta say goodnight.”



Buffy folded one more quilt and set it on a nearby armchair with the others before approaching her grandmother and giving her a hug. “Goodnight, Grams.”



“Night, sweetie.” She kissed Buffy on the cheek.



The teenager walked over to her bed and sat down, sticking her feet beneath the covers.



“Ya sure you’ve got everythin ya need, now? Want an extra sheet or anythin?”



Buffy shook her head.



“You sure? If those quilts are too heavy I can always get ya somethin lighter.”



Again, the teen shook her head. “Thanks, Grams. I’m good though.”



“Alright.” She went to turn out the lamp, but stalled before flipping the switch. “Tomorrow I ‘av a church meetin, but if you want you can go into town and get some things for yaself. I know you don’ have much with you and a girl’s gotta have the necessities- Maybe some new clothes, rouge, lipstick, anythin you wanna add ta your room here. You just go on an get it, I’ll leave cash on the counter for you in the mornin.”



Buffy smiled warmly. She had a bank account of her own setup here at a local bank now. The insurance company came through after everything that had happened, but even if they hadn’t her Grams would have offered to buy her stuff. The lady might live in a little house in a tiny town, but she knew how to save and so had Grandpa Summers. “Thank you, Grams. But if I get anything it’ll be with my own money, you’ve done enough already.”



Anne turned the little lamp off then, but since the moonlight streamed in through the curtains Buffy could see the kindhearted smile gracing her grandmother’s lips. “The money’ll be on the counter in the mornin.”



She turned to leave and Buffy got better situated in her full sized bed before calling out into the air. “I’ll be buying some groceries around here from now on, too! M’not gonna leech off a you, Grams!”



“Oh will ya quit your hollerin, it’s the bewitchin hour for Christ’s sake!”



Buffy grinned once more before resting her head.



Maybe tonight she’d be able to fall into a comfortable sleep.

She woke up screaming.

Heart beating, cold sweat, breaths coming in deep gulps. She put one hand to her chest and the palm of the other against her forehead. She was shaking, trying desperately to forget the memories of flames and everything else that’d been a part of her nightmare.

“Relax, relax Buffy. It’s okay. It’s ov- over now.” She whispered as steadily to herself as she could.

As she peered on at her room the sunlight strode in through the thin curtains. The sparkling dust in the air blurred as her eyes overflowed with salty water.

Buffy put her head to her bent knees and sobbed into the blankets. Couldn’t she get ONE night of rest without a damn reminder of everything? Just one freaking night of forgetfulness? Of peace?

She sat there for about ten minutes, and then choked back all the tears she could. When her eyes were finally dry she took her feet out from beneath the covers and set them on the ground. Where she expected to feel wood flooring she came in contact with soft cotton.

Buffy looked down and saw a light pink pair of slippers with a piece of paper sticking out of one of them. She picked the shoes up and touched the warm material as a slight frown marred her face. She grabbed the paper read the note.

“You’ll catch your death walking around barefoot all the time. It’s drafty in this old house, I’m sure these will fit you. –Love, Grams.”

The message and gift actually managed to make Buffy smile slightly, and she gratefully slipped on the shoes, loving the cotton enveloping her cool skin. She wiggled her toes inside the squishy slippers before standing and walking to the bathroom.

><

Being that it was ten in the morning when she awoke, and ten thirty after she got done showering and dressing, Buffy knew her grandma would be out of the house already. She was an early riser, as was most of the church going community in this little town- at least that’s what Grams had said.

Buffy herself didn’t go to church often, and Anne didn’t make her. The teenager only went for certain holidays really, like Christmas and Easter, but even then she attended mostly just to please Grams.

So now, standing in her bedroom, having just opened the window, Buffy was faced with deciding what she wanted for breakfast.

The girl threw her hair in a ponytail and walked into the kitchen. She turned the corner into the room and spotted the money on the counter for which she knew her grandmother had left her.

And then suddenly, everything approached quickly. She’d promised to “get out” today, see the world, breathe in the fresh air, maybe mingle with people.

Buffy groaned and opened the refrigerator door. Already yesterday felt like a much better day.

It wasn’t like she hated socializing. It was just that she’d rather spend time with a good book over another human being who would ask her questions about her life, possibly say something that’d bring up a painful memory. She often got lost in a group, too. Thoughts always taking over and managing to depress her when all she wanted to do was edge away from the not so far away past.

And she didn’t get lonely when she was immersed in a story. She didn’t have to think, about her life, about anything. It was nice, and asides from that she honestly enjoyed books. Even when she was prom queen and head cheerleader at her old high school she’d held a secret joy for reading (Yes, secret.)

Buffy had dated a lot, but often times she used to blow off guys just so she could spend a night home on the couch with Jane Austen. And that wasn’t only because books held better vocabularies than most of the boys that were interested in her.

The guys she’d gone out with usually didn’t like to talk about anything other than football or whatever other sport they played. And the few that’d actually seemed curious about HER had frightened Buffy off with the lack of sparkage she felt while around them.

Boys- The Summers girl was not an expert. Although, each time she’d gotten asked for advice by one of her fellow ‘popular’ friends, the info she’d given them seemed to have successful outcomes. It was strange. She knew what she wanted but she’d never gotten a guy that held her interests.

Buffy sighed. All she saw in the fridge would require actual cooking, and since she really didn’t want to burn down her grandmother’s house, she went in search of cereal.

*Okay, eat and then go out... You know it’ll make Grams happy.* She mentally insisted on herself.

As she dumped the sugary flakes into a bowl, the teenager told herself that she could always bring a book with, and besides, she really should go to the bank and take out some money.

Pouring the milk and grabbing a spoon she started to think of what she might be able to do. Exploring her new home, the town of MayBell, was a must. She WAS curious about the place and she wanted to see what had changed since she was a little girl.

Buffy munched on her breakfast and tried not to dread today too much. She wasn’t scared, maybe a little nervous, but that was not what was bothering her.

><

She’d spent an extra half an hour putting on makeup. She hadn’t cared to wear any for a while and it felt nice to apply lip gloss and blush again.

Plus, she was prolonging the moment when she would force herself out into the real world.

She didn’t like reality too much as of late.

Buffy took her backpack off of the chair it was hanging from. The bag was dark green and not too large, but it was a good material and held everything she needed.

She took her three books and slipped them inside, along with a jacket she favored, her iPod, and her cell phone.

One last glance at her bedroom and Buffy decided to leave the window open. Grams wouldn’t mind and it was warm today.

Throwing the bag over her shoulder, she approached the front door that blocked the sunlight. She reached for the handle and pulled, a mental push finally getting her through the entryway.

><

MayBell, home of some Super Bowl star she was sure, was quaint and welcoming. Buffy had walked through most of the charming place after withdrawing some cash from the local bank.

She was currently in the town square, peering into shops with her headphones stuck in her ears. The leaves on the trees were still green, with autumn coming later to Alabama and it still being eighty degrees outside. The people she passed always smiled in her direction, and the sun shone brightly.

MayBell lifted your spirits, and even though she ached to sit down on that bench not too far away and crack the spine in one of her novels, Buffy was (surprisingly) enjoying her stroll. Painful memories hadn’t entered her brain as often as she’d thought they would, but when they did the girl bit back the tears. It was all she could do. She hated to cry, and she’d had her full of it.

A little vintage shop caught her eye across the street. The blonde scrutinized a small group of friends coming out of the place, they were all grinning and laughing, having a good time it looked like.

The sight was bittersweet. Buffy took a breath and shook her head. *C’mon. Go check out the store.* She told herself.

She plowed on across the road and pulled open the door to Mama Leann’s Shoppe. Her nose was assaulted by the aroma of apple. She inhaled greedily as her eyes took in the appearance of candles everywhere, all lit and glittering. The whole room was shining from them and Buffy could see many of the labels described their smell, such as “Apple” or “Cinnamon”, while others were unscented.

She took her earphones out and instead listened to the sounds coming from the radio inside the building. The whole place screamed “Welcome!” and Buffy found herself somewhat comforted here.

She stared up at the golden brown ceiling and white Christmas lights hanging from the molding along the walls. There was a cozy chair and loveseat with dark purple cushioning in the middle of the floor, and different sorts of merchandise sat displayed on shelves everywhere. Vintage clothes hung on hanger rods and hats for sale sat on plastic busts with wigs.

She turned at a tap to her shoulder, startled out of her reverie.

Buffy gasped and the woman before her quickly apologized for the scare. “Oh darlin I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten ya none.”

Buffy moved her hand from where it’d instinctively flown, over her racing heartbeat, and swallowed hard. She tried for a smile. “No, no it’s okay. I was just, just uh, admiring the place. Kinda zoned out a lil bit.”

The woman offered a sweet smile and nodded. “I understand. No worries.”

A quick moment passed before the lady spoke again, and Buffy used it to take in the other gal’s appearance. Tall, with silky chestnut hair down to her shoulders, and soft blue eyes that smiled at you. Flawless skin and a good figure, the woman was pretty and looked around thirty. She had a kind disposition that Buffy could sense right away, too.

The lady tilted her head in study, speaking a second later with her sugary southern accent. “I hope ya don’t mind my askin, but I don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round before. An MayBell’s a pretty small town, ya usually know everyone here. Are you passin through?”

Buffy blinked a couple of times before she answered, processing her thoughts. She’d spaced out for a moment. That was another reason she didn’t really like talking to people, she found herself loosing concentration very quickly whenever she did. She hadn’t used to do that.

“I um, no- I uh, actually just moved here, to live with my grandmother. Anne Summers.”

The woman’s eyes lit up with realization and she suddenly took on a delighted expression. “Oh for all that is good in heaven, you’re Elizabeth aren’t you?!”

Buffy blinked again in surprise. This woman certainly seemed to know her. “Uh, yeah. I’ve been to MayBell before but not since I was younger.”

“Oh darlin the last time I laid eyes on you ya were no bigger than a toad! My gosh, you probly don’t even remember me do you?”

Buffy eyed the woman and smiled a little guiltily. “Sorry, I don’t. Are you um… Mama Leann by any chance?”

The lady laughed and shook her head. “Oh golly no dear, that’s my mother. This is her lil shop right here, I just go on an manage it most the time. I’m Meg Stovall, and ya know when I first met you, yous just about ten. I myself was twenty two at the time.”

“Oh.” The girl frowned apologetically. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you.” She offered, not sure what else to say.

“Don’t you go on worryin ‘bout nothin. Not a big deal, we only saw each other for a few times anyhow.” Meg waved a hand dismissively before her eyes smiled again with fond remembrance. “My golly, you were just about the cutest little thing this side a the Mississippi. Blonde hair in pig tails, so sweet. And good mannered too! Your mother and ya granddaddy raised ya well, they did.”

Buffy swallowed hard. She desperately wished for something new to be said, a silent weight falling upon her chest.

“They did.” She whispered hollowly and took a slow, deep breath. The walls suddenly felt like they were closing in and her throat became tight in almost an instant.

Meg’s face took on an expression of mortification just then, and she hastily backpedaled. “Oh I- I’m sorry, hun. I uh, I have this tendency to- to sometimes stick my foot in my mouth. My momma’s been tryna rid me of the danged habit for just ‘bout my whole life.” And she stuttered a moment longer before smiling once again. “Was there something that you were looking for today? If my shop doesn’t have it m’sure I can point you in the direction a one that will.”

Buffy gave a feeble smile herself, quickly taking up the offer of distraction. “Um, yes.” Her voice was soft. “I need some new clothes. I didn’t bring a whole lot with me from- from…”
“California?” Meg finished the girl’s sentence and Buffy gratefully nodded her head as she released another trembling breath.

“Alright. Well I’ve got a lot of stuff here, but f’ya don’t like anything I’m sure ya can find somethin else at another one a the places in town. Now don’ you worry your pretty lil head we’ll find ya a new wardrobe in no time.”

And Meg’s sunny nature was back in under a minute. Buffy could tell by the way she’d acted before that Grams must’ve filled the woman in on everything. Like why a nineteen year old who should be in school or traveling was instead living with her grandmother in a sleepy town in Alabama.

She was led over to the wall where all the clothes hung. She shook her head and tried to focus on, well, focusing. Meg chattered kindly about the merchandise, holding up a skirt here, a pair of slacks there. She guessed Buffy’s size easily and started picking out pretty tops and even pointed to the shoes that were placed on a long shelf above the hanger rods.

“Everythin in this place is one of a kind, you won’t find nothin that anybody else has.”

“Th- Thank you, Ms. Stovall. I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“Please darlin, just call me Meg.”

Buffy nodded and smiled gently. “I will.”

“An if ya wanna try anythin on, the fittin rooms are right over that way.” She pointed towards the back on the store.

The teenager thanked her again.

With that, the manager of Mama Leann’s told her customer to give a holler if she needed anything, and then went back to work.


Buffy perused the clothes. She fished through too brightly colored tank tops, some nice pants, several wool sweaters, and a few vintage bustiers. Her eyes bugged at a couple of the sequin garments she found, they looked like something you’d use for costume material. Some jackets drew her in though, along with a few cute T-shirts and one light pair of ripped jeans.

Buffy collected her items and headed toward the changing rooms.

><

The jeans fit, the jackets were nice, and she liked two of the shirts she’d tried on, so Buffy took her purchases over to the checkout counter. She chatted quickly with Meg while her items were rung up, finally asking the woman before leaving where she could buy some bath and beauty products.

“Oh the best place’d be Pretty Penny’s. Right down the street, five stores that way.” She pointed her finger to the left, indicating which way Elizabeth should turn when she exited the shop.

“Thank you.” And Buffy left, responding with a “You, too.” when Meg told her to have a good day.

The girl walked out of the sweet smelling store and headed towards Pretty Penny’s, wondering whether or not she should stop for a bite to eat at the diner across the street after she was done looking for a new shampoo.

She pushed open the door to the beauty shop, a bell at the top of the doorframe ringing when she entered. Her nose was assaulted yet again, but this time the scent was fresh and crisp, like mint and cotton. Buffy inhaled and smiled at the checkout girl who offered a friendly greeting.

Not that Meg hadn’t been nice or anything, but Buffy was hoping no one would talk to her too much anymore. She figured if one person was aware of her recent past, than that meant there were probably many in the community who knew the reason as to why Elizabeth Summers had moved in. Grams was loved in this town, and Buffy knew that all residents of MayBell constantly liked to help and be hospitable, so it would only be a matter of time before the commiserations started. Those were something she’d rather not have to deal with.

Buffy studied the place she was in, dragging her thoughts away from their saddening down spiral. Shelves carried body lotions and foot creams, as well as shampoos and conditioners. There were four tables with mirrors and makeup supplies all set up in the center, with chairs surrounding them. Hair dyes and perfumes were stocked at the front near the windows.

The teen moved towards the soaps and bubble baths, trying to decide what she should buy for herself and Grams. No way was Buffy not going to get something for that grandmother of hers.

As she read descriptions and sniffed bottles, Buffy tried not to let her mind wander. She was getting more and more antsy as the day went on. At the beginning of everything she’d been pretty much fine, but then the minutes started getting longer and longer.

She decided on some lotions, and a shower gel she thought her Grams would like, before moving on to the shampoos.

Her mind was starting to get too muddled, too thoughtful and just… cramped. She itched to pick up a book. It was the only thing she could focus on that didn’t make her concentration wane.

*Okay. Think, try and just think about the stuff in your hands. Strawberry or Lavender? Which one do you want your head to smell like?*

Buffy managed to make herself smile slightly with that thought. She grabbed a little basket for her things and stuck both of the shampoos inside along with the lotion and wash.

She looked at the makeup tables.
*Hmmm… Oh I’ll just get some. I barely have any with me anyway.*

It had been a long time since Buffy went shopping, and as long as she was out she might as well splurge a little bit.

She started with the lipsticks, and ended up picking out a dark rose color along with a clear flavored lip gloss. As she was looking at blush her ears started to ring. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the annoying sound and idly thinking of that old myth that said if your ears rang it meant people were talking about you.

She sighed when the ringing finally fell away, but soon realized that something else was bothering her. She felt as if someone was watching her.

Buffy looked around her shoulder and all she saw in the shop were a few people over by the lotions, so she just ignored the weird sensation. She was probably imagining things.

She continued to look at rouge and picked out something light pink, along with a dark brown shadow and charcoal grey eyeliner. She already had a black pencil at home and other eye shadows so she decided she was through with this store. And her tummy was grumbling.

Buffy looked around one more time, admiring the décor. The shop was warm, and charmingly set up.

That eerie feeling of being watched though threw the convivial atmosphere off a bit. Buffy quickly paid for her items and exited.

It took her going across the street and into the rustic diner before she lost the imaginary eye that was keen on studying her every move.

><

The shadowy figure stood behind the door to the back room marked ‘Employees Only’. He peered on at the new arrival in town. He didn’t recognize her, never had seen her before. He was sure he would have remembered a girl so beautiful as that, and he smirked a little when she started to sense his gaze on her.

He watched her move, from the makeup counter to the checkout.

She seemed suddenly in a rush to leave, and he felt himself slightly disappointed at the thought. He kept observing her for as long as he could, watching the girl walk as she headed straight for Leonard’s restaurant across the way.

The being then decided he’d gotten what was needed, and took his stolen goods as he dropped back through the old trap door. He closed it quietly and began his journey home, absently wondering who that strange girl was.

She had blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail, green eyes from what his powerful eyesight could tell, and a radiant smile- but there was an air about her. Something was off with the beauty, almost a withdrawn sadness.

She only looked about nineteen or twenty, but she seemed aged more than that. Something about her eyes, like she was concentrating too hard on each individual moment. Every glance she made looked almost... strained.

The girl was mysterious.

Too bad he wouldn’t be able to get to know her any better.

><

Buffy sat in the diner, sipping her drink and sifting through her wallet for money to pay for the meal and leave a tip.

She’d had a turkey club along with hot raspberry tea, and she was happily full, but she also needed time to herself with one of her books.

Leonard’s Place was bustling. The eatery wasn’t too loud and the people were friendly, but she really wanted to get away from everything. She often got lonely in a lively setting like this.

Maybe she should go exploring some more, stay out in the sunshine just a tiny bit longer.

*You could just read a book OUTSIDE…* Buffy’s inner recluse nudged encouragingly.
*No. Grams is right, I need to be more social. Maybe I’ll check out the shops again.* She internally cringed. Her loner qualities were getting very demanding.

She mentally prepared herself to stay out in the real world just a little while longer and laid her money down on the table. She was about to leave when a young man suddenly slid into her booth and sat across from her.

“Hey there.” The boy offered kindly. He looked about sixteen or seventeen. Dark brown hair and a big smile, green eyes and an attractive face.

He’d scared Buffy half to death.

She controlled her breathing and closed her eyes, counting to ten so she didn’t hit the boy for surprising her.

“I’m Frank, but my friends call me Franky.”

“Well, Franky…” Buffy breathed out a sigh. “Do you always go around scaring people like that?”

The boy took on a look of concern and promptly blushed. “Oh. I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, just wanted to come over and say hello. I’ve never seen ya ‘round before.”

“I just moved here.” She nodded and pursed her lips into a sort of smile. “And it’s okay.”

He shuffled nervously for a minute. “What’s your name? F’ya don’t mind my askin.”

“I’m B- Elizabeth. Elizabeth Summers.”
She used her proper name. She wanted to start using it more and more, as a part of the move. Trying to forget everything, trying to roll with how she herself had changed.

Elizabeth was what she’d tell people now.

“Oh, ya related to Anne Summers then?” The boy asked.

She nodded again. “Yes. I’m her granddaughter.”
“Ah, so you said you just moved here? From where?”

“Um, California.” Wow, maybe not everyone knew about her tearjerker back story. This guy seemed clueless as to anything other than her family name.

“California? That’s cool. I’ve always wanted to go there m’self. I heard a… that all the girls are real good lookin.” He looked her over a little. “Guess the rumors were true.”

It was time to get out of here. “W- Well, um. Th- Thank you Frank, that’s really nice. I’m sorry but I… I gotta book.” Buffy cleared her throat. “It was- was nice to meet you.” She quickly gathered her things and stood.

“Oh well, uh.” The boy removed himself from the booth. “Alright. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” He smiled at her in a charming way, and it made Buffy want to flee.

She used what little composure she had left though, and grinned at this kind person. She felt bad for blowing him off but the part of her that was virtually panicking was grateful for the departure. “I- It was nice to meet you. Frank.” She stuttered repetitively.

“Maybe I can show you around town sometime. Ya know since ya just moved here an all.”

She lost all capability to respond, and just nodded her head in the affirmative, even though she despised the thought of such an outing. “I- I… gotta go.”

There was no way she was being real world girl anymore today, it was time to be hermit girl for a while.

Given that it was only two in the afternoon though, her Grams would hate to find out that she’d only left the house for about three hours.

On her way out of the diner, an idea hit her. The desperate girl tapped a waiter on the shoulder. “I- I’m sorry to bother you, but could you point me in the direction of the local library, please?”

There, she’d solved her problem.

She practically ran through town on the path to the library. She needed to get away from people. Maybe she’d been a bit overdramatic with that guy back at the diner, but she couldn’t quite summon the will to care. Her feelings and nerves were frayed, not something she could really help. She was jumpy, and so not in the kind of mood to continue talking to people. And the last thing she needed was a new person in her life, especially one who hit on her. Buffy didn’t like to let people in anymore.

The library was one spot she hadn’t been back to during her recent exploration of MayBell, and when she finally reached it she let out an instant sigh of reprieve. The place was old, but big. There were three floors, hundreds of books, and staircases with creaky steps.

At least that’s what she remembered about the book emporium. It was the only building asides from Grams’ house that she really missed in this town. When she’d been younger the library was the place she enjoyed investigating the most. It had been magical to her little ten year old heart, and even now nine years later, Buffy still felt like she could get lost here and never want to be found.

She took notice of the individuals reading or perusing through book shelves. The first floor was always a bit too loud for her, from what she recalled. The front door was always opening and leading people in and out, letting in drafts of air. The second and third levels were much better for relaxing.

The whole place was beautiful of course, and for such a small town MayBell’s library was larger than many Buffy had seen back in San Francisco.

The floor was carpeted, but if things hadn’t changed much then the second and third levels would be sporting hardwood. Mismatching antique chairs surrounded tables, and cushioned sofas lie in every corner. Tall paned windows stood on the East and West walls with autumn leafed ivy covering them, streams of sunlight breaking through areas of the foliage. She found it odd that the ivy changed color before the trees did. She looked up as she headed for the wide staircase. You could see the higher levels enclosed by banisters, with more big windows warming the place and highlighting dust particles in the air.

Buffy ascended and regarded the next floor. More people were here. There were couples sitting on loveseats reading together, and a few young girls in various spots hauled up in lounge chairs with stories of their own. Other adults who were alone sat at tables studying, or searching through aisles for a desired tome, while one stray boy was busy sifting through the card catalogue.

Too busy. She kept on moving ahead, going up the second and narrower staircase, leading herself to the third floor.

This level was the smallest, with area rugs covering places where large padded furniture rested and small writing desks were set. The windows let in more light up here, being as the ivy wasn’t as thick. The stacks were lined parallel to each other every wall. There were two big tables on opposite ends of this floor, and every chair or window seat seemed to be hidden away. A set of book shelves always managed to keep the cozy areas half enclosed, making them appear secluded.

Buffy smiled.

Empty. There was no one here. Not even a person searching through one of the bookcases for a volume to read. It was private, and hushed. Perfect.

Most of the library’s occupants probably felt that the first floor was a little too disruptive, just as Buffy did, but none put in the extra effort to go to the top floor. Or maybe they didn’t like being completely alone. Maybe they enjoyed reading without interruptions but didn’t enjoy the feeling of isolation.

The girl walked over to a champagne pink, chaise lounge. The seat looked old and well kept, with beautiful embroidered fabric. It was one of those couches that only had a back to lean against and a single side. Something you’d see in a 40’s movie with a rich aristocrat lying down on it, talking into a turn dial phone, her sherry brought to her on a silver tray in a crystal cup.

Buffy was no member of the aristocracy, but removed her coat anyway and sat down, putting her bags on the ground. She peered around the area one more time and spotted a bathroom not too far away, but again no people. She gave a moment’s hesitation before slipping off her shoes.

She curled up in the seat by the window and took a book out of her bag. Knees bent and feet tucked, sunlight hitting the pages and engulfing the small print. There was a glass shaded lamp to her left that sat atop a square wooden table, and one of the glass panes behind her was open just a crack, letting in the fresh air.

Buffy emitted a contented sigh.

She’d found a public safe haven.

><

The time slowly dragged on, the sun started to set. Colors of orange and yellow changed to grey and brown.

It had begun to rain. Thick clouds with edges of black came fast and without warning. Thunder was far off in the distance with its lightening flashes, but the water that battered the library’s roof was here and strong, having caused Buffy to close the window a while ago.

She didn’t mind the storm. She actually liked the rain, the smell of it and the loud noises that scared others calmed her. It was like that weird capability some people had to fall into a peaceful sleep while watching a horror movie.

She kept turning the pages of her book, having never read it before and enjoying it immensely. Anyone who discovered this floor and walked by was invisible to the girl’s senses. She was too arrested by words, too lost in another realm.

At peace as her heartbeat sped up and her mind swirled due to the choices made by the characters in her novel. The calm sections of the story relaxed her muscles. Foreboding details in the print made her tense. Painful moments carried heavy sadness easily to her core.

She was content to stay there and suffer or smile at the flip of a page; and she did. The only thing that managed to rip her away from repose was the seemingly sudden necessity to pee.

Buffy slipped her shoes back on and looked around as she set down the book. The whole room was lit by pretty sconces patterned on the walls, not to mention the light coming from the lower levels and the lamp Buffy had switched on a bit ago. She peaked her head around the book shelves that blocked a little of her view from the rest of the area.

She didn’t see anybody so she decided to leave her things where they were, and headed towards the bathroom that was directly across from where she sat.

She had to walk around the opening in the middle of the floor that was outlined by mahogany banisters, and she looked down at the people below. It was very quiet, serenely so, but several individuals still decorated the interior of the library.

The girl moseyed on, casually looking at her surroundings. The walls were brown, but not an ugly shade of it and the floorboards creaked in some places as she walked over to the single restroom.

><

He immerged from the stacks, where he’d spent over an hour searching for a new story, an appealing book to get his hands on. The man was antsy now- Well actually, he’d been this way all day.

He had plans, very important plans involving a girl. A girl he’d been after for a long time now.

He’d been looking for ANYthing to help him keep his calm for a while before he met up with her tonight. She was beautiful and kooky and funny and had the prettiest-

“Whoa- Hey!” Michael was torn from his daydreaming by the black clad figure that’d just rammed into his side. “Excuse you.” He shook his head as he slipped on his raincoat for the third time that day, rolling his eyes when the rude man didn’t offer an apology for running into him.

Michael muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath as he exited the library.

The dark soggy figure walked quickly through the room. His hair was wet, along with his jacket and boots, but he hadn’t exactly been ducking for cover from the storm. If anything rain was preferred over most other weather; really he liked the doom and gloom.

He stopped and shook out his bleached hair, bending over and drawing some attention from the action. He’d been here enough times though that no one ever questioned his less than neat placement in a place like this. No one talked to him at all actually, which was fortunate.

He pulled a hand through his messy hair, rolling his eyes at the condition it was in. He could feel the curls running through his fingers.

Sauntering over to the flight of stairs, he headed upward with natural recognition of every step and creak. Reaching the second story he peered around for a moment. Not many were there, only about four people. The first floor had more occupants, which wasn’t uncommon for this time of day.

Spike put his boot down on the next step in front of him and made the ordinary move onward when his nose suddenly twitched. Something was off. He caught a whiff of- What was that?

He followed his set path and the smell got stronger, and he reacted to it. It was feminine, definitely. One of those scents that made you inhale deeper it was.

Spike kept climbing until his shoe was flat atop the floorboards of the third level.

Why did he smell something? Why did it feel… different, up here? No one ever came to this floor unless they were passing through to use the loo because the ones below were occupied, or they were looking for a specific book that was kept in this area of the library (not many interesting ones that was for sure).

The space never permeated with thick aromas, only faint overlays of individual fragrances ever, and none were this strong. The privacy offered on the third story of the building was why he liked it so, but as Spike examined his home away from home, it appeared that someone had intruded.

His jaw twitched as he began looking around for signs of another. The lights were dimly golden and his gaze quickly went to his precious hideaway. It appeared untouched. His volumes and notebooks were still carefully placed in the slots he’d left them, on the highest ledge. At least the stranger who’d invaded his territory hadn’t gone as far as to find his personal collection.

A lamp was lit behind another large bookshelf, and he strode over to it, inhaling as the heavenly perfume he’d been breathing in got abundantly stronger. On one of the pink lounges sat a worn coat, with two bags on the floor next to it. Spike’s eyebrow quirked.

He felt unashamed for peering inside of the shopping bag that sat there. There were some clothes along with another smaller sack holding cosmetics inside. He spotted a book resting on the table where the lamp was, its smooth hard cover stained in places with no summary of the story on the back or printed within the beginning pages.

Spike flipped to the first chapter, and the complete absence of copyright nonsense made him believe he was holding a very old book. With the way the words flowed…

He closed the novel and read the title he’d originally just glanced at. It sounded familiar, maybe he’d read this once.

His ears picked up a soft sound coming from the bathroom and he turned, putting the book back in its place. He sent a fleeting look to the backpack that lie by his feet, curiosity that he had to push aside jabbing at him. He was prepared to try and get this bird to leave, whoever she was. At least make her want to move down a floor. This was his space, and she was invading it.

Nobody came up here and stayed. They never wanted to, and he appreciated his luck with that. Whoever this chit was had a mind similar to his apparently. Less people = Good.

He didn’t rightly care much about being an arse, and he didn’t like company. Spike stood.

He walked over towards the restroom, leaning against the wall and waiting with his ankles and arms crossed.

><

Buffy ran the water and washed her hands, looking into the mirror and sighing at her reflection. She looked tired, but then again, she always looked tired, even when she wasn’t.

She dried her palms with a napkin and opened the door, stepping out of the bathroom only to stumble almost immediately.

“What- …” And she turned around to see what had tripped her, eyes catching on a pair of Doc Martens.

The boots were attached to a set of skintight pants. Her sights reached the bottom edge of a leather duster, and then a black belt. A close-fitted T-shirt that matched the rest of the man’s ensemble, followed by the only bright thing that was a part of this being’s appearance.

His eyes. Even the expression that held them was dark, but God those eyes.

Spike straightened, his hands climbing higher on his crossed arms.

Oh, well... This was interesting. He hadn’t expected it to be her, the girl whose strangeness had him noticing her earlier today. She’d occupied his thoughts for a mere few minutes, but he certainly hadn’t forgotten her.

The lady’s light sweater draped loosely on her frame, her ripped jeans looked old and well worn, with a small patch in the denim resting high on her thigh. Her great big green eyes blinked a couple of times, and a slight frown begun to mar her brow. Her lips were slightly chapped Spike could tell, and when she started to nibble on them he knew why.

His icy blue gaze was still piercing straight through her, Buffy was sure, but she managed to shake it off. His stare felt familiar in a really wiggy way.

She realized after a moment that he wasn’t about to apologize for tripping her, so she sighed. She didn’t care enough to actually pick a fight with the guy.

“Might wanna watch where you stand.” Was all she said, an annoyed head tilt and eyebrow raise accompanying her otherwise ‘couldn’t care less’ manner.

He watched her meander back to her little spot slightly hidden away from the rest of the room. Her hips swayed but you could barely tell do to her clothing’s fit. She turned and planted herself back on the lounge chair, the girl’s ponytail whipping around violently. Her eyes found his again, bugging slightly probably because she was surprised he hadn’t stopped watching her yet.

The green gaze shyly and cautiously lingered on his form for a couple seconds more, before returning to the cover of her book. She flipped it open to where she’d stuck a bobby pin in as her bookmark, and seemed to ignore him as she started reading.

Spike took in the sight of her sitting there, he watched her as she slowly became less and less aware of the area around her. Her legs lifted onto the couch and were instinctively tucked beneath her body, her eyes didn’t blink as often and he could see them moving back and forth like a typewriter’s platen. She was lost to the world.

He was a little entranced by her. She had an oddity about her. She’d looked weary when she’d come out of the loo a moment ago, but now as she read she seemed lively in a way he hadn’t seen before. A comforting glow surrounded her, it was invisible to anyone and everyone, but she looked at peace and concentrated while engulfed in her story. She was beautiful and if Spike wasn’t a man of many pasts he’d say she was far from human, at least she seemed to be right at that moment. She seemed ethereal.

With that thought in his head, Spike shook himself out of this reverie and frowned. He opened the bathroom door quickly and went inside, even though he had no intention of using the facilities. He started pacing slightly, though he couldn’t have realized it if he’d tried. Pacing was a habit.

The chit hadn’t even looked at him like he didn’t belong, like his punk appearance and rude behavior didn’t fit well into this warm library setting. She’d simply blinked at his arrogance and brushed it off like she didn’t have the time for his attitude.

It was so weird, for lack of a better word. The moment he’d gone up here and realized someone else had inhabited his space, Spike had wanted whoever it was GONE.

But the moment he’d seen the girl, his feelings had altered for no apparent reason.

Maybe it was because back at Pretty Penny’s she had intrigued him, her beauty and distressed eyes. Her hair, her scent that he now knew was divinely sweet. Something about her had him a bit transfixed from the very first glance, which was more than Spike could say for most people- Okay, everyone. She was… interesting, and the Brit found he wasn’t too rushed to make her leave anymore.

He’d come out of the bathroom ten minutes ago. Ten minutes.

Ten minutes of pretending to read, that’s what she’d been doing. After the latch on the door sounded and she saw him walk out, his eyes glancing briefly at her, she couldn’t get her mind back on her novel.

Given, that wasn’t because she COULDN’T go back to reading immediately. That is what she’d done when she’d first sat back down after all, but now she was allowing herself the time to think about him.

Or more like her mind was forcing her to ALLOW it. He just was so strange. From his Billy Idol look to the way he walked around and hadn’t said anything when addressed. Not that she was jonesing for conversation, mind you. It’s just that he wasn’t… normal, and he was definitely withdrawn.

The man had gone over to a high set of shelves right after leaving the bathroom, pulling up a step ladder that was nearby and retrieving what looked like a small diary sized thing, a stack of actual books, and three notebooks. She looked on through her lashes and studied him. She really couldn’t help herself.

He had glanced at her again, but she was busy with her novel (or at least she’d pretended to be). Then he’d approached a slightly hidden area, with a large green cushioned chair that sat next to a desk with its own matching wooden seat. He switched on a nearby lamp and removed his coat before setting his things on the table.

Buffy couldn’t help but notice his arms after the leather was pulled off and out of the way. He was built, very nicely she might add, but that fine physique didn’t stop her from observing his peculiarity. He sat down and pulled a hardback into his lap, along with a notebook.

His form seemed to descend right into that green cushioning; it looked like he fit there. Like the chair knew his body or something strange. He glimpsed at her one more time, and then got to work. He opened his volume and his notebook, turning the thin cover of the latter over so it wasn’t in the way. Setting a booted foot up on his knee and putting the book on the arm of his chair, the man sat there and read.

He must’ve been 10, 15 feet away.

He was driving her a little crazy, to be honest.

He read silently, turned pages, and made notes in his notebook. She didn’t mind her privacy being violated by this man’s arrival, he was only one person and the third floor was still very quiet. He didn’t really bother her but there was something about him. His odd (and frankly, rude) behavior not too long ago dubbed him unfriendly in her mind, and yet, her mind couldn’t stop obsessing over him.

And WHAT was with his little stash of private books and tomes on the top of that one shelf anyway?! That was beyond weird if you asked her- And-

The girl mentally groaned. She was obsessing alright; majorly so.

*Ugh. Just go back to reading already! He’s just sitting there, he hasn’t even looked at you since he opened his book!*

Buffy blinked a few times in quick succession and brought her brain back to her novel. She breathed out a small sigh and slowly lost her thoughts inside her story, her body relaxing once again.

><

He stayed there, making notes and enjoying his book. It was years’ old poetry he’d been immersed in for awhile now. After he’d settled down in the chair he’d long ago declared as his own, Spike had managed to… accept the lady’s presence. Mostly.

He looked at her every few minutes without her noticing. Having someone else on his floor was strange and he didn’t like it much. However, her company was becoming something like an allowed annoyance to him. Similar to a dripping faucet, at first you want desperately to fix it but then you slowly, begrudgingly begin to consent to its existence.

Her scent had changed from new and unwelcome (although lovely), to fresh and almost common. His nose was no longer tickled by the mere whiff of it, but instead was gladly filled every time he inhaled. The noise of her fingers touching paper to flip a page rang in his ears every second it seemed, but the sound had soon became a steady hum rather than something akin to a fly buzzing in your ear.

It was going on 10pm now, and she was still here, which had Spike wondering. She had presumably finished her book, about two hours ago. But then the only thing she’d done was retrieve another one out of her backpack and start up on that one. She’d gone to use the bathroom three times, not including the time he’d tripped her, but never did she look up at the clock on the wall or search for a cell phone.

Wouldn’t someone be expecting her somewhere? Who was this girl? Didn’t she have any family, anyone who’d be wondering where the HELL she was. The chit had been here for about five bloody hours, you’d think-

Hold on.

Was he… worrying?

Spike quickly removed his stare from the mysterious female.

He didn’t worry. Not about people, not really; and especially not about birds he didn’t know from Adam.

Fuck, this was odd. Why- Wait. No, he wasn’t worried, just curious. Yeah, that was all.

Except it was hard to believe that untruth when you kept wondering how she was going to get home alone and in the dark; never mind the constant questioning of WHERE she even lived.

Spike’s gaze returned to the girl when he caught her standing up out of the corner of his eye. She seemed suddenly in a rush. Her face was a little flushed and she was shaking her head at herself it seemed. She jammed her book in that backpack and picked up her shopping bag that Spike knew the contents of, turning around to put her shoes on next.

She rolled her eyes at herself abruptly and dropped her things to speedily slip into her jacket, never even bothering to button it before grabbing her things again and moving towards the staircase.

Spike felt himself frowning at her departure. Maybe she did have somewhere to be, it’s possible she’d let the time get away from her and now she’d left somebody worried at home.

Her footsteps were fast as she moved to the railing He watched her, very curious and couldn’t decide whether or not he was happy she was leaving, or whether he wasn’t, or whether he cared at all.

She started down the steps, turning her head his way in what seemed a somewhat last minute thought. The chit glanced at him, her descending green eyes peeking between the banister’s mahogany columns. Spike caught her gaze for just a second before subconsciously sitting up when she disappeared from his view.

><

Thank God it had stopped raining. She ran out of the library, her foot splashing in a shallow puddle. Buffy quickly made her way back home. She knew her grandmother would be worried.

“Shit.” Buffy swore under her breath. She didn’t want Grams upset.

Fortunately, home wasn’t too far away from the MayBell library, only half a mile actually.

…Okay, maybe that was a little far to be walking alone at night, but this was a tiny town and it wasn’t horribly late. Neighborhood folks were still sitting out on their porches with candles and cups of hot tea. Some kids were walking around in groups, and two couples even passed her by on her way.

Buffy ran up the stairs to her Grams’ place and opened the door she knew would be unlocked. She called out for her grandma, sighing when she spotted her in the living room with a book in her lap.

“Oh, Grams, I’m so sorry I’m back late! I know I never called I just- I went to the library.” Buffy set her things down on the floor and continued breathlessly rambling as her audience simply smiled calmly. “I’m so sorry, I lost track of time. I didn’t worry you did I?” She sat down on the couch, beside an antique chair the other woman occupied.

Anne only blinked and released an amused breath. “Buffy.” She spoke with easy composure. “Yer nineteen. Now truthfully I didn’t expect you’d stay out this long, but it is only ten o’clock. And besides, this is MayBell, it ain’t no big dangerous city.”

Buffy blinked dumbly. “Oh. W- well, I’m still sorry I didn’t call you.”

The grey-haired woman looked at her granddaughter through her reading glasses. Her wrinkles defining themselves as she smiled tenderly again. She pulled off her spectacles and let them hang by the pearl string around her neck, her brown eyes twinkling warmly in the soft lamplight.

“Sugar, you’ve got a cell phone don’t ya?”
Buffy nodded. “Well, yeah.”

“I have the number written down on the fridge. I wasn’ worried none, an I coulda called you if I had been. Just knew you was busy combing ya way through MayBell.”

Buffy released a breath. “Well okay.” Her lips lifted on one side. “So I guess sprinting home was sorta overreacting a little huh?”

Her Grams laughed. “Maybe a little. But m’glad to know you thought f’me, I know I didn’ forget ‘bout you. Supper’s in the fridge, chicken and potatoes f’you wanna warm em up.”

Buffy’s eyes lit up. She hadn’t even realized she was hungry. “Thanks Grams.” She hugged her quickly before standing up. “I haven’t eaten anything since I went to that diner in town earlier today.” And she went to the kitchen.

“Oh, so before you went and hid up in the library you actually managed ta explore town a lil bit did ya?!” Her Grams called teasingly from her place in the living room.

Buffy frowned and paused mid step, turning and peeking her head around the doorframe. “I was out for quite some time I hope you know.”

“Oh you were, were you?” Grams asked, an eyebrow raised in wagering question.

Buffy put her hands on her hips. “Yes. I. Was.” And she demonstratively picked up her shopping bag and sat on the coffee table, displaying her purchases for her mistrusting grandparent.

The young woman and her guardian talked for the rest of the night; Anne relayed her day’s events with smiles, while Buffy explained her MayBell experience with halfhearted enthusiasm. However, when asked about how the library had suited her, the teenager described it in great detail. And even though her Grams already knew what the MayBell library beheld to its visitors, she didn’t stop her granddaughter from contentedly depicting it.

“And how long were you there for again, darlin?” Her grandmother asked her sweetly.

Buffy bit her lip. “Ummm, only like... five or six hours.” Her face wrinkled guiltily but her grandmother only laughed lightly.

“Well now, that’s not much strange for you is it?”

“Well… I couldn’t help myself! It was just so comfy there.”

“It’s alright dear. All that matters s’that you went out today, talked to people for a little while. I’m just glad you weren’t lonely.”

Buffy hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Not lonely.”

Having people around didn’t always mean that it made you feel good, though she wasn’t about to bother her Grams with that.

The girl rose and picked up her backpack, heading for her bedroom, but before she reached it a memory sparked her.

“Um, Grams?”
“Yes, ‘Lizabeth?”
Buffy turned to face her. “You know most people in town, right?”
“Honey, I know EVERYONE in town.”

“Right.” She smiled a little, a curious still face appearing a moment later. “Have you ever seen a guy, um, I think you’d recognize him- Actually ANYONE would recognize him. I saw him at the library today and he just sorta, stuck out.”

“Well go on now. What’d he look like?”

Buffy scrunched her nose before describing him. “Bleached hair, long black leather coat. He um, he’s got a nice face; and really REALLY blue eyes.” She chewed her lip. “Ring any bells?”

Her Grams seemed to contemplate it for a minute, before her concentrated gaze snapped brightly, and it was obvious she’d thought of whom her granddaughter was referring. “I know who yer talkin ‘bout.”

“Oh. Okay, I was just curious. The guy, he um. He seemed odd, ya know? I mean asides from the white hairdo.”

Her Grams nodded. “D’you talk to him?”

“Uh, well, not really. I mean, I told him he should watch where he puts his feet after he tripped me with his dumb combat boots, but other than that-”

Her Grams shook her head somewhat amused. “Don’t be surprised there, dear.”

Silence sounded before Buffy had to ask. “Why?”

“Tha boy, he’s lived here for a few years now. He um… well he just ain’t normal that one. Only times ‘ve seen him have been at the library. Never talks to nobody, always is sorta bad-mannered f’anyone tries to talk to HIM.” She frowned a little. “Don’t even know the man’s name come to think f’it.”

“Huh.” Buffy’s brow puckered. “Who knew MayBell had a resident Boo Radley.”

Anne laughed. “Well, not really. He comes out now don’t he?”

“Yeah, I guess but, whatever, close enough.”

He grandmother leaned back in her chair and studied Buffy as the girl turned around again and went to put her things away. “You uh, take a likin to this man, ‘Lizabeth?”

Buffy frowned again, very hard this time, and laughed a little as she turned around. “Grams, are ya kidding? He looks like some 80’s reject. Not to mention, he’s rude.”

Anne nodded. “Oh. Okay then. Just wonderin.”

Buffy scowled again and went to leave but then abruptly turned one more time, facing her grandma as she spoke. “I mean, the guy tripped me and didn’t even apologize. What kind of girl likes that?”

“None to my knowledge, dear.” Her Grams shook her head.

“… And did I mention that he had bleached hair? I mean, I used to bleach mine and ~I~ never even went that platinum.”

“I understand.” There was slight mocking added to those words.

The teenager’s shopping bag was still in her hands and an incredulous expression suddenly adorned her features. “W-White hair, Grams! He looks like a snow globe!”

Anne laughed a bit at that one. “I said I understand!”

Buffy seemed to take her time with approving that statement, before she stiffly nodded. “Good.”

“No attraction whatsoever then?”

“No! No, none… Nothing.”

Anne smiled and gave her granddaughter a look of slight pitiful acceptance. “Alright, I believe you.”

“He wasn’t even cute.”

“Right. Got it.”

Buffy left the room then, quickly tossing her stuff on her bed. She stripped off her jacket and went back into the living room remembering she’d left her backpack in there.

She picked up the old bag. “Stop smiling like that!”

Grams bit her lip to stop from laughing, though her granddaughter never saw. “I’m not smilin at nothin!”

Buffy went to her room again, sorting her new purchases away and idly wondering when she’d turned back into a fifteen year old.

She went back to the library the next day. She had a mission to search for a new book, seeing as she’d finished her other two last night; one of which she’d already read before anyway. The third she’d brought with her from San Francisco wasn’t a story Buffy felt like diving into at the moment.

Her Grams’ house was full of books. While Buffy could borrow any of them with no problem, she wanted to go back to the library anyhow. She really did like it there.

It was a comfortable fall day when she walked out into the sunshine late in the afternoon. Her Grams was busy with the garden, Buffy had asked if she wanted any help but fortunately the older woman had said no. Elizabeth wasn’t one with a green thumb.

She stayed up very late last night (or, early morning rather), so she’d gotten up late too.

Her sleep wasn’t the best, three nightmares from what she remembered. One of which that’d woken her up loudly enough for Grams to hear.

For someone to be so motherly, so calming and sweet, Buffy didn’t know how one acquired the talent. All she knew was that her grandma had it, and she applied it well. Truth be told Buffy didn’t like letting people know when she was in pain, but Grams was a little easier to let in than most.

Last night though was a fault. The girl usually tried to hide her tears as best she could.

Her mood today wasn’t cheerful, given it hardly ever was. But it wasn’t too despondent either. It was… well, it was rather bare.

Grams often made her happier in times of bleakness, but the pain was never completely quiet. And Buffy’s attitude today was just simply drab, and a little empty. For once, she was actually able to put names to her emotions. Unfortunately, they were negative ones that reminded her of bad things. Things she didn’t want to think about.

She put her headphones in as she walked, adjusting her book bag’s strap on her woolen dressed shoulder. Her coat was draped over the sack for when it got chilly out, and all Buffy wore now was a heavy sweater and jeans. Being September in Alabama, the leaves weren’t starting to change yet, but she still admired the trees as she walked along her path. Maybe it was because she always seemed to get cold easily, but she swore the temperatures were dropping earlier than normal. Given, she’d never been here during the fall, so she could be right.

Deciding to grab a cup of coffee, Buffy ran into a small café. She purchased her drink and quickly headed out again and continued on her way.

The door of the library barely made any sound when she entered. She saw the first floor had several occupants, but as she made her way up the stairs she found that the second was deserted.

She got off on that level, deciding to search for a book or two before going up to the third story.

Buffy discovered many categories during her quest. She rifled through mysteries, weeded through romances, and sifted through western classics.

Choosing something in between the two latter genres, she ended up with a romance. It was based in the old west during the 1800’s, and she found herself already enjoying it as she walked blindly ahead with her eyes glued to the first page.

Once she reached the third floor was when Buffy finally tore her eyes away from the book. She smiled when she didn’t see anyone, although she wasn’t sure whether to be happy or disappointed that the strange guy from yesterday wasn’t around. Maybe she didn’t care at all.

She found her little pink couch and settled in, putting her bag with the folded coat on the floor along with her shoes. Her coffee found a place on the table next to the glass shaded lamp, and she set the western themed hardcover in her lap.

Buffy pulled a bobby pin out of her ponytailed hair and began idly fiddling with it in her left hand, her right holding the book open as she started turning pages.

><

Spike exited his home, stomping all the way to his place of reprieve. Life today had been bloody awful; such a day shouldn’t have been allowed to see fruition.

First he’d found that sodding sketch that he’d drawn long ago and which drudged up way too many memories. Not painful ones really just ones that made you miss someone terribly- Well… yeah okay, painful.

Then there was that damn plumbing problem which he’d had to have fixed today, which was a shit ton of hassle and money spent; combined with having to let the plumber into his house (did he mention he hated company?).

He hadn’t eaten well today either, his stomach was all kinds of protesting and his mouth was bitter. Oh! And he’d gotten woken up out of a dead sleep because a fucking girl scout had tried selling him cookies.

She didn’t even have Caramel deLites!

Spike wasn’t able to get good rest after that, and he’d been in a foul mood ever since. He desperately needed some time at his place of refuge. His quiet book emporium where no one and nothing bothered him, where he could lose himself in literature and poetry, in stories he loved.

Christ, he hoped that girl wasn’t there today.

><

“Bloody fuckin hell!” Spike muttered angrily to himself as he approached the third floor of the library. Her scent was everywhere again.

With a slight snarl he stormed on ahead, flashing a glare in the female’s direction.

Spike still found himself inhaling her aroma greedily, and he gritted his teeth in annoyance at that.

Why the HELL did he have to deal with her tonight? She wasn’t noisy, and she wasn’t a nuisance really, but just the bird’s presence put him a tad more on edge than he usually was.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, and he’d made no attempts so far at being quiet. Going for his things Spike quickly found his treasured books, stomping all the way. It wasn’t like he was TRYING to get her to notice him, he just couldn’t hold his irritation at bay.

He huffed over to his seat, setting his things down. He went to remove his duster, and when the sleeves were partially down his arms and he looked up, his gaze was caught in hers. She stared at him, almost curiously for a moment. Her hair was tied back behind her ears in a ponytail like before, and her clothes looked much too warm for the current Alabama weather. Though Spike couldn’t really say anything about proper attire, he was dressed rather warmly himself. Except it didn’t affect him; HER it should.

The Brit sat down with a gruff sigh, and he got to work. Feeling her eyes on him all the while.

Buffy frowned upon the aggravated flicker she received from stranger-guy. He looked at her, and she felt like she was trapped, she couldn’t look away. He had to budge first.

Which he did, but that didn’t stop her from staring. He had seemed to give her an almost accusatory glare before, like she’d done something wrong.

Buffy squirmed in her seat. What was this man’s deal? He had a frown on his face as he studied his books, just as he’d had the night before. Except the frown he wore now wasn’t one of contemplation, no it was one of irritation. Annoyance.

*Well what crawled up his butt and died?* Buffy wondered. He looked tense, and his body language was screaming ‘Don’t come near me or I’ll bite your head off.’

Well actually, his attitude yesterday hadn’t exactly been any friendlier, but still this was just… different. Something was bothering him.

The woman shook her head. Why was she still staring at the guy?

She groaned. She didn’t usually gawk at people, especially not when she had a book in her hands. His attitude was just off, and Buffy found herself wondering why. Though, she had absolutely no idea WHY she was wondering why.

She went back to her story, immersing herself inside it, idly thinking about the man sitting not twenty feet away from her.

It was better to just ignore him.

><

A little bit later on was when her bladder tugged her from the imagery of a smoky saloon. Her western romance was getting good, and it made it easy to forget that she was in a public library. She’d forget that there were stairs leading down to the more communal areas of this building she was hidden inside, she’d forget about the occasional passerby that ventured to the third floor to use the bathroom. She’d forget even about him, the rude stranger with blue eyes who was her only company.

Her only company who was currently smoking a cigarette.

Buffy’s brow wrinkled when she caught him.

Then her hazel eyes moved smoothly to and locked on a ‘No Smoking’ sign not far away from the bleached mute. She made a disgusted face before heading to the bathroom.

How arrogant could you be? I mean, he was in a LIBRARY. Hello! Public place that isn’t a restaurant or a bar! People trying to read and study and contemplate in peace! And HE was smoking.

She rolled her eyes and muttered to herself. “Ass.”

Buffy made it to the lavatory door, and that’s when she looked in his direction once more, meeting his icy challenge of a stare with a slightly surprised one of her own. Had he heard her?

No. She’d been quiet. He wasn’t too close by, he couldn’t of… but those eyes said something different. His legs were splayed open lewdly with a split book in his lap, a fuck-all attitude plastered on his features. His body seemed quite relaxed, while his face looked peeved. Her hand stilled over the doorknob and she narrowed her stare when he twitched an eyebrow before taking a deep lungful of cigarette, and exhaling it. She swore the smoke was aimed at her.

Without even thinking twice, Buffy made an unimpressed, put-off facial expression and threw it at him. Stranger-guy scoffed irritatingly before dipping his head to look within the pages of his book again. Buffy felt herself fume slightly beneath her skin. He was just so arrogant it almost made her-

Wait.

Why was she letting him get to her? Better yet, HOW was he even getting to her? This complete outsider was managing to actually make her angry. Why did she care so much about his conceit? She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t.

It was just wrong, the getting angry.

And annoying!

Buffy turned her head back to the bleached pest just in time to see him drop a free slip of paper out of a seemingly old journal. His eyes widened when he picked it up, and by the man’s countenance and the quick absence of poise in the hand that held his cancer stick, Buffy felt abruptly cold for watching him.

She whipped her gaze away and down. Finding her hand still placed on the doorknob, she blinked a couple of times before her brain registered the command to turn it and she entered the bathroom.

><

Spike gulped, and he couldn’t have noticed the tears leaking from his eyes if they’d burned him. The letter in his hands was old, a century or so, and brought too many emotions to the surface. Ones he didn’t like, ones he avoided with every passing day but similarly found himself never capable of forgetting.

The words scribbled there in ink blinded him, as did the droplets escaping his blue eyes. Spike’s hands trembled from the weight of the letter, and the words made him shiver as they were read. His sadness was suddenly constricting around his neck like a python as the smell of the stale perfumed paper wafted around his head.

He released a ragged breath just before loud voices permeated his quiet turmoil.

><

Buffy was drying her hands when she heard unfamiliar sounds outside, and before she could think of who might be creating such disturbance in a library there was a hard knocking on the bathroom door.

Startled, Buffy took a breath and opened the entryway, blinking at the group of four who greeted her. They were teenagers, the boys wearing baggy pants and the girls dressed in skirts too short and too tight to let Buffy believe they’d been allowed out of the house that way. The female’s faces were smiling with bright lipstick and the entire group smelled of cheap beer. The couples both looked around fifteen or sixteen years old, and their laughter never ceased even after the girls barged their way through to the single restroom, pushing Buffy aside.

If it weren’t school time or these kids looked older, Buffy would’ve sworn they had to be tourists. She hadn’t seen ANY of the younger groups in town looking like these four.

They were arrogant too, could probably give stranger-guy a run for his money.

She jumped a little at the slamming of the restroom door, and turned her face to the two males who now leaned against the mahogany banisters, carrying an air about them. One she’d seen before on many boys who’d sweetly been dubbed ‘D-bags’ in her book back in San Francisco.

For some insane reason, the first move Buffy made after initial disbelief wore off, was to look in stranger-guy’s direction.

He didn’t seem any more comfortable than she did with the boisterous intruders.

His face was hidden by a free hand, his cigarette still dangling in the other. He was hunched over and it looked as if a headache had angrily captured all of his thoughts.

Then she looked closer. He was shaking. She wasn’t very close to him and yet she could tell. Without warning, the face she’d seen him make just before her retreat into the bathroom flashed in her mind’s eye and Buffy felt almost instinctually protective.

No wait, protective wasn’t the right word; but for whatever reason she felt a need to get rid of these chattering kids who normally she would have simply ignored until they went away. She frowned at stranger-guy’s form and internally berated herself for caring about his comfort at all.

With a sigh, Buffy turned around to face the noisy males who were waiting for their (presumably) girlfriends to come out of the bathroom. The Summers lady approached them and pushed away the slight ache she could feel poking at her brain. All she had to do was ask them to keep it down and leave, even though she had no right to do so asides from the fact that they were almost yelling in a place where whispers were honored.

“Excuse me,” She asked softly, and they either didn’t hear her or chose to pretend as much.

Clearing her throat. “Excuse me.” She repeated loudly, this time immediately gaining their attention. “Could you please keep it down. I’m assuming you’re just in here for a minute or two so your friends can use the bathroom, but you have to be quiet until you leave.” The last word was stressed against her will.

They looked at her like she’d just asked for a huge favor. Better yet, they looked almost offended that she dare speak to them at all. And not that she personally cared, but Buffy found herself wishing for their respect. If she didn’t get at least a little of it then she might as well give up hope that they’d go away.

One of the boys looked her up and down, smiling condescendingly before meeting her eyes again. “Sure. Sorry.” Although he sounded anything but, Buffy heard herself responding thankfully. When she turned to leave she heard them mutter something to each other, and by the laughter following she figured it was an insult about her, but she didn’t care.

All she gave a damn about was that by the time she’d placed herself back on the chaise lounge, the giggling, stumbling girls had exited the restroom and were now looped in the arms of their companions. The four cackled loudly when they headed for the stairs, and one of the boys let out a piercing whistle for no apparent reason, signaling a Buffy eye-roll.

She turned her sights to stranger-guy then, almost balking when she saw him directly looking at her with something that resembled… gratitude?

He twisted around to unlatch a small window behind his head. When he turned back he demonstratively brought the cigarette she thought should be dead by now, up to his lips. The man sucked on the white tip, leaning back in his chair so he could blow a thick stream of smoke through the window and out into the night air.

Then he found her eyes again, and nodded. No smile, no words, just a nod; his usually frozen eyes now almost warm.

And she could tell he was thanking her.

The window was open behind him, letting in the clean air and refreshing the smoke scented room. She wasn’t sure why he offered this kindness to her when not long ago he’d mocked her distaste at his filthy habit. The fact she’d gotten rid of those kids could have been a chore she’d taken on for herself and her alone, how did he know that she’d done it mostly to calm him?

Maybe he didn’t. Buffy wasn’t sure, but she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. So after a quick questioning squint she couldn’t hold back, she started reading again.

><

He’d watched her. He’d watched her through red rimmed eyes as she’d caught him in her gaze before backpedaling and asking the lousy tykes to keep it down for the short stay she was sure to point out they were there for. He had stared at the floor but seen her taking what he distinguished as absentminded glances his way, and knew why she was asking the morons to be gracious instead of ignorant.

The annoyance Spike felt at the little prat who’d responded to her in his ‘could-give-a-fuck’ attitude seemed to swallow the Brit whole. While she just said thank you and went her own way, the next words he picked up from the pint sized berks about the woman had Spike swinging his head up and glaring angrily. If it weren’t for those chits exiting the loo just then and dragging the boys away, Spike would’ve probably gone over to make his displeasure of their presence known in a much less polite way.

But they were leaving, and Spike found his now dry eyes drawn towards the woman in the corner.

He knew she’d asked them to leave for him, if not completely then at least partially, and he appreciated it. She’d seen him upset; she’d known he was bad off, for some reason. Maybe she’d witnessed his breakdown after discovering the old letter, or perhaps she had just seen him hunched over and trying to cover his tears; but no matter.

Either way she’d done something for him even after he’d been a prick. True, his actions hadn’t been all that damaging, but they had been rude.

The mystery girl had called him an ass, albeit not directly to him or anyone besides herself, and she’d glared right back at him when he’d sent a puff of cigarette smoke in her direction. She’d made it clear she didn’t like his arrogant behavior, and frankly Spike hadn’t given a shit; until she’d gotten rid of those kids. Yes, they were sure to have left anyhow, but she’d asked them to be quiet until they did and made it obvious their presence wasn’t welcome. She’d done it for him. She didn’t know what was bothering him, or whether or not he was just tired, and Spike didn’t think she’d seen him crying; and yet, she’d tried to comfort him some.

He would’ve assumed that she’d done it for herself had he not noticed her look at him before changing course to go tell the kids off. Not to mention the looks he kept catching her send his way while she talked to the boys.

She was sweet, Spike realized. He probably would’ve figured it out sooner or later, from her lovely scent and quiet demeanor if nothing else, but she’d proven it to him early.

So that was why he’d opened the window to let out his cig smoke, therefore calling a truce and thanking her. Her questioning stare did nothing to diminish his belief that she’d gotten rid of the noisy teenagers more for him rather than for her, but instead amused him. When she went back to her reading he smiled a little, not being able to help himself. Maybe sharing his library with her wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Spike looked down at the letter still in his lap. It had been so long since he’d happily accepted, or appreciated for that matter, a nice gesture from anybody. When someone offered their kindness, as rare as the occurrence was, he usually brushed it off, not caring at all. But this girl…

Spike folded the letter back up and slipped it inside his duster’s pocket, shaking his head. Perhaps it was just the loneliness getting to him, he didn’t know, but the urge to get closer to someone hadn’t been this vibrant a want in a while. It was only a slight burn, a little nudge he felt within his being, but it was there nonetheless. The closest he ever got to anyone nowadays was bumping uglies with random bar-beauts if he had an itch, but he usually forgot their names two days afterwards.

There was just something special about the woman on the chaise lounge, and Spike found his curiosity growing, even if it was budding against reluctance.

It happened without them knowing it. The moments of when they’d simply read together, enjoying personal solitude while also sharing time with each other. The time they both unknowingly came to think of as THEIR time together.

The weeks passed. A relationship grew and neither of them realized it. They had a connection taking hold, but weren’t aware. They shared more than either of them could have anticipated.

Things happened to bring them closer, little things. And some bigger things too.

Their routine continued, Spike would arrive after she did. They’d make eye contact a few times throughout the night, often one or both of them watched the other secretly as well. The rest of September found the two starting to anticipate the other’s arrival, to take their own respective places on the always quiet third floor.

October came quicker than expected for the both of them, though just before the first of that month, September ended with something simple, yet unforgettable.

Buffy had been late to the library. Of course, it wasn’t as though she could actually be LATE to something like that when she wasn’t meeting anybody there. Not really.

She’d been almost running up the steps to the third floor when she dropped her coffee cup. It had become a habit of hers to buy a hot beverage from the little café she passed on her walk every day, so despite her later than normal arrival, Buffy still hadn’t been able to pass up her regular coffee.

She might as well have though. The cardboard to-go cup lay open and sideways on the wooden floor, rolling around silently in the almost empty room.

Almost empty.

Her gaze found his immediately. Green eyes widened in embarrassment and frustration while blue stared inquisitively- And she must’ve been imagining that relieved glimmer in his eyes. What would he be relieved about anyhow?

Buffy groaned and went to pick up her fallen cup, dropping to her knees. Between the anger at herself and that final step she’d tripped over, she was at least able to appreciate the fact that her coffee hadn’t leaked onto the nearest area rug. It would be easier to clean it off of wood rather than a soft carpet which looked rather expensive for being in a public library.

With an agitated sigh, her cheeks burning red, and a muttered curse, Buffy walked ahead. She deposited her bag and coat on the lounge seat on her way over to the bathroom.

She tossed her coffee cup away and washed her hands. Gathering too many towels to be deemed environmentally conscious, she went to clean up her mess.

When she exited the restroom her feet froze and she was, to put it simply, struck.

There he was, the stranger whose presence she’d come to depend on as a constant in her library visits. He was sitting by the mess she’d made, paper towels waded up in his hand as he soaked up the spilt coffee.

She couldn’t help it when her jaw dropped, and had to take a deep breath before heading over by him and kneeling down again.

“T-Thank you.” She stuttered, and mentally slapped herself for doing so. “I- I- I’m a klutz. You didn’t have to.. have to um, bother with this.”

Then she’d ducked her head, not being able to figure out why he made her nervous in a way that wasn’t her customary feeling of anxiety.

He spoke next, and she had to intentionally stop her eyes from widening comically.

“It’s alright. Not a problem.”

Five simple little words, almost clipped in their tone, and yet they sounded so sweet with that British coating.

She wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just left her to clean up her own mess, and she also wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the paper towels from so fast. One of the bathrooms below probably. But as she used her own to finish wiping up the coffee, she found she didn’t really care. He was being kind, and it was wiggy considering he always used to stare at her with an unwelcome message in his eyes. At least that’s how it had felt.

Except he hadn’t been doing that for a couple of weeks, Buffy had to admit to herself. His attitude had changed towards her, and though she didn’t know when she’d realized it, she could now acknowledge the fact.

That was the first thing.

The first time that something really tangible had happened between them.

At the end of the first week of October, another unexpected occurrence had taken place during their daily routine. Spike came in through the library door, he approached the flight of steps as he always did, he made his way up and-

His mystery girl’s now familiar scent was tainted with the unsettling aroma of tears. Her tears. Spike’s pace quickened without him really realizing it, and he reached the final floor with fists tightened at his sides. A worried gaze- though for him to admit he was truly worried about her would take quite a bribe -landed on her immediately. She was crying, her body shaking the tiniest bit and teardrops streaming down her cheeks. She was silent, her misery tight and controlled and yet anything but. Her hand was curled against her chest almost instinctually as if she was trying to protect her already suffering heart. And there was an open book in her hands.

Spike was taken aback by the display, the frown on his face deepening to one of shock and confusion. It was the story. Whatever her chosen tale of the day was, it was making her cry. He knew it was the book for the way she stared at it and he caught her gaze moving beneath the blur in her eyes. Then she flipped a page. She flipped another.

He stood there for God knew how long, just watching her. The emotions he felt within himself scared him. He was torn, completely. He wanted to go and comfort her yet at the same time knew he had no place, and another part of him felt like disturbing her would not in any way help matters. She needed to finish the book.

Someone passed by him in a moment as they headed to the bathroom. It was enough. Spike shook his head hard and as expected, his mystery girl hadn’t moved a muscle as she sat there reading and crying. She was delved in her book and it was the most beautiful and miserable display of feeling he’d ever seen.

The pain Spike had witnessed throughout his time was a different sort of anguish than the type he saw now, on her face. This was empathy, empathy for the characters in her book, for the tale she was reading and yet also living. Which meant it was her own pain too, her own sadness and frustration, yet it wasn’t all hers at the same time. Spike knew how one could be affected by a book, how the story’s victims of peril and death and heartbreak could feel close to your own if the book fit the reader.

Watching the emotional display on her face, it tore at him and sent a wide shining crack into the armor around the heart he had inside. The heart that didn’t beat and sat cold in his chest. The heart that as much as he liked to believe otherwise, had never stopped working.

As he gathered his usual notebooks and tomes from his not-so-secret shelf, and sat in his dark green chair, Spike stared on at her. She’d yet to notice him which wasn’t a surprise at this point, and he squinted just enough to read the title of the novel in her hands.

The end of that night came quickly for him, in contrast to how long it took for her to finish the book and for her sniffles to finally subside. In reality it had taken no more than an hour for her to flip the last page, and an extra fifteen minutes for her tears to truly stop.

It had felt so much longer to Spike. Yet the remainder of that night passed quicker than he could ever remember time passing.

When the girl left a sudden empty feeling had engulfed him.

The next day Spike would find himself checking out the book he knew she had returned to its rightful shelf. The same book that had moved her to tears, the book which he knew she must have loved and possibly hated at the same time.

He read it, and tears had come unbidden to his eyes.

><

The beginning of the third week of October arrived, and with it one night of strangeness and warmth. A night which had made Buffy see the man she had come to think of as her library pal, an albeit rough and closed off sort, in a new light.

She had seen him cry before, maybe twice in front of her. Once while looking at a slip of paper so long ago back in September, and another time when he’d cried because of a book (and oh she understood doing THAT just all too well).

Stranger-guy wasn’t a softy, and although the day had gone by normally for them, the ending of it couldn’t have been more unusual had Buffy seen him crying violently. Which she still wasn’t sure he would ever do such a thing. He cried, she’d watched him, but he didn’t blubber or sob, at least not that she had witnessed. No, he wasn’t the sensitive sort. But that was something that had been proven wrong the night she’d left after him.

Buffy was always the first one to leave, it was part of their routine. Except she’d gotten hooked on a spectacularly long novel and swore to finish it before she walked back to Grams’.

Stranger-guy had put his things away and she caught him out of the corner of her eye looking at her quizzically, but that wasn’t really a surprise. He’d ended up leaving after a moment or two of just watching her, probably wondering why she hadn’t finished her story yet or why she wasn’t leaving it for tomorrow.

It didn’t matter. She was on the last three pages when he walked down the stairs and out of the building. By the time she’d put the novel back and gotten outside, she’d expected him to be gone.

He wasn’t.

Nope. He was across the street, the area completely devoid of people asides from the two of them. MayBell’s library stayed open until midnight for some reason, one Buffy was too grateful for to think too much about, and the town was pretty much dead late at night.

And the sight which greeted her had Buffy ducking around the side of the building to continue watching stranger-guy as he walked and tried hard to ignore a little ball of fur meowing at his feet.

It was a kitten. A tiny multicolored fluffball, meeping and pawing at his ankles as he groaned at the sky and stomped away.

“Shoo! Bugger off ya little- Ugh…”

Buffy bit her lip to stop from smiling. She couldn’t decide whether to pout for the kitten’s sake or to laugh at the way stranger-guy was handling this.

“Will you leave me alone?!” He shouted at the animal, looking down at his feet where the tiny kitten blinked up at him.

He ran a hand through his hair and groaned loudly. “Wha? What do you want? Food? Sorry fluffy m’out, an I paid up all my debts a long time ago so I’m in no need of any kittens.”

She frowned at that. Debts? Maybe he had a sister or something who he’d promised to get a kitten for…?

Buffy shook her head. Couldn’t figure that one out no matter how long she thought about it.

“Will you jus’- I- Bloody hell.” He turned and stormed away from the feline, but it followed quickly, mewing still and begging for something stranger-guy didn’t seem ready to give.

“I said sod off!” He pointed in his opposite direction. “Go on now. Find your mum or somethin an leave me alone. M’sure she’s got some yummy milk jus’ waitin for you.”

Buffy couldn’t help it. She laughed, and had to cover her mouth to stop it from bursting out of her chest.

He walked away again. Feline followed.

“For the love of- WHAT?!” He yelled at the animal, and then when it mewled pathetically at him stranger-guy’s face finally softened.

He sighed. “Only fucking me.” With a shake of his head he kneeled down and scooped the young kitty into his arms. Buffy watched a tiny reluctant smile appear on his lips.

“Oh sure now ya start purrin’. Ya know, you’ve got a strange choice in owners. Can’t say m’gonna be any good at takin care of a bloody cat.”

Buffy almost ‘awed’ aloud when she saw the tiny kitten sit upright in the man’s hand and lean up to lick his cheek. She (or he?) had taken a liking to stranger-guy for whatever reason, and he was bringing the animal home. Begrudgingly.

“Alright, alright. Now what will you need to eat, oh hell I’m gonna havta Google shite aren’ I?”

The kitten meowed in response. The man nodded. “Lovely. Well Spike, you’ve got yourself a tiny tabby.” He turned away and scoffed at himself, furry creature still in hand. “This is gonna be a bloody riot.”

And that was the last thing she heard him say as he walked out of earshot. Buffy’s heart warmed and she was so unaccustomed to the sensation that she almost felt surprise directly follow.

She knew that if he hadn’t taken the poor thing home then she would’ve ended up with a new roommate- and thank goodness Grams loved animals -but seeing stranger-guy reluctantly take in the tiny stray had warmed Buffy thoroughly whole.

She knew, don’t ask her how, that he wasn’t one to let things affect him. He didn’t like it. And yet, that bleach haired, leather wearing Brit had picked up a baby kitty cat and decided to take it home. Because it had affected him, even when he’d tried not to let it.

Oh God this one had a heart. A heart he wanted badly to ignore when the situation called for it, when something touched it, but similarly couldn’t always disregard.

Sometimes something just got too far in.

Buffy knew that feeling. Maybe they both didn’t want to really care for the same reasons, and maybe he was better at it than she was. Maybe he didn’t have to hide from letting people in, maybe he could talk to others without finding himself wandering mentally and remembering painful facts, but all the same destination right?

He didn’t like getting close to anybody, and neither did she.

So why did it feel like she was already close to him?

><

Halloween was approaching. The festive decorations all over MayBell could’ve told Buffy that if she didn’t have a calendar. There were black paper cats in windows, carved pumpkins on doorsteps, and life sized replicas of famous movie monsters in several stores. The Frankenstein in Pretty Penny’s almost gave her a heart attack when she’d first walked into the place on Monday afternoon.

She was there to buy a new shampoo, and then she planned on heading to the library as always. It was nice to have a routine, something that was solid and something she could stick to. Something that couldn’t be pulled out from under her.

Setting her chosen item down on the checkout counter, Buffy removed one of her headphones and pulled out her wallet. Then a hand appeared in front of her, a twenty dollar bill flattened between the countertop and skin.

Startled was an understatement. She almost choked on air and had to close her eyes and count to three before turning to look at the man to her right.

“Liz, I’m paying for the lady’s purchases today.” The brunette smiled at the checkout girl he presumably knew and then sent his friendly grin in Buffy’s direction. “If she doesn’t mind that is.”

Buffy blanked. Completely and totally blanked. Years before she would’ve smiled charmingly at the handsome man and flirted, maybe tossed in a hair flip, but now she was just praying she would be able to get out of the store without the guy following her. And also, how the hell did she respond to his offering? “U-Um. You don’t h-have to do that. I-”

“Nonsense. Consider it a welcome gift.” He pointedly handed his money over to the cashier girl and she gathered his change for him. The man hadn’t taken his eyes off of Buffy once yet and she was already wishing to be somewhere that was else.

“A what?”

“You’re new in town. This…” He swiftly picked up the shampoo bottle and read its label. “Honey & Apple Shampoo is a gift from me to you. Welcome to MayBell.” He smiled again. “I’m John by the way. But you can call me Johnny, everybody else does.”

She nodded softly. “Nice to meet you. A-And thank you for- for um, the shampoo.” Buffy smiled with tight lips as she picked up the bag which now held her- er, HIS purchase. One deep breath and then she allowed a warm, thankful grin to come forth. Turning to leave she didn’t even hear the footsteps behind her until the door to the shop opened seemingly by magic.

Then she realized John had raised his arm above her head to open it. How kind.

And cornering.

She uttered a thank you again before heading down the sidewalk.

John followed.

“So what’s your name?”

She mentally groaned. “Elizabeth. Elizabeth Summers.” Buffy reluctantly pulled out her other earphone as he started talking to her.

“Oh you’re Anne Summers’ granddaughter aren’t ya?”

She nodded.

“Well I gotta tell ya, your Grams is a terrific lady, everybody here loves her.”

“Yeah.” Buffy smiled genuinely that time, thinking of her grandma brought comfort to her heart. “She’s pretty great.”

“I actually heard about you movin into town I think, word travels fast 'round here. You’re from California right?”

With a small sigh she answered him in the affirmative, but he didn’t beg off on this conversation he seemed so adamant to have with her. She needed to get to the library and she wasn’t interested in talking with a complete stranger. He was nice enough but-

“Have you eaten yet?”
“Huh?” She asked ineloquently.

He laughed a little. “I know, it’s a strange question. I’m just askin cause if you hadn’t I was wonderin if maybe you’d like to grab a bite. We could go over to Bobby’s place? Ya know, the grill joint?”

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks, though the truly desired move was to run. THAT. That thing right there! She’d guessed this conversation was leading up to this, a date. He was asking her out on a date and she knew it simply from the way he talked with her and smiled charmingly.

“Um. I already ate. I- I-”

“Oh. Well that’s okay. Do you uh, have plans for dinner?” He asked with more than a little hope in between the words.

Wow people moved fast in this town. Buffy pursed her lips and frowned apologetically. “I-I um. I’ve got plans to be at the library all day so, no not really but I have stuff.” Her sentence stopped there, and Buffy could’ve lopped off her own tongue for being so unhelpful.

“You have stuff?” He asked her with an almost amused countenance.

“I… I-” Oh god this rapid blinking thing was aggravating. She couldn’t think. She was blindsided and she couldn’t find a way out. Her mind clouded and her gaze focused on an area behind him. Closing her eyes Buffy took a deep breath and swallowed. “I- I have stuff to do. And I guess I just planned on.. on um, grabbing a sandwich or something when I got hungry. Until then I was going to be at the library.”

This seemed to appease him, and she couldn’t have been more grateful. With a grin Buffy assumed he meant to be disarming, John nodded. “Okay. Well, maybe I’ll see you later then.”

She nodded and smiled, trying to hide the relief she felt and probably failing. “Sure. Maybe later. I’ll just. I’ll get going I guess.”

“Okay. It was nice talking to you Elizabeth.”

Oh she doubted that. “Bye John.”

And she turned and walked hurriedly to her destination, to her place of reprieve. Her place where no one bothered her and there weren’t any shocking changes, there weren’t any frightening occurrences to shake her foundation, or people talking. There were no questions or loud voices. Just books, a bathroom when needed, and silence.

And him.

Buffy walked into the library with a coffee in hand, sighing thankfully when she entered. The place was warm, and though the outside world only lived with a slight chill in the wind, it was enough to make her pleased that the few clothes she owned were sweaters. Comfortable baggy ones that engulfed her, and while they probably weren’t the most in-style… styles, they made her feel covered and safe.

She passed the second floor on her way up to the third, not needing to stop and search for a book. She’d gotten to reading one of her Grams’ last night and still hadn’t finished it, so today she had it tucked safely away in her bag.

“Do you mind if I bring this with me tomorrow to the library?” She had asked her grandmother the night before.

“No, ‘course not. Yer planning on headin out there ‘gain tomorrow?”

Buffy nodded. “Mhm. I like it there, it’s… cozy I guess is the right word.” She looked at Grams’ smiling face. “Oh great. Now you think I’m some freak who does nothing but hang out alone all the time until they eventually go crazy.”

Anne laughed. “Not at all.”

“Sure. But I know you’re just waitin for the day when I start talking to myself.” Buffy shook her head and quirked her lips.

A raised eyebrow. “Are you warnin me for what’s to come? ‘Cause, gotta tell ya sugarplum I don’ know how I feel ‘bout livin with a crazy person.”

Buffy laughed. “I’m just kidding Grams. Promise, I’ll stay sane.” She took the book in her hands to her room, her grandparent following close behind.

“Thank you.”

“For?” The old woman asked.

“Letting me take the book with me.”

“Not somethin I need thankin for, dear. Though m’not quite sure why ya need ta bring a book to a library of all places.”

The teenager shrugged. “I just like this one. I’m on chapter three and probably won’t finish it tonight.”

Grams answered her in a light tone. “Thought ya might just be havin trouble findin somethin interestin to read over there.”

“Nah.” Buffy turned around and went to her chest of drawers, rifling through them for pajamas. “I can read almost anything. Haven’t had any problems finding stuff I like.”

“Alright then. Just was gonna say f’you were then you could always ask him to help you find a story you enjoy.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. He usually keeps to himself and-” She finished her sentence off with a gasp and swung around to face her grandma. “You-!”

The woman laughed. “I knew yous was interested in somebody. Ya’ve just had that look about ya for the past couple a days. C’mon now, who is he?”

Buffy eyes bulged as she stood there gaping like a fish, her cheeks turning red.

She had answered before without thinking, and her mind automatically filled in the ‘him’ her Grams was referring to without realizing that she should’ve asked WHO the ‘him’ was supposed to be.

Ugh, she actually wanted to slap herself.

Instead, she just sent accusatory eyes in her smiling grandmother’s direction and walked into the bathroom as she ignored the warm chuckling on the other side of the door.

Anne hadn’t gotten an answer out of Buffy that night, but the teenager didn’t know that her grandma had a pretty good hunch as to who the mystery man was.

><

Spike knew she was there the second she reached the top of the first flight. He heard her footsteps, the rustling of a plastic bag, and caught the woman’s unique scent. He’d memorized her sound after awhile, could tell when it was her heading up the old staircase rather than some random library dweller he could care less about.

Except this time as she walked, she didn’t stop off on the second floor like she often tended to do. Spike frowned at this and finally raised his eyes from the notebook in his lap to take her in as she approached. His mystery girl glanced at him, and when their eyes met small smiles were exchanged.

They’d been doing that for a couple of weeks now. Spike knew he was the one who’d started it, though he couldn’t find it within himself to care. She made him comfortable now, her presence, and he found his smiles couldn’t really be helped.

She sat down on her cherished chaise lounge and removed her shoes, as always, before getting all settled in and retrieving a book from her bag. He always found it odd she wasn’t one of those birds to carry a large flashy purse. What she had was a shoulder bag which looked used and old, but certainly not in bad condition. It was probably a backpack, but he knew it wasn’t used as such. Her coat looked like it matched the worn knapsack in a way, though it also obviously didn’t.

He watched her read, she started doing that thing where she nibbled her lip and he always found it tantalizing. Her blonde hair was in its usual ponytail and he often wondered what it would look like down. Her locks weren’t extremely long, but they shined and looked soft to the touch. Her slender fingers flipped a page and he zeroed in on the bobby pin she twisted and played with. Her habits distracted him, she hypnotized him. And whenever he wanted he could look over and catch a glimpse of her.

Spike went back to his notebook and continued his writing, knowing that his mystery girl wasn’t too far away should he feel a need to see her. Just watch her. At home he had no such privilege, he couldn’t look to her in person when the desire to see her face asides from in his mind’s eye nagged at him. Though now with his new pet as company, Spike was often able to distract himself, as well as feel something asides from completely alone. Yeah, he still had that bloody kitten, and he ashamedly found that he was beginning to spoil her.

He was such a nancy boy.

><

It had been a couple of hours and she was twisting that locket which always adorned her neck around in her hand. Her uncolored nails framing the heart shaped mental in her fingers. She was wrapped up in her story, and Spike found himself mesmerized by her for a few moments before he turned back to the poem in his lap.

The distant sound of a stranger approaching their floor whispered in Spike’s ears, though he was used to people coming up here occasionally, usually to use the bathroom. They were far and few between so he didn’t even bother raising his eyes to look at the newcomer.

Then he spoke.

><

“Elizabeth.”

She didn’t hear him, or the almost chipper tone he used when addressing her. How could she when she was immersed in her story and, for the most part, oblivious to the world around her.

“Elizabeth?”

Then her head jerked up as she finished the page, her green eyes widening comically at the face in front of her. “John.”

“Don’t worry, m’not stalkin you.” He said with his soft country accent. “But you said you were gonna be at the library all day an I realized you left somethin at Pretty Penny’s.”

He sat down on the chair beside her lounge seat, and the man didn’t seem to notice her tensing.

No one was supposed to bother her here. She was in book land, realm of absolute reprieve, and freedom from all threats the outside world threw at her. Threats like kind guys who asked her out on dates. Yes, she was being a complete hermit and this man was very nice, very friendly, but they weren’t just in town right now or outside chatting. She was in the library, HER library, and on her floor. She wasn’t supposed to be bothered here.

They weren’t supposed to be bothered here.

Before she could overanalyze that thought, John spoke again. “I’ve got your wallet.” He held up said object and smiled at her. “You probly hadn’t even realized it was gone yet did ya?”

The comment could’ve been looked at as condescending had he said it with anything less than warm understanding. Buffy blinked a few times and took a breath, silently willing herself to just talk like a normal human being for once and focus. “Thank you.” She said stiffly as she put her feet down on the ground. Then she realized she was barefoot, and the embarrassing knowledge couldn’t have been more interesting to her nervous mind. Of course she would latch onto that.

Trying for an easy grin as best she could, Buffy reached out and went to take the wallet from John. He pulled it a little bit away from her, a teasing smile creeping onto his lips. “Now now wait just a minute. I think since I’m returnin yer wallet to you I deserve a lil somethin in return don’tchya think?”

And just like that her frazzled nerves returned. Maybe he just wanted a cash reward (She could hope right?). Buffy thought she was going to be able to talk to this man without getting into a long conversation or losing her train of thought, but now she knew she was screwed.

She chewed on her bottom lip, erasing any point of having applied ChapStick earlier. She couldn’t recall putting her wallet back in her bag now that she thought about it, and the eye roll worthy stupidity she felt at herself was plentiful. God she was such a scatterbrain.

Biting back a sigh, her eyes landed on where they’d been itching to turn since the first moment John had entered her peaceful not-so-alone alone time.

Green eyes met stormy blue. She only glanced, couldn’t have looked at stranger-guy for more than a second, but it had been one hell of a second. The expression on his face and in his gaze sent a chill down Buffy’s spine and she actually had to tell herself to breathe after a moment of staring holes into the floor.

God he’d looked ANGRY, and she had no idea why. But he’d been staring RIGHT at her and where she sat talking to-

Shoot. Her eyes shot up, and the time must’ve seemed much longer to her than it actually had been in between sentences because John just sat there normally, awaiting her response.

Wait, response to what? She’d completely blanked on what they were talking about. *As usual.* Of course this time stranger-guy had helped with her mind travelling a bit.
“U-Um, what? I-”

“Come have lunch with me. If today doesn’ work for ya then sometime this week.”

“Oh.” So that’s where he was bringing this.

“I’ll take it as a thank you for returnin your wallet.” He smiled, and somehow the man managed to sound sweet and not pushy at all when asking her out for the second time in one day while also using the fact that’d he’d found her wallet as leverage over her.

He didn’t SOUND threatening or anything of the like, but it didn’t stop Buffy from grinding her teeth together in anxiety. She so didn’t want to turn him down again, but she even more so didn’t want to agree to the date. She just- No. It was a no, and though this man had returned her wallet to her and bought her shampoo-…

Damn it. Why was he interested in her anyway? Buffy knew she didn’t owe John anything, not really, though she could offer him some cash for bringing her wallet back to her. Hell she’d give him back what he’d spent on the shampoo too, she just didn’t want to go out to dinner with the guy.

“I can’t.”

His eyebrows drew together, a small frown coming out to play. “Oh. Well, can I ask why?”

Before she could even come up with a somewhat polite and non-hurtful answer to that, a third voice joined in on the conversation.

“Darling I finally found that book you wanted.”

Her green eyes locked immediately onto the frame of the man dressed from head to toe in black. Well, neck to toe if you included his hair in the equation. Stranger-guy stood there, a small paperback displayed in his outstretched hand. Buffy frowned hard as her heart began pounding, her confused gaze landing on his unreadable one. Then she looked at the book, and back to his face again. Had he just called her darling?

*What the fu-*

Her thought was stopped mid-word when the platinum blonde sat down, invading Buffy’s personal bubble and placing an arm around her. He didn’t really touch her, just grazed her while setting his arm down where it now encircled her hips and rested on the pink seat.

He put the book in her lap and then met the other man’s eyes with an almost challenging stare in his own. Before saying anything he looked back to Buffy. “Sorry it took me so long to find sweetheart, it was hidin behind some others.”

Did he really expect a reply? When she was so confused? Because the expression on his face almost looked like he wanted a response, and if he did then he was shit out of luck. And ‘sweetheart?’ Buffy was becoming so frustrated she was all set to whimper simply out of not knowing what to do.

Then he was speaking again, but not to her this time. “‘Ello mate.” He said to John. “Been keepin my girl company while I’s away?”

John’s reaction to that comment would’ve almost been funny had Buffy not been so abundantly lost. The man sputtered (yes, actually sputtered), and shook his head the slightest bit. “Oh u-um…” Buffy didn’t catch the little smile forming on stranger-guy’s face. “I was just returning her wallet. She uh.. I found it.”

John’s gaze went to Buffy’s and she suddenly felt how big her own eyes had gotten. She tried to smile easily, and surprisingly, actually succeeded. However, she had suddenly lost the ability to blink. Maybe it was a shock thing.

“Well then,” Stranger-guy said with a disarming grin. “that’s awfully good f’you to return it to her. Isn’t it, pet?”

Buffy turned her again startled expression to the man who’d caused it, but the look he had on told her to play along and she found herself slipping into a role. “U-um.. Y-yes it was.” She faced the brunette again, speaking genuinely even if her words were a bit too pronounced. “Thank you, John. I really, really appreciate it.”

Then, with all her might, Buffy forced a bright smile and could tell that John was ready to back off. He awkwardly set the wallet down on the corner table and nodded at the two people he thought were a couple.

“Um, sure. No problem. Anytime.” He nodded and smiled tightly at the both of them. “You guys uh, have a good day now.”

“You too, mate.”

They watched the visitor leave, neither Spike nor Buffy moving until he was completely out of their sights.

She’d apparently leaned into stranger-guy at some point, and their shoulders were now touching. Her hand itched to just place itself on his thigh but she tugged the urge back. What was wrong with her? And what the HELL had just happened?

Suddenly pulling away from him, Buffy scowled into his bright blue eyes. “What on EARTH were you doing?”

He smirked, and it really shouldn’t have been sexy to her at that moment, but damn him it was. “Helpin you. Could tell you were jus’ burstin at the seams to get rid a that bloke.”

Buffy looked on incredulous. How did HE know that? Though it was true, it still hadn’t given him the right to-

Wait. Why was she fighting this? He had saved her from having to go on a date with a guy she didn’t like. He’d set up a quick scheme to get rid of John and-

But. He didn’t know for SURE she hadn’t wanted that date. What if she had? Then he would’ve caused all sorts of problem and-

*Ugh he’s messing with my head!*

“Who says I didn’t want to talk to him?” She asked annoyed. “You couldn’t have been sure. And yeah, I’ll admit I didn’t. But still, what if I had?!”

Spike gazed into her vibrant green eyes sparkling with irritation and fire. She looked completely unsure of his gesture, whether she should care or not, be grateful or spit in his face. Her brows were furrowed into the most adorable little frown and the Brit tilted his head in study. While his eyes flitted across her face and gleamed at this new sight, words left his lips with a calm and knowing evenness. “You wouldn’t ‘ave gone along with our little game.”

Buffy blinked a few times, her scowl deepening. “W-Well it still didn’t give you the right to just come over here and- and lay claim to me.” She scooted away from him. “I mean, ‘darling’? Really? You were layin it on pretty thick but throwing in the pet names was just the icing on the cake.”

“Made him leave didn’ it?” Spike raised a cocky eyebrow. “An besides, didn’t hear you complainin.”

That freaking smirk of his was becoming very agitating very quickly. She narrowed her eyes before letting out a sigh. “Well, since I really didn’t want to go out with him, I guess I owe you a ‘thank you’ of some sort.” His growing smile made her backtrack. “Even though I never asked for any help.”

Spike blinked a couple of times before looking at his mystery girl with slightly amused eyes. When he’d first seen that pillock trying to talk to her he’d almost walked right up and strangled the git, and when she had clearly been uninterested in talking Spike had become even angrier. The bloke was sniffing around something that wasn’t his, and not only did the girl seem anxious around the stranger, but she’d looked right over at Spike.

Though he was still mulling over the now acknowledged feelings inside of him with panic, Spike had realized fairly quickly that he didn’t care quite enough about how much these emotions set him on edge when some other man was talking to his mystery girl.

His. When she had become his the Brit had no idea, all that mattered was that she was.

“What’s your name?” He asked. She’d said she thought he deserved a thank you right? Well, this was plenty enough for him. He wanted to know her, and a name was always a good place to start.

The woman blinked, pulling her head back a little in surprise. “Um… Why do you care?” So she was being cautious. Give her a break the guy had only talked to her ONCE before randomly pretending to be her boyfriend.

He laughed a little. “I need a reason to ask your name? You in the witness protection program, love?”

She gulped in response to the pet name she was so not ready for. Couldn’t he stop doing that? Using the endearments? Even if she begrudgingly liked them… “No but.. I don’t know you. N-Not really.”

“You know me.” He said with a little too much confidence. “We see each other every bloody day.”

She was silent at that, and when she didn’t look like she was about to respond and just kept staring at him with an unreadable expression, he spoke again. “I’m Spike. If it makes you feel any better.”

She scoffed suddenly. “Yeah, telling me your name is SPIKE makes things real casual and chill.”

He smiled and clicked his tongue, regarding her. “A’right then, what’s YOUR name? C’mon, I gave you mine. S’only fair you tell me yours.”

She rolled her eyes before the answer finally spilled off of her tongue. “Buffy.”

She paused right after she said it. Buffy. She hadn’t told him Elizabeth. Maybe it was because she already felt weirdly comfortable in his presence, and oddly at ease talking to him? Like she knew him? It must be because of all the silent time they’d spent together, although truthfully Buffy felt it wasn’t so simple. She couldn’t feel this way with others who she sat in the same room with every night but never talked to- But could she feel this way at all then? What made him so special? It was all really weird, and she hadn’t told anyone her nickname in a long time. Stranger-guy- Spike rather, was just… there was something about him.

Those damn blue eyes, she swore it was their fault.

He smiled before repeating her name, the sound sweet like honey but tainted with mirth. He couldn’t get that teasing grin off of his face. “Well it looks like m’not the only one with a funny name now am I, pet?”

“My name isn’t funny!” The defense was automatic really, and she refused to admit to the blush creeping up her cheeks.

Spike grinned. “Oh, so that is your name then? I wasn’t so sure you weren’ jokin, love.”

“Will you stop calling me that!”

“What?”

“‘LOVE’ and ‘pet’, it’s.. it’s annoying.” She was lying, and she couldn’t understand why he was getting her so flustered.

God she was cute all blushing and mad. “Sorry LOVE, don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

The woman sighed and finally took a moment to examine the situation. For once, in a very long time, she found herself not itching to get away from a conversation that didn’t include her Grams. It was…

Buffy frowned.

It was welcome. Weird too, but… nice. Even if her and stranger-guy were technically arguing, but it didn’t bother her. “You’re not making me uncomfortable.” She spoke before she could really think about it.

He titled his head. “Thought I was.”

“No.” Buffy smiled softly. “No. I- You’re not. I um, I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She felt the fire in her simmer down to a warm feeling in her stomach, and again she swore it was all because of those eyes. Of course, the man’s kind, albeit teasing manner helped in a way that surprised her. She should feel cornered but she didn’t.

She should want to get back to her book but found that this man interested her (well, he always had) and was unthreatening. He didn’t smile brightly at her like she was something fresh to a bored eye. He didn’t flirt with brashness, if he was flirting at all, and he wasn’t asking her a million questions asides from the one about her name.

“You’re forgiven.” He said with gentle delight in his tone. “Wasn’ mad anyhow. An I won’t ask you to repay me for savin you from that ninny.”

“Ninny?” Her brows drew together and her nose scrunched.

He didn’t think she could’ve been cuter if she tried. “Ninny, fool or simpleton. Look it up f’you must, love.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Why would I when I have my own talking dictionary right here?”

He laughed and smiled. Buffy found she liked seeing that look on him. “Well, my own BRITISH dictionary. You’re English huh?”

A sarcastic tone was adapted. “Gee what gave it away, ducks?”

She smirked. “Well nicknames like THAT for one. ‘Ducks?’” Buffy raised an eyebrow.

He smiled bashfully. “S’just a thing we Brits do.”

“Am I supposed to go quack?”

He laughed outright at that. “Oh God I hope not.”

Buffy waited for his chuckles to die down before she spoke again. “What other nicknames are in your vocabulary Mr. Brit?”

His eyebrow quirked. “Did you just call me Mr. Brit?”

Buffy smiled again, and she was too caught up in talking to Spike to notice it. She hadn’t grinned this much in a while, even when talking with Grams- and ESPECIALLY not when talking to a stranger.

Why Spike got her to open up her shell and crawl out of it (Okay maybe she was only peeking, but still.) was an ability the Summers Girl wasn’t looking to figure out. If Buffy started wondering why she felt comfortable in this stranger’s company she would start over thinking and questioning stuff she really did not want to examine right now. So she sat and talked, without pausing to think of why she didn’t want to get away. Without pausing at all.

She didn’t blank out and her mind didn’t travel, her brain didn’t wander to painful thoughts or downhearted memories, and it was nice just to talk.

Spike teased her, when he made her blush for the third time in a row he pointed it out and told her that she was cute when she did that, which only succeeded in making Buffy redden more (much to Spike’s delight). He talked about light things with her, easy conversation topics that didn’t prod or ask for more than what she was willing to give. The only moment Spike seized to ask her when she had moved here was after Buffy mentioned she used to live in California.

“I just moved here a month ago. I um… I live with my grandmother now, Anne Summers.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Oh, yeh I think I know who you’re talkin ‘bout. Lives over on James Street right?”

Buffy nodded, thankful Spike didn’t seem to be ready to ask her about WHY she’d moved. “Right.”

Spike chuckled suddenly. “Cute little old lady, your grandmum is. Tough one too, packs a hell of a punch she does.”

Buffy’s eye widened into saucers. “What?” She asked, slightly frightened over what Spike had just said.

Spike’s easy smile turned into a confused frown. “Wha? You don’t know?”

When she said nothing in response Spike laughed before catching himself. “Oh.” He covered his mouth to smother the grin and tried to force back his laughter.

“What?” Buffy asked suddenly, eager and apprehensive at the same time. “Why are you laughing? Wh- What do you mean by my grandmother ‘packs a hell of a punch’?”

He didn’t answer, but instead bit his lips together to fight back the smile that threatened to emerge. “Spike!”

“Alright, alright I’ll tell you.” He said, barely containing his mirth. “I saw your grandmum out late one evenin, walkin home I think she was. Passed by some folks she knew I suppose, started talkin to em. When I was just ‘bout to the corner I saw her turn and face this old bloke. Looked mightily brassed off, she did. ”

“Oh my God.” Buffy rolled her eyes closed. One part of her slightly in shock and another part not surprised in the least at where this was headed. Her Grams may be sweet and gentle, but Buffy knew she also didn’t put up with shit. “Grams what did you do,” she said to herself, head tilted towards the ceiling.

Spike smirked despite himself. “She decked him.”

Buffy’s eyes opened and stared in crazy cartoon style at the man in front of her. “I wasn’t expecting an answer to that!”

The smirk never moved. “Well, you asked.”

“It was rhetorical!”

“A minute ago it wasn’t. You were beggin to know that your Grams could be the next Mike Tyson.”

Buffy groaned. “Oh God, only Grams.” She put her head in her hands as a helpless smile crept up her features. Then the laughing started, and she couldn’t quite stop.

He stepped through the front door of his home later that night, the foyer was wide in size and the walls a dark maroon color with brown molding.

Spike wasn’t affected by temperature, whether it be below zero or hitting southern highs in the summer, but he liked to keep his home warm. Warm in both degrees and atmosphere; though sometimes he felt that he could hardly call his place a home.

It was lonely, empty. Lacking in the living. However, he could at least call it his own. It was personalized and comfortable, filled with rich colors and area rugs. The kitchen was a golden yellow hue, the sturdy oak island and cabinets and counters he had built himself.

You learned a lot when you’d been around for as long as he had, and didn’t have anything really worthwhile to take up your time with. Some might say it was strange not having tile in the kitchen or new granite countertops, Spike didn’t really give a damn. And the large fireplace that he’d reopened and gotten working again, although no one but him enjoyed it, made his entire living room that much more welcoming. He did find it ironic sometimes how there was no one he’d want to welcome into his home though.

Well maybe that wasn’t quite true, the meowing furball at his feet said otherwise.

Shaking his head at himself the Brit bent down to pet the little thing. “How’d you get out a the kitchen ya little hairball?”

It purred in response, then turned around with its tail in the air and hopped back into the room Spike had thought she’d be set in for the night. And oh yes, he was guessing it was a she; had too much attitude to be male.

The big bad, creature of the night had set up an open box with a blanket in it as a bed for his new pet, as well as a water bowl and mushed up kitten food and a saucer of special formula. Spike had put a child gate in the doorway and hoped that the animal would’ve stayed put, considering he’d gone to a lot of work to kitten-proof his kitchen. However, it looked like she’d just jumped out.

If she’d gotten lost in his house somewhere he never would have been able to find her. “Naughty lil thing.” Spike said as he scooped the animal up, she was so small she fit right snugly in his hand, and started purring once again as he held her close.

Spike carried her over to her empty dishes and set her back in her box then refilled everything. He started contemplating ways of keeping her safely locked away in this one room while he was away from home. She started gobbling up her food and drink, unknowingly making the vampire smile at her.

Spike rolled his eyes at himself as he removed his coat. The little furball was just too damn… cute, all fluffy and purring all the time. What was he supposed to do, give her away?

After an hour or two of searching on the internet for how to properly tend to the animal, he didn’t feel like anyone else would take good enough care of her. Not when he knew he would.

Spike sighed as he opened up the refrigerator and tossed a blood bag into the microwave, waiting for it to beep. When it did he grabbed his dinner and emptied the blood into a mug. Taking a gulp he looked at the feline now rubbing against his booted foot. He would never understand why she took such a liking to him, but she did. As long as he kept her fed, of course.

The night he’d first brought her back with him she’d meowed for almost an hour before Spike had finally realized he would have to go into town and break into the closed pet shop and swipe some food for her. She was too little for anything he might have in the fridge, which wasn’t much to be honest. Just some left over buffalo wings, blood, and a frozen pizza. There was of course a lot of sugary frozen treats like ice cream as well, but even he knew that wasn’t very nutritional to a kitten… or a vampire for that matter.

So he’d gone and stolen all the things she would need. Formula, both dry and wet kitten food, a couple of little feeding bowls, some toys...

Okay he was completely whipped by her. Do you think he was happy about it?! A bloody cat and it already had him wrapped around its little paw! Believe him, Spike was not pleased with himself.

Though every time she looked up at him with those big green eyes he didn’t really care anymore.

Spike shook his head before taking another gulp of his meal, and picked up his now fully fed feline. She started purring again and he tried to stop the smile from forming on his face but failed. Miserably.

He swore it were those eyes of hers, they reminded him of his mystery girl’s…

Okay yes, strange things to compare. But every time Spike looked into the kitty’s eyes he swore they were the exact same shade of green as Buffy’s.

Buffy. God he couldn’t have guessed that name in a decade, but it was cute. Fit her somehow. After really talking to her for the first time tonight Spike thought he saw another side of the bird, not including the beautifully irritated version that had sparked after that bloke who’d been hitting on her left.

Spike was shown another side of Buffy tonight, one he hadn’t thought he’d ever be fortunate enough to see.

With as much as he watched the girl she always seemed desolate and sad. Alone. The only times he got to witness feeling lighten her face was when she was reading. She would cry or smile and sometimes even laugh when she had a book, but after that cover was closed she’d usually become quiet again. Not quiet in the sense where she didn’t talk, because Spike had never really talked to her to deem whether or not she was being strangely silent or just being herself.

No, without a story for her to read SHE became quiet. Her eyes dimmed to a dull albeit still gorgeous hue, and her shoulders sagged just a little. Spike couldn’t put his finger on it but without a book, Buffy was always quiet.

Except tonight she hadn’t needed a book. She’d talked with him, and he’d seen a whole different side of her. She was paying attention to him. When they chatted she listened and laughed, smiled and rolled her eyes a couple of times. She made little jokes once in a while and she actually became alive with him. A light surrounded her. She wasn’t just living a story while she flipped through pages, she had engaged with him and Spike saw a spark. She just had something about her that drew him in, that shone. Although it was a tempered light.

She’d unwound in a way Spike had never seen before unless she was lost to another world, but there was a shadow lining that light she carried. It was so… she just seemed not quite all there with him, like she was holding back without trying; if he could really describe it as such. Her light was dimmed. He had no idea why, but he knew there was… something hanging over her.

Don’t ask Spike how he knew all of this, because truthfully he didn’t. There was no proof. He hadn’t known her for too long, although he also felt that was a lie. He DID know her, he did understand this girl and he KNEW something was following her around and saddening her. He just didn’t know how he knew her so easily, he didn’t know why she called to him like a beacon and he didn’t know why he let her.

Spike had never, in over a century, noticed somebody like he did her. Sure sometimes, over the years he would see a person who had something special about them, who carried themselves in certain way or stood out to him. He had seen so many people over time, and yet none of them carried a signature like Buffy did. His mystery girl.

His mystery girl who Spike realized he had developed feelings for.

With a groan he quickly finished up his blood, bringing his pet with him into the living room where he set her down on the couch. Spike went to light the fire while grumbling to himself about the same person he’d been trying to get off his mind for a long while now.

He didn’t like this. Sure he didn’t like being alone either but getting closer to Buffy was both impossible and impossible to AVOID. Noticing her at Pretty Penny’s was one thing. Spike had figured he wouldn’t ever get to know her and had accepted the fate immediately; although she had been in his thoughts for a short time after first spotting her, sooner or later he would’ve been able to shake her memory easily enough. Then she’d been at the library, and now he was too attached. Spike wasn’t sure how much he liked that fact that he was finding himself worrying about her and mooning over her pretty eyes all the time, it was bloody frustrating!

He had been alone for many years now and getting closer to a human girl was not on his to-do list. People left and died all the time, he shouldn’t be this focused on the girl. Not to mention she’d run off in bloody terror if she ever found out what he was. Vampires after all didn’t exist.

Spike kindled the new flames a bit and watched sparks fly into the air. They lost their light and heat before his eyes, changing from yellow to black as they floated back down to the flames. A tiny meow from the kitty-cat behind him caught Spike’s attention and he moved the metal screen back in front of the fire before walking to her side. He petted her on the head for a moment before moving to his TV set and switching it on, hoping that maybe something was playing which could distract him from thoughts of Buffy. Someone who Spike had a feeling wasn’t going to stay such a mystery to him anymore.

Christ he was fucked.

><

“Grams!” Buffy yelled as she entered her home. “Grams where are you?!”

After walking home remembering her entire night at the library, certain topics that had been part of hers and Spike’s conversations resurfaced and the Summers girl was ready to ask her grandmother something important.

“Jesus now why’re you hollerin?!” She yelled back from the kitchen. “I may be old but m’not deaf get yer skinny butt in here!”

Buffy entered the kitchenette with her hands on her hips. “Now I want verification.” She said in the sternest voice she could muster. “Did you punch somebody about two months back?”

Anne frowned for a minute before she titled her head and nodded. “Yeah. I did, so?”

Buffy guffawed. “Are you joking?!”

“Now child why on Earth would I joke ‘bout somethin like that?” She asked as her hip stuck out and she set a hand on it. “An obviously you knew it happened or else you wouldn’t a come in here yellin about it.”

“I- I just-...”

“What? Thought an old lady like me couldn’t strike a man who don’t know how to keep his hands ta himself? Please, sugar Old Arnie ain’t the first I’ve decked in my time.”

“I- He-… Okay ya know what never mind, I just-” Buffy hung her bag over a chair and sat down with a slightly amused expression. “Now I know that we are definitely related.”

Grams went back to the pot she’d been stirring and smiled proudly. “Ya don’t mess with Summers Women, that’s what yer granddaddy always said. He taught me that right hook you know.”

Buffy was chuckling and bit her lip to try and stop, though it didn’t help much. “D’you ever use it on him?”

“Nope. Your gramps was a smart man. Always knew when ta keep his distance f’I was in a bad mood. Saved himself alotta headaches that way I’ll tell ya that.”

Buffy nodded before her grandma spoke again. “You know I don’t remember tellin you anything ‘bout punchin old Arnie. The folks in town still talkin ‘bout it?”

The girl reddened before she could even think to help it. Time to talk about stranger-guy now… “U-Um no. No I heard about the incident from someone else.”

“Who told you?”

Before Buffy could answer Grams said, “Get up for a minute darlin and come try this gumbo over here. It’s an old Cajun recipe, see f’you like it.”

Buffy did as was asked and walked to the tall black pot where Anne pulled out a filled wooden spoon. “Now who mentioned me punchin Arnie?”

The girl blew on the gumbo before tasting it and nodding in approval. “Well, I didn’t even know who you’d hit I was just told that you were seen- That you-” Buffy sighed. “Remember that weird guy I told you about? The one at the library with the- the bleach job and the attitude and the blue eyes? Well I finally talked to him today, like we actually had a conversation and um… When I told him I was your granddaughter he started laughing about when he saw you punch some guy. He thought I knew. He said that you had a hell of a right hook.” Buffy mumbled the rest.

Anne was silent for a minute before a proud grin appeared on her face. Then she just shook her head and went back to stirring the gumbo.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?”

“Don’t give me that,” Buffy said. “I know that smile, I’ve seen that smile. Why do you look all… all…”

“All what, sugar?”

“All proud and like you know something. C’mon Grams, I know it’s not just cause you’re happy this guy complimented you on your fighting skills.” Buffy placed her hands on her hips.

Her Grams turned to her, the smile never wavering. “So you talked to him, huh?”

Buffy blushed again then nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Y-Yes. We talked.”

Anne nodded. “A’right. Now you just go on and wash up for dinner.”

“Wai- What?” Buffy frowned, confused by the abrupt change. “Go and-”

“Go put your things away and wash up for dinner. The gumbo’s just ‘bout done now, I’ll set the table.”

When the teenager didn’t move Anne took a hand towel and swatted her granddaughter’s butt a couple of times in lighthearted reprimand. “What’re ya just standing there for, put yer bag and jacket back in yer room. Go on now.”

Buffy left with her things, a frown still marring her features. She was sure her Grams would’ve asked more questions, grilled some details out of her about Spike. But the older woman hadn’t even asked his name.

Odd.

><

Anne finished setting the kitchen table and poured some spicy gumbo into the two bowls set out. She smiled to herself once again, thinking about what her granddaughter had told her.

She’d known Buffy had a crush, or at least an INTEREST in somebody, and Anne figured it was the strange man who lived in town and whose name was known by no one.

She also knew that if she asked too many questions about him, Buffy would shy away from her possible budding feelings and over think things. And while the girl might do that all on her own anyhow, Anne didn’t want to have a part in messing with anything.

She’d want Elizabeth to make her own choices, even if they were possibly risky, rather than scare her away from making any at all.

><

Buffy tore off her jeans and slipped into a heavy pair of sweat pants. She took her hair down and went to the bathroom, looking in the mirror at herself after she closed the door.

She looked less tired than usual. It was strange, seeing her reflection filled with just a day’s wear rather than exhaustion. The circles under her eyes weren’t as defined, and was that a little grin on her face?

No. Now that couldn’t be, could it? She was only thinking about her night, only remembering the time at the library, when she’d talked to stranger-guy. Someone who wasn’t much of a stranger anymore.

Buffy sighed and went to take off the little makeup she had on. She’d actually really enjoyed talking to Spike; she’d had fun tonight with someone again. It was nice. The conversations shared weren’t awkward and there had been no strain. His smile was infectious, his laugh warm and nice to listen to, his accent deadly.

There was something very different about Spike. Asides from all that black and the platinum hair, which okay Buffy had to admit looked pretty good on him. But no, that’s not what she was talking about. There was something unusual about him, he acted differently in ways. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

For one the guy never came in earlier than six o’clock, he always had the same books that he went over- Well, most of the time. Sometimes he grabbed something different but not usually, and then of course there was just an air of edge around him, something almost- No, not almost. Definitely. Something that was DEFINIETLY dangerous, and yet Buffy wasn’t the least bit afraid of him. And there was a layer of emotion so deep in his crystalline eyes whenever she looked at him that she knew he wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met before. She had a feeling that this man had lived lifetimes, and felt every emotion in the book.

Buffy sighed again as she dried her skin with a washcloth and applied some moisturizer. What she was feeling and why she kept thinking about him even now that she’d left the library, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she liked him, the rudeness she’d once seen in him wasn’t really there tonight. Well, just a little but that was only when John had been asking her out.

Funny how easily Spike had slipped in to help her out with that. She still remembered… “Darling I finally found that book you wanted.”

She smiled to herself. She owed him a thank you for that, even if he had blindsided her with his plan to get John to leave.

“Dinner’s ready, ‘Lizabeth!”

“Coming Grams!”

Buffy yawned and headed to the kitchen.

Maybe tomorrow she’d bring Spike a coffee or something.

She hadn’t been back to the library in a week.

Instead she’d developed a new routine, no matter how temporary Buffy knew it was. She would walk with earphones in, her head in a book; and if she wasn’t reading it she was carrying one in her bag.

An aged dirt road, with a small line in the ground where bikes had frequently passed was her daily route for now.

That coffee she’d planned on bringing to stranger-guy- Well, not so much stranger-guy anymore since those hours of actual conversation with the man. –had never been delivered. She’d never gone back to the MayBell library, not after her brain started working again- and Buffy did not remember giving it permission to go on vacation!

Photographs could do a lot. They could help people to reminisce, conjure nostalgia, make someone smile.

Seven days ago they’d managed to make her cry. Of course, Buffy was no stranger to tears as of late, and God knew she’d recently become very acquainted with the whole red eyes and tight throat thing.

Yet the emotional downturn she had taken a week ago wasn’t her everyday upset or nightmare caused breakdown.

She’d been up in the attic.

Bare brown wooden walls that needed some serious dusting, a crooked picture here or there, a heavy old trunk. Oh yeah, the house’s third floor could be used in movies it was so predictably authentic.

She had wanted to simply explore a little, having remembered all the historic junk and unlabeled boxes that hid up there. A couple of porcelain dolls, an antique coat rack, a wardrobe with missing handles and drawers on the bottom. Old 20s and 30s style dresses. There were tons of things.

Then she’d looked to the boxes, one having caught her eye. The folded cardboard flaps weren’t taped and no dust touched the surface. The fact the rest of the attic looked like a potential Pledge commercial led Buffy to believe that this box must’ve been moved upstairs recently.

Curiosity jabbed at her.

She wished it hadn’t.

Inside were stacks of pictures. Ones of when she was little, ones of her parents, as well as some of Papa. Tears welled up in Buffy’s eyes and she’d bit them back as well as she could, which wasn’t that great all things considered.

Grams must have hidden the pictures on purpose before her granddaughter moved in, not wanting Elizabeth to see them and get upset.

*You tried, Grams. You tried, and I love you for it.*

It felt like the fire had been just yesterday. Wiring in old houses was really something that should be checked out periodically.

Buffy shook her head harshly against a cold breeze. She should’ve thought of that or something, should’ve been there the night it happened.

She’d quickly come to the conclusion a long time ago that if she had been home the night she’d lost her family, then something might’ve been done to stop it. She might have thought to replace the batteries in the smoke detector or she might have smelled the smoke, she might have been up at the time the fire started. She was a teenager after all, stayed up past midnight pretty often. She’d done it that night when she’d been sleeping over at a friend’s house. She should’ve been home.

Instead she was snuggled up watching movies and laughing, and that’s when she’d gotten the call. At four in the morning on a Saturday a man she couldn’t remember the name of told her that her home had burnt down, her mother and grandfather trapped inside.

Papa- her grandfather -that was what she called him. Buffy clutched the wristwatch in her fist as she gazed ahead at the river in front of her. Her pathway, the little bike trail led to a dark and smooth river where Elizabeth would sit in the grass and just think or read or try and lose herself in music. She was holding the only thing of her grandpa’s that survived the disaster. It was found in the remains of the fire, along with the locket around her neck which had been her mom’s. They were the only two things Buffy had left.

She often found it strange how a human being could be burnt to death, while a piece of jewelry or a device used to tell time made it out just fine minus a little smoke damage.

Joyce Summers died in the flames, though the coroner said she most likely passed out from smoke intake first. Buffy’s grandpa, Joyce’s father, had been saved by a fireman before the fire could take him; however, he died of smoke inhalation on his way to the hospital shortly after.

And Buffy had lived. She missed them every day. After her dad passed away when she was little Papa had come to live with her and her mom, helping raise the young Summers girl. Going to her ice skating competitions and watching cheerleading tryouts. Attending brownie meetings when mom couldn’t make it; though most of the time Joyce was there too.

Tears leaking from her eyes for the hundredth time that week, Elizabeth wiped irritatingly at them and yanked her headphones from her ears. She swallowed hard and put the antique watch back inside her book bag but couldn’t stop herself from fiddling with the necklace she wore.

She looked up at the bright blue sky, immediately reminded of Spike. Those eyes.

She missed him. She missed being able to talk to him, but it was the fact that she missed someone she barely knew anything about and who was still someone that she felt she knew very well, that kept Buffy from going back to the library.

There was a pull; she wanted her special pink lounge and the warm atmosphere of the third floor, and the regular glances she would make at him. She wanted to feel his presence, whether it was to talk with Spike or just be in the same room. She needed that familiarity and comfort, but she couldn’t have it. She was already too attached.

She couldn’t get closer to him. She’d lose him or something, she couldn’t allow herself to get closer. No matter how much she wanted…

These fears were huge for her, knee chattering and heart pounding huge. However, if they were the only things keeping her from going back to the library she might have given in by now. Given in to the things Spike made her feel. Buffy wouldn’t fool herself into thinking it was JUST the nice solitude the place offered that kept tempting her back. Spike was a big factor in the library missage here.

But now, she knew that with all of these feelings and memories, and all of this pain so close to the surface… all this dreadful pain… Her comfort around him would fade. Those hours of conversation where she’d been able to enjoy his voice and not zone out into her own saddening mind- That would be lost. Drudged up issues and still recent wounds had been irritated and she hurt more in this week than she felt she’d hurt yet since her mom and grandpa died. She had to wait until she got a better control, until a little of the agony had blurred.

She couldn’t lose the comfort she felt near this new man in her life, and though Buffy didn’t dream that her and Spike would actually form a relationship that others might envy (romantic or otherwise), she still didn’t want to have to lump him in with the rest of the strangers. She didn’t want to WANT to ignore him. She wanted to keep the feelings he evoked in her, the safety and weird calmness he brought to her. The joy.

She couldn’t lose that, and the added reminder of being terrified that if she did get too close to him something might take him away from her, was just more incentive for Buffy to keep absent from the library.

So she did.

She just didn’t realize what it was doing to him.

><

Spike woke up from yet another restless sleep. He hadn’t known vampires could get bags under their eyes, but his trusty Polaroid that he used as a replacement mirror had confirmed his suspicions many times this past week.

Buffy hadn’t been back to the library and Spike was worried nearly out of his head about it.

He wouldn’t be if she hadn’t shown up like clockwork over the past month; she was there every day he was, but the past seven had been a change.

She was nowhere near the place, and on the third day of nearly pulling his hair out from worry about the girl he’d gone to check out her home. Begrudgingly of course. He was still mad at himself about it.

From a distance Spike had caught a glimpse of her, but she hadn’t been okay, that was for sure. Buffy’s eyes were bloodshot and her body was shivering. Since then he’d checked on her every day, always caught her walking back from somewhere. He’d seen her crying once and watched as she steeled herself before going inside her house. Then he’d heard the girl’s voice, talking to her grandmother he presumed, and Buffy sounded cheery.

If he wasn’t allergic to the bloody sun Spike would get up earlier and figure out where she went, he knew it wasn’t the library since her scent was too faded there.

No, his mystery girl wasn’t around, and he wished she would come back.

He knew something was wrong and he wanted to fix it. He figured it must have to do with the overlay of sadness she always carried with her, but he had no bloody clue what even caused THAT.

Grumbling under his breath, Spike sat up in bed sighed. He hoped he wasn’t scaring her from coming back, now that they’d actually had a conversation he didn’t want her to avoid him out of fear of talking to him again. He didn’t know why she would do that though unless she didn’t enjoy his company, but Spike was nearly sure after their night of talking that she did. He also was pretty damn sure she wouldn’t be crying her eyes out over him, and hiding her tears from her grandmother.

He just didn’t understand it, and he was getting beyond annoyed that he had no idea what to do to help make her feel better.

He was also aggravated that instead of taking his way out of this budding relationship (whatever it was turning out to be), he’d been so damned worried over Buffy that he’d actually gone to check if she was okay rather than taking her absence in his life as a blessing. An opportunity to avoid getting closer to the bird.

But no. Spike was just too damn attached to her.

This was all fucking ridiculous.

Groaning quietly to himself, he stood and walked to the bathroom. Before he reached the door a small meow from behind drew his attention back to the bed. “Ah, yeah furball I’ll feed ya when m’done with my shower,” he said as he patted the kitten’s head lovingly.

Looking into her warm gold and green eyes, Spike frowned. He really needed to talk to Buffy soon.

He didn’t like her being upset. He didn’t like not being near her. He didn’t like not getting to watch her smile at a book or something he’d said, or seeing her twiddle with a bobby pin or that necklace she always had on.

He didn’t like seeing her cry, and he didn’t like how much he gave a bloody damn.

Spike’s shower was quick, as was setting his little pet up in his bedroom with a litter box and food.

Finally the vampire headed out into the shadows cast by the fading sunlight, set on finding his girl.

He was spending more and more time lately wondering if she could ever truly be his.

><

The man turned his head up to look at the clouds rolling in. It was going to rain, the thunder in the distance could barely be heard, but it was there. The sky was turning grey and dark. Being that it was Halloween he felt it rather fitting, though he was sure all the little ones who went out looking for candy didn’t like the thought of a storm ruining their holiday and chances at sweets.

The whole bloody town celebrated on the 31st of October. There was always a festive party thrown by one of the residents in this big old barn. The fun started at 8 o’clock, after the kiddies had gotten time to go from door to door with their empty pumpkin satchels.

It was a cheery public event. Spike never went.

He wondered if Buffy would be there. He didn’t think so, not with the way she’d been acting lately. If she were to go to that he was sure her grandmother had guilted her into it, intentionally or not.

Speaking of which, there she was now. Not Buffy, but her grandmother. Anne Summers. Spike always sort of liked the lady, even though he’d never actually talked to her before. He’d seen her enough, and there were just some people that he could tell he would enjoy should he ever get to know them. Of course, he never even thought to do that.

He still wasn’t sure why Buffy was any exception.

Who, by the way, was not with her Grams.

The gray-haired woman started walking towards the heart of town, an umbrella used as her walking stick as she moseyed down the street in an orange sweater and cat ears. Spike shook his head, smiling a little.

He looked back to the house when Anne was out of sight, frowning at the darkness that it permeated. It looked homey and lived in, but the rooms were unlit. No light shown anywhere, and Spike knew Buffy wasn’t inside.

He sighed, closing his eyes the vamp tried to focus on her scent. Her sweet smell had managed to enter his dreams and memory every day now; each moment when he awoke he had the fragrance on his lips, and then it would disappear.

His nostrils twitched, and he opened his eyes when he got a fresh hold of the scent. Determinedly and with a cocky smile, Spike strode ahead in the direction where he’d find her. He hadn’t thought to be able to lock on her smell so easily, not having needed to work that particular vampiric talent in a while and knowing he was out of practice. Not too shabby though, it seemed.

Now all he had to do was find her.

><

She’d forgotten it was Halloween. Buffy looked across the river at the little kids with their parents and older siblings, they walked from house to house ringing doorbells and collecting candy. She hadn’t been to town since the last day at the library and Grams was the only person who she’d seen asides from the occasional stranger across the river, and now those who crowded the block on the other side of the flowing water.

A cool breeze chilled her and Buffy squirmed beneath her sweater, her shoulders hunching inward to try and keep warm. Today there was supposed to be some kind of annual Halloween party in town. Grams already left to attend, and had asked Buffy if she wanted to come with.

Can you guess what the answer to that had been?

Of course, she’d been nice to Grams when declining the offer, and thankfully Anne hadn’t pushed the invite. Elizabeth just really didn’t feel like being around anyone right now.

Thunder sounded in the distance, tugging a sigh from the blonde’s lips. She didn’t really want to go back in, the emptiness of the house would seem unfriendly and taunting. It would. What with her having stayed away from the festivities in town just to avoid people.

The house would be barren and loud with Grams’ absence; Buffy didn’t want a reminder of how pathetic she was that she couldn’t even attend a party with her grandparent.

She just had no reason to go. She didn’t know anybody for starters, and Grams knew everybody. Anne would have a good time no matter what, Buffy was sure. So avoiding the whole issue of putting on a smile and meeting people she didn’t particularly want to try and listen to, by letting her inner loner come out and keep her at home, was just easier. Except she wasn’t at home, she was sitting on the grass in front of a dark river, watching strangers in costumes running around as they enjoyed the holiday.

Which was easier. If she was home, it would be even lonelier. At least outside she was kept company by the wind, the sound of people’s laughter, and if she tried really hard, she could pretend that the blue sky up above was the comforting gaze of a man she felt she knew better than she should.

Except it wasn’t blue. Not anymore. Clouds had rolled in, marring the bright color with grey shadows and a stormy overlay. The thunder was getting closer, Buffy could hear it.

She still didn’t want to go inside.

Sighing to herself, she stuffed her ipod in her bag and rose to her feet. Just before she was about to start the walk home, Elizabeth bit her lip and turned back around to face the river. Unceremoniously dropping her bag on the dry earth, she closed her eyes and breathed in deep.

She stretched out her arms, allowing cool air into her lungs. The smell of a fresh rain about to pour wafted gently around, and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. A drop fell on her nose. She focused her senses, waiting for the water to sprinkle or mist or drench her. She didn’t care. She just wanted to feel it.

The determined absence of thought probably had to do with why she never felt his approach, or the steady gaze he watched her with before the man finally spoke.

“‘Bout to start a rain dance, love? Don’t think you’ll need one.”

Buffy frowned immediately, swallowing hard the gasp that had risen in her throat. She lowered her arms to her sides but didn’t turn around. She didn’t even open her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” She inquired softly, her tone not betraying how shocked she was that he was right there, so close to her after not seeing him for days. And they weren’t at the library.

Spike tilted his head, studying her as she refused to look his way. “Could ask you the same thing,” he said. “Haven’ seen ya in awhile. Thought you went missin.”

She could tell he wasn’t serious, what he’d said was obviously a short joke, but the on-edge part of her chose to look at it as accusatory. “So? What’re you like my keeper?”

He frowned, a puff of humorless laughter squeezing past his lips. “Hardly, just thought about you was all. Wondered where you were… library seemed a little empty.”

Buffy pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to talk to him- Well okay that was a lie. She did. But she didn’t want to lose him either, have him become like everyone else.

She didn’t want to talk to anybody, no matter how much the suffering inside of her begged for someone to share its anger with. Someone to ask why there was pain for those who didn’t deserve it in the world, why all of the pretty pictures were lined with sharp thorns throughout their canvases. For someone to hear the agony as much as Buffy felt its wail within her body every time she was reminded of her dead family. She wanted someone to listen, but she didn’t want anyone either.

And she certainly didn’t want the one stranger who wasn’t really a stranger, who could bring her joy and make her forget about the horrible things, to become just another preferably ignored individual. She couldn’t open up to him and dirty the happiness he brought her.

“You gonna say anything, pet?”
“Why do you still call me that?”

Spike shuffled a little closer, the raindrops hitting his back lightly as they sounded a soft pattern on the leather. “You stopped complainin ‘bout it the other night. Not long after we talked ‘bout your Grams and-”

“Why are you here?”

He scowled, her distance from him irritating and, worryingly, hurtful. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

She finally turned around, a sigh pulled from her lips as she looked at him with a frustrated expression. “If you keep just answering questions with questions, we’ll never get anywhere.”

“I’m not exactly bein the aloof one here, love.”

She crossed her arms. “Why do I have to be aloof? Why can’t I just be being normal, and you’re being nosy? That sounds more accurate to me.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Oh really,” he said, as the rain began to fall harder. “Well excuse me for wonderin how you are. Didn’t realize there was a waiting line to talk to your precious self.” He waved a hand, gesturing at her.

Buffy rolled her eyes and didn’t let show how the comment stung. “There isn’t a line. As a matter of fact, I’m closed. No open booth today, come back tomorrow for a refund on your tickets.” Her harsh tone spun with her as the girl turned around again, her ponytail whipping violently.

Spike scoffed. “Well someone’s just all kinds of pissy ain’t she?” He took a step closer. “What crawled up your arse and died?”

“I’m not pissy, just don’t feel like talking. I’m closed, remember?”

Spike’s jaw tightened, he wasn’t getting anywhere with this girl. If only he could hit a nerve, pinpoint a problem and bring out whatever was actually bothering her. It might help to alleviate some of the anger and… hurt, he saw displayed for him through the rain.

“Are you gonna hit the bricks anytime soon or am I the one who’s gonna have to leave?” She asked him, her voice rising as the stormy skies got louder.

Spike frowned and tilted his head. “Who says you have to leave, love?”

Exasperated, she turned back around, hands on hips. “No one! I’d just appreciate being alone and I don’t really want your company, okay?!”

His nostrils flared as he took another step closer to the fuming young woman. “I was only out for a walk, Goldilocks. S’not my fault I found you,” he lied.

“Out for a walk,” she asked, softer this time as her brows drew together. “Looking to get drenched?” Buffy gestured to the sky.

“Could ask the same of you.”

Forcing herself not to yell out in frustration was one of the most difficult things she was sure she’d ever done, this man just kept pushing her buttons. Before he’d been so nice, though from their very first encounter with each other, she shouldn’t be surprised he was pulling out a fury in her right now.

She’d thought she’d lost the ability to get riled up like this, she’d stopped caring about so many things long ago... She should be rolling her eyes and walking away in quiet civility, not getting angrier and angrier.

Buffy crossed her arms. “Are you just going to stand here all day, driving me up a wall?”

“Why? You got somewhere to be?”

The tone he used made Buffy feel insulted. He sounded as if he was challenging her, baiting her?

It worked. “Maybe I do! Either way it’s none of your business.” She grabbed her bag from the now damp ground and stormed off, the aggravation showing clearly on her face.

Spike narrowed his eyes and groaned inwardly. She was going to drive him crazy, but he wasn’t going to leave her alone now.

He caught up easily enough, staying by her side which only added to Buffy’s agitation. “Got a hot date, have you?”

“No,” she answered in reaction, not being so happy with the urge she felt to reassure him that she wasn’t going out with another man. “But even if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

A little nerve twitched with the clenching of his jaw once again. Spike walked faster and the rain fell harder. “Saw your grandmum toddle off to that little Halloween party in town. Didn’t feel like attending, love?” He asked chidingly.

She rammed to a stop and turned on him, her hand harshly gripping the handle of her bag which was slung over a damp shoulder. “Again, how is that ANY of your business?!”

Spike narrowed his gaze, ignoring her angry question. “Sent Grams off on her own ‘cause what, you’d rather be alone to stand outside in the rain? Gotta tell ya, lamb, s’a bit-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. “It’s a bit NONE of your business! You have no idea why I didn’t go with her tonight, so don’t take guesses!” She turned to leave again, the rain now heavy enough to have already planted her hair to her head and started soaking her jeans.

He followed again, having to stop himself from grabbing her arm and making her face him. “You feel worse when you’re in a crowd, don’t you?” He accused, his tone rising as the sound of the pouring rain started to block out his voice.

She didn’t even flinch, nor did she respond, but Buffy moved quicker. Her steps had turned into mud splattering stomps.

Spike didn’t relent. “That’s it ain’t it? You don’ like bein ‘round crowds so you hide.” He ran a little to stop in front of her, his gaze determined. “Why are you tryna hide from me now, Buffy?”

The question was laced with vulnerability and a probing strength that scared her. She felt almost forced to admit her fears, as if he’d pointed a gun to her head with those damn eyes staring as intently as they were. His beautiful face was concerned as well as searching. He was genuinely worried and wanted to know. He wanted to know why she was pushing him away.

She was so terrified at the fact that there was even anything between them to require pushing.

“I know there’s somethin hurtin you,” he declared, his accent a rough yell into the sound of a heavy rain. “I can see it every time you’re in my sodding view. Your eyes… your light. It goes out.”

She stared at him and swallowed hard but imperceptibly. Her gaze was both stony and pained as Buffy brushed passed him, storming away again.

Yet still, Spike did not leave. He caught up to her, his tone, though loud, had softened since his last statement. “What happened to you?”

She whirled around at that, all fury as the final straw of control and reason snapped. “Nothing happened to ME! Nothing! I’m right here! I’m alive, I am FINE!” She shouted, her throat scratching as she said the words.

“You don’t look fine,” he proclaimed, his voice strong and forceful, as if ordering her to tell him the truth and why she hurt. Why she was pushing him away like she seemed to do everybody else.

“Well I am,” she said through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to talk, and I don’t want company. I just want to be left alone!”

“You seem pretty alone to me, pet.”

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears suddenly. Her exhaustion from this fight and her determination to keep her secrets was finally boring down on her. She would not cry though, not now. Not in front of him. He would not become an outlet for her grief.

Spike had something about him that didn’t manage to frighten her off like a newborn colt. When he made a joke or said something that could be deemed flirtatious she listened without strain. Others were hard to focus on because Buffy’s mind wandered into loneliness, but when it was Spike her mind was one tracked. She focused on him. She didn’t want to lose that.

But she already had.

Buffy’s heart abruptly crumbled.

Here she was, arguing with him, screaming in anger that had been formed from sorrow and bitterness. He would never forget that a dark shadow rested over her heart now, he seemed to already be aware of it.

And he would not forget how she was treating him, how she was acting. He’d approached her before she could force her raging emotions down from the surface, and her sensitivity had erupted to try and block him out.

Buffy’s fear of Spike being too close when she was hurting like this, of dirtying the joy he brought her or losing the connection they managed to hold, had gotten her to feel wrath like she hadn’t experienced in forever. Wrath that was formed from sadness, from self resentment and fear.

She’d not cared about another person in so long, Grams was the only one. Until now it seemed.

Before she realized he’d even moved, Spike was in front of her, gently placing a hand on her wet cheek. His touch was gentle, and he shushed her when those startled glimmering green eyes shot up to meet his.

“I... You don’t have to be alone all the time. Not if you don’t want, Buffy.”

His voice was so sincere, so soft and kind that she almost broke down. But then the words he’d said registered and new resolve stormed her eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm and spun her around again. His face was a portrait of unsteady control and frustration. “Like tellin yourself that one, pet?”

She glared at him. The rain had soaked his bleached hair and his face was wet as the water continued to pour and drench them both. He was still gorgeous. A beautiful man who was pissing her off and hitting nerves. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

And why wasn’t she shoving him away and running home by now?

“I- I-… What do you want from me?”
His gaze softened considerably. “I want to know what’s hurting you.”

She took a moment before finally conceding, her face stony and almost wary at the same time. “The past.”

Spike relaxed his posture some, his eyes showing compassion for the girl in front of him. “Everyone’s got a past. Mine’s not so much fun to relive either.”

Buffy’s fear died a little, just as her walls came down a fraction and her breathing calmed. The sensation of rain soaking into her clothes was now uncomfortably felt and fully acknowledged. She sighed loudly, her head dropping to look at her wet tennis shoes and Spike’s shiny Docs.

“Wanna grab something to eat?”

It was barely a whisper, and if Spike didn’t have fine-tuned vamp hearing, he was sure Buffy would’ve taken the chance at pretending she’d never said a word. He tilted her chin up gently though, allowing her to see that he’d heard her just fine and there was no way she was getting out of the invitation.

“Yeh,” he nodded, his fingers sliding away from her face. “Sounds good.”

So she found she was desperate enough to ask him to join her for a meal. She didn’t like to call herself desperate, but that was the driving force which had given her courage to ask Spike if he wanted to get some food. Together.

Not on a date, that was for sure. But together.

She just hoped he didn’t ask her about what was hurting her again, Buffy hadn’t even realized there was a giant dark cloud hanging over her head all of the time. It was true she’d stopped caring about how she came off to people, though; and she certainly didn’t skip around and smile much anymore.

Spike being able to read her like a book, whichever way he managed to flip the proverbial pages, didn’t sit well with Buffy. She liked talking to him, but she still wasn’t sure about this budding trust she had growing in her heart for him. As if she could talk to him about her pain without actually losing him.

She didn’t feel it was possible, for so many reasons; and yet, a small helpful (or wicked, she wasn’t sure) voice told her to take tiny steps and trust him. Trust whatever this thing was between them. Whether it be attraction or… just some strange bond, a weird understanding of one another. Buffy’s gut was telling her she could trust it.

And she was just lonely enough to take a step in trying.

“Come in. You can put your coat by the radiator to dry.” Buffy closed the door behind him.

Spike slipped off his duster as he looked around the living room, his eyes zeroing in on the soft embroidered couches. He wondered if they were why Buffy had chosen that pink chaise lounge at the library to occupy every time she visited. Maybe they reminded her of this place, of home.

The living room was small, not very cramped but not very roomy either. The two matching antique couches looked aged but well taken care of. A rectangular coffee table with a glass top rested in between them, a filled bookcase lined half a wall above the fireplace, and a long radiator sat beneath three windows. Pictures were everywhere, from the mantel of the clearly not recently used fireplace, to the walls that were otherwise bare asides from warm amber wallpaper.

Quaint and homey. Those were the words that came to Spike’s mind as he looked at the living room. It was nice. He felt comfortable here, it wasn’t impersonal and cold like the homes he hated. It was lived in, delicate and comforting. Welcoming.

He still didn’t know how he’d gotten an invitation without having to coerce Buffy into saying the words. Just his luck, he guessed.

Not like he deserved it, but he wasn’t going to question it either.

“Where’d you say I could put this, pet-” Spike broke off when he turned around and Buffy wasn’t there. He never even heard her slip out.

Wet leather coat in hand, the man frowned and poked his head around a corner, looking into the dark and mostly bare dining room. She still had to be in the house, he would feel it if she wasn’t.

He hung his duster on the mantel near the radiator, uncaring if the leather got a little dry near the heat. It was wet from the rainwater anyhow.

Spike slowly walked into the dining room. There was a large wooden table in the middle, bare except for a vase of flowers. Matching chairs surrounded the table, and a china cabinet filled with pretty glassware and some pictures stood almost to the ceiling. There were windows on the east wall with pink curtains that touched the floors. The space was immaculate.

Continuing on, Spike kept silent. He was gently perusing, not touching but viewing. Buffy, wherever she was, would come out soon he was sure. In the meantime he was going to look around. He was unrepentantly curious.

Reaching a small kitchenette that was separated from the dining room by only a door, Spike pushed on through and savored the sweet smell of honeysuckle. A window by the sink was open, and he looked outside to see a well cared for herb garden growing in a small planter box.

A door which Spike quickly figured out led up to the attic was just on his right. When he turned around he saw a short hallway that connected to a small porch with large windows on every wall.

He saw another door that was off to the left of the kitchen’s entryway, and he walked ahead to open it.

A room with a desk and matching swivel chair was what met him on the other side; two sets of shelves that were lined with books and nik naks stood against the deep brown walls. There were framed photographs hanging, an area rug in the middle of the floor, and windows on both sides of the desk.

It looked like something out of an old movie, there was no dust to be seen or breathed, but the entire room was aged. Papers lie spread out on the writing table, as if waiting for someone to come and organize them. The whole study almost looked preserved, but seemed used at the same time. It was comforting and mysterious all in one.

Off to the right and left were a door each. Spike moved to the one farthest from him and opened it to see a well kept and large bedroom. It was obviously Buffy’s grandmother’s. The bedspread was soft looking and floral print. The wallpaper was clean and cream in color. Facing the bed was a tall mirror attached to a chest of drawers. Lotions and a few glass bottles of perfume rested on the surface, a tissue box and three black and white photos sat neatly in their places, and there was a closet to Spike’s left.

Not Buffy’s room. Spike closed the door quickly and turned to face the other one he’d yet to touch. Walking toward it he quietly twisted the knob and found a short hallway and a little linen closet. The hallway led to a bathroom, which was attached to another room. An open doorway stood before him, but it didn’t stay empty for long.

Buffy emerged, her hair was finally down, though it was wet and being wrung out with a towel. She had changed from her soaked clothes into a pair of sweatpants and another pullover. Spike idly wondered if all the shirts she owned were large, practically overbearing sweaters.

Not that he was complaining, she was cute as hell standing in front of him all cozied up with her cheeks and nose red from the weather. Finally he got to see those tresses loose, though they were still wet from the rain. Spike smiled without thought, but then he saw her scowl as she tugged the damp towel away from her head.

“You took the scenic route,” she said a little accusingly.

“What?”

“There’s another door to my room,” she walked backwards, silently beckoning him to follow her. He did and was led into her bedroom, her small and sweet space which, apparently, had another entrance.

“Right here. You didn’t have to go through the kitchen and the study just to find me.”

She seemed annoyed, which Spike figured was because she probably deduced that he’d been giving himself a tour of the place. And yet he’d missed the second door located in the dining room. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know where you went.” He shrugged.

Buffy’s frown didn’t leave her face but its reason seemed to change. Walking back to the bathroom and brushing past him, she tossed her towel on the sink and grabbed a dry one.

“Here,” she handled it over. “Your clothes look dry but you can use this to take care of your hair.”

Spike’s brow wrinkled but he took the towel, smiling hesitantly as he started rubbing his curls with it. “Thanks, dove.”

*DOVE? Jeez, what’s with this guy and nicknames?* Trying not to show how he was affecting her, Buffy turned around and went out through the bathroom door, telling Spike to follow.

He did, thankful that she’d gone first so the girl wouldn’t get a glimpse of his lack of reflection.

That’d be a fun little road to go down now wouldn’t it?

Spike rolled his eyes. God he hoped there weren’t any crosses just lying about.

“Do you want… um, I’m not really sure what we have actually.” Buffy nibbled her lip, unknowingly causing Spike’s gaze to zero in on the action.

She opened the fridge door and frowned. “I could make sandwiches,” she shrugged, her little absentminded pout making Spike smile again.

“Sounds just fine, love.”

She grinned then, a little happiness finally coming back into her eyes as she pulled out what looked like turkey and mustard. “What do you like on it?”

She wasn’t a cook. Her Grams was the cook, but Buffy wasn’t horrible at it, and a simple sandwich was no problem at all. She just hoped Spike wasn’t too picky, there really wasn’t much in the refrigerator that didn’t require chopping or mixing or cooking of some kind.

“Anything. M’not hard to please.”

She turned to face him, something in his voice catching her attention. He was watching her intently, he still held the towel in his hand and was looking her over in almost calm contentment... it seemed.

It wigged her out.

“Want any help?” He asked.

She swallowed- *No Buffy, that was a gulp.* -and shook her head before spinning away from his eyes. “No. It’s okay.”

As she prepared the food, Spike stared closely. He didn’t need the meal, but even being a vampire he still got cravings for regular foods sometimes, mostly spicy and sweet stuff, or things that had a particular texture he liked. He was choosy but he did have one tracked taste buds, after all. A sandwich wasn’t normally a non-nutritional treat for him, but Spike would still eat it.

“Mustard and tomato?” Buffy asked, not turning to face him.

“Sure,” he said, smiling when he heard her heart rate pick up. Out of all the things in this kitchen, Spike mostly wanted to get a taste of the young woman standing before him. He’d been tempted to sample the girl’s blood ever since her scent became a fragrance to compare all other aromas.

Before the library, he hadn’t been near her long enough to be tempted- Well, more than natural for a vampire on a strictly bagged diet. Ever since first seeing Buffy he’d known her blood would be sweet, though. He’d just sensed it, but then her scent had proven the guess and spiced up temptation.

No one could smell that lovely and taste bitter or bland. It wasn’t possible, and hadn’t happened once in his long line of human tastings. Spike always knew what someone’s flavor would be like before he took a sip.

And Buffy? Oh Christ he wanted a sample.

“Do you want water, milk, or lemonade?”

“Hmm,” he asked, not paying attention to what she’d said.

She spun to face him, a soft smile on her lips. “What would you like to drink?”

*You.* Spike shook his head, forcing the thoughts of blood and how sweet a delectable little blonde might be from his mind. “Um... Water’s fine, love.”

She nodded and went to fill a couple glasses, dropping ice cubes in before bringing the drinks to the table. She felt a little blush creep up her cheeks and fought it down as best she could. She didn’t know why she felt on display, but it probably had to do with the fact that Spike was practically studying her like some scientist with a microscope.

The domesticity of the moment didn’t escape her, but Buffy chose to ignore it just the same. Way too weird to be thinking of someone you barely knew, but-kind-of-do-because-you-guys-have-this-strange-connection-thing, in a homey husband-wifey kind of way

*Whoa wait a minute! Wifey? Husbandy? What the hell is wrong with me, there is nothing marital about this or him or me or- UGH! Just serve the damn food, Buffy.*

She tried her hardest to shake away the disturbing thoughts and set down two plates with turkey sandwiches. She took a breath and hoped he didn’t notice the way she was suddenly starting to avoid eye contact.

“Where’d you get the locket, love?” He practically murmured the inquiry as he picked up his sandwich and went to take a bite, his bluer than blue eyes never leaving her throat.

Buffy subconsciously touched the jewelry in question, her heart rate slowing as dreadful thoughts and memories threatened to float to the surface. She fought them down and didn’t respond for a minute.

Spike must have sensed her discomfort because abruptly he drew her attention back with an almost soothing tone of voice. “Hey, s’alright f’you don’ want ta tell me, y’know.”

Buffy jerked back to herself in less than a second. “I know,” she stated with just enough confidence to her voice that Spike had to fight back a grin. He liked it better when she was lively rather than quiet.

“It was my mom’s.”

Her unreadable expression that accompanied the admission had Spike instantly deciding it would be wise to tread lightly here. “It’s pretty,” he said. “Looks similar to something I once saw before. A long time ago.”

She nodded, not quite sure how to continue the conversation. Then she spotted the rings on his fingers. She pointed to them. “You like jewelry too, huh?” There was a little tease in her voice.

Spike looked down at his metal adorned hand and smirked. “Yeh,” he half laughed. “Sorta do, they look even better when the nails are black.”

Buffy smiled as a laugh spilled forth. “Black as in nail polish?”

He nodded before taking another bite of his sandwich.

Buffy scoffed, though there was no condescension behind it. “Okay,” she said with raised hands, as if just willing to accept the fact that he liked doing his nails from time to time.

She finally went to take a bite of her own sandwich, washing the mouthful down with a sip of water. She hadn’t known how hungry she was until now. It seemed that fight had worn her out. She wasn’t tired, though. The whole debacle outside had helped make her feel… lighter somehow.

It was nice. Him being here now. Even if the conversation was lagging. Buffy herself didn’t really mind, and as her guest took another bite of his meal, she thought that he didn’t seem to mind much either.

><

A companionable silence had settled over while after they ate, the small kitchenette grew cool as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, until finally night fell completely. The open window wasn’t shut and the sounds of crickets and other nightlife only added to the atmosphere of tranquility that soon draped over the house.

The air smelt of fading summer and autumn leaves, damp earth and honeysuckle. A candy bowl had been nearly emptied by Spike and Buffy later in the evening as they’d decided it would be good to finish off the left over trick-or-treat goodies Grams had bought for visiting children. The tootsie rolls were taken greedily by Buffy as she swore dibs on any and all things chocolate. While Spike grabbed all the sour and fruity pieces he could get his hands on.

The Brit felt like a grubby toddler fishing through the candy bowl with Buffy in her living room, fighting for certain pieces of candy and threatening to eat all of the Hershey bars if she didn’t cough up the last cherry Jolly Rancher.

The indignant and mock glare she sent his way as she withheld the sweet from him threatened to make Spike laugh, but finally she threw the Jolly Rancher passed his shoulder and the man leapt off the couch to retrieve it. Buffy quickly dived forward to grab hold of all the Hershey bars she could as Spike searched, with a smirk on his face, for the missing candy on the carpet.

Truth be told, he could’ve caught the Jolly Rancher mid air, his vampire status gave him quick reflexes, but it was more fun watching Buffy scramble to get a hold of all her desired chocolate bars before he returned to the couch.

“That was cheating.”

“We already agreed I get the chocolate,” Buffy replied evenly, looking cute as a button sitting Indian style on the sofa. “I gave you back your Cherry one, didn’t I?”

Spike squinted at her, trying hard not to smile. “S’not fair when you throw it, love. An besides, I’m pretty sure there are some Laffy Taffy missing from my pile.” He scooted back into his seat on the opposite side of the candy bowl and examined his small pile of chosen sweets. “Where’d that strawberry one go?”

Buffy regarded him and his pile of candy innocently, frowning like she had no idea what he was talking about. “I didn’t see a strawberry one.”

Spike tilted his head, his tongue going to the inside of his cheek as he scrutinized the blonde in front of him, listening to her slightly accelerated heartbeat. “Oh you didn’t, did you?”

Buffy shook her head. “Nope.”

There was just too much emphasis behind the adorable way she said the word, popping the ‘p’ with her pretty lips as if a bubble were bursting. “Liar.”

Buffy mock gasped. “You’re accusing me of-” She broke off when her eye caught sight of something by the edge of the candy bowl, something she’d thought was hidden safely beneath her own pile of sweets.

Spike followed her gaze.

Their eyes met simultaneously, just as on cue as when they both dived forward to try and grab the last strawberry Laffy Taffy.

Spike got hold of it first, bringing his hand up in triumph as he shook the candy by its wrapper. “Aha! ‘I didn’t see it’ my arse. You’re a thief.”

Buffy glared and pursed her lips, annoyed he’d gotten hold of the treat first but also amused at the entire situation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so silly and carefree, relaxed.

“And you’re a hoarder,” the woman declared. “There’s not near as many Hershey bars in here as there are fruity things, and you refuse to share!”

Spike twisted the Laffy Taffy in his fingers temptingly, flaunting his victory in her face and refusing to feel sympathy for the Chocolate Queen. “A deal’s a deal, love. S’not my fault you claimed everything brown ‘fore I could even get a look at the bowl.”

She harrumphed, looking very much the pouting three year old. Then her head tilted and her eyes glinted. “What if I trade you?”

Spike frowned, seeming to consider the offer. “What are we talkin here?”

She held up a finger. “One large tootsie roll, for the Laffy Taffy.”

Spike scoffed. “Don’t think so, pet.”

Buffy threw her hands up. “Well then what do you want in exchange?”

Spike tapped the wrapped sweet against his chin, seemingly considering his choices very seriously, before finally smirking slightly and offering a deal. “Two Reese’s for the Taffy.”

Buffy gaped. “Two Reese’s for one Laffy Taffy?! Are you insane, Reese’s are at the top of the Halloween Candy Food Chain.”

“And you’ve got the only three. I think you can spare a couple.”

Buffy grumbled something under her breath.

“Take it or leave it, princess.”

She scowled at him before biting her lip. She had an idea brewing and though it was risky, she was willing to take a chance. No one took away her Reese’s peanut butter cups. That was just mean.

“Okay fine.” She acted like she was about to pick up her Reese’s. When Spike held out the Laffy Taffy, waiting for her to offer her half of the deal, she quickly snatched the Taffy away and then bolted off the couch.

“Hey!” Spike blinked at the smirking girl in the doorway. Even with his vampiric abilities, he had NEVER seen a human move that fast before. Her hand had literally blurred as it snatched away the strawberry treat.

“Too slow,” she taunted in a sing-song voice.

The Brit’s gaze darkened and Buffy fought down the little twinge of anxiety as he stared at her.

“You’re gonna regret that.”

Buffy flipped her now dry hair over one shoulder, wiggling the candy she’d taken in one hand at him unashamedly and rather proud of herself. “Here’s a tip, Spike. Never try an take chocolate away from me.”

He stood up, and Buffy started to unwrap the Laffy Taffy. A mischievous and flirty smile appeared on her lips. She knew what she was doing, how she must look and the signals she might be sending out, but Buffy couldn’t make herself to stop.

Spike’s pupils dilated, his eyes zeroing in on her as she bit her lip and grinned at him from across the room. She peeled away more of the pink wrapper and went to take a bite of the candy, and just before she sunk her pearly whites into the treat, he pounced.

Buffy laughed and rushed through the dining room, bursting into the kitchen as she heard Spike approaching not far behind. He wasn’t running, but rather walking quickly. His footsteps hit the floor in warning that he was coming.

Damn why wasn’t the house bigger. She could go outside she supposed but the backyard was only so big and she was barefoot. Buffy looked around her, deciding that the study wouldn’t be a good idea. Although it had two doorways attached to it, Spike would assume she went to the safety of her own bedroom and find her quickly there. If she hid in Grams’ she’d be stuck. There was no more than one doorway to that room.

Then Buffy thought of the attic. If she was quick enough…

Spike’s footsteps got closer.

Buffy opened the door to the upstairs and as quietly as she could, shut it closed. Then she bolted up the steps, not bothering to tread lightly. She was too caught up in the game to think that much about her position and the sounds she might make to lead him on to where she was.

Spike calmly entered the kitchen, though his body was in hunter mode. His eyes were blacker than they were blue, his nose twitched in search of his prey, his blood simmered lowly with the excitement of the chase, his hearing…

His hearing picked up on footsteps above his head, almost at the same moment as when his nose caught her trail and his combined vampire senses told him there was a human up in the attic. As his body told him where he would find Buffy.

He could feel her, it was something quite new to Spike. He wasn’t unaccustomed to knowing where a hiding human was resting, where a heartbeat thrummed among silence and emptiness, but this was different. He FELT Buffy. His hair stood up on the back of his neck as he opened the door to the attic. His boots climbed up the steps her feet had touched and he felt a jolt run through him.

He could almost taste her scent he was so aware of it.

One thing Spike knew for sure, as he calmly walked up the steps even while his body was strung tighter than a violin bow, he’d never gotten this worked up over a piece of candy before.

><

Buffy breathed calmly, the air in the attic dusty and humid despite the cool night. She was behind a mirror with aged glass and chipped paint on its wooden border. She heard Spike take the last step as he set his feet on the attic floor, and she thought he might speak as the silence suddenly seemed to engulf her.

The chase originally caused by friendly teasing had rapidly changed into something else entirely. Buffy’s heart was beating rapidly and a part of her believed he could hear it. What was going to happen when he caught her? She doubted he’d just go for the candy.

And she was right. Spike wanted a taste of something much sweeter. He knew very well what would happen once he found her, once he took those steps towards her hiding spot and rounded the mirror she used as a wall. Once he laid his hands on her, once he kissed her.

Buffy wasn’t so sure. She knew she’d started this whole thing, was the one to put the first spin of flirtation and tease on a game of cat and mouse. She didn’t know what she was going to do now. She didn’t want to possibly ruin the night by allowing her feelings for Spike to get the best of her, to make her do something she’d regret. What if she scared him away? What if they couldn’t have another night like they’d had tonight? Albeit, it had started with a fight, but he’d still stayed even after that. He’d come over and they’d shared a meal, they’d talked a little and she learned some more about him. He spoke about his home and how he was good at carpentry. She’d teased him about his hair. They’d eaten candy like two little kids together and joked with ease. It felt like she was both hanging out with a friend and like she was on a date. While an unknown third sensation whispered about danger and passion, something Buffy couldn’t put her finger on. Something telling her that her time with Spike wasn’t just fun and carefree, but also vibrant and sexual and tempting. It was a heady, perfect combination and Buffy wasn’t sure what would ruin it.

She remembered thinking that this was SO not a date, that his coming to eat with her at her house wasn’t intimate. That he was just supposed to be someone she felt she should trust and could talk to.

Well it sure had turned out to be more, hadn’t it?

Or maybe it hadn’t. Would he kiss her when he found her? Grab her and tickle her until they ended up on the floor with him on top and her on bottom, in that classic movie scene where the guy and the girl were either going to kiss or stare at each other until one of them broke the tension with an awkward backtrack? A part of her wasn’t even positive Spike wanted to kiss her.

She wanted him to. And she hated that she couldn’t summon up enough fear to just jump out from behind the mirror and toss him the Laffy Taffy she still held in her sweaty palms, put an end to this game and diffuse the moment.

She was scared of what might happen, but not scared enough.

Spike trailed almost lazily to the other side of the attic, taking in his surroundings while still keeping his entire focus on Buffy’s heartbeat and his awareness of her position. He looked at some black and white photos hanging on the walls, glanced at a dusty trunk and an old vanity table with crystal bottles lining the surface. He looked a tall coat rack up and down, cleared his throat once just to see if Buffy’s pulse would jump.

It did.

Grinning unashamedly, the man felt very much like he was hunting down a meal. Like he was back in the old days, sniffing out the freshest blood he could get his fangs on. But he had no desire to hurt Buffy, nothing inside of him told him to tear into her throat and drink unless it was the delectable tease of her scent which made Spike want to sample her blood. But sample is all he wanted, no more than a taste. He didn’t want to harm her.

Yet there was an unsettling part of himself. Both the demon and the man seemed to be calling out for something… primal. Something possessive, primitive, protective.

He tried to shove it back but realized the more he tried to ignore it, the more it pushed.

Some part of himself was asking for recognition, something focused on Buffy.

A small noise caught his attention.

Spike twisted his head towards her. The mirror moved just slightly, the glass swinging on its stand for only a moment before all stillness took over once again.

He moved forward, and he knew she was aware because he heard her breathing pick up. He imagined her face flushed, her chest heaving just a little bit beneath that sweater. Christ he wanted to see her. Her breasts lifting up and down against the fabric of a tiny tank top, her small shoulders bare, her skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat from anxiousness.

He moved closer. He imagined her mouth open partway, her lips rosy as she sucked in breaths to try and calm herself when she knew he was approaching. Her hair framing her delicate face, the blonde tousled strands reaching to her shoulders and surrounding a slim throat.

Spike’s whole body responded, and he almost groaned aloud. His form was rigid, his steps measured and his feet felt weighted down with lead. He walked until he was two steps away, the sound of her heartbeat thumping in his ears like a drumbeat. It got louder with every move he made.

Buffy fought for breath, her heart hammering and her teeth biting into the tissue of her bottom lip. She could feel sweat beneath her shirt and suddenly wished she’d worn something lighter. She was too on edge to notice the burn in her lower abdomen, the tingling sensation that she’d yet to have happen to her in… well, ever.

She was preoccupied with her nerves, wondering if she should run again when he finally found her, or if she should stay in place and see what he did. Would he touch her? Grab her arms to pause any thought she might have at bolting. Or would he just jump out? Would he pull her to him? Would he be thinking of this much more innocently than she obviously was? Because if THAT was the case than Buffy was sure she’d have to beat her head against the wall at least-

He seized her arms, pale hands meeting soft wool as he suddenly appeared right in front of her. She hadn’t realized just how tall he was, and though he wasn’t as over towering as many men, given that she was barefoot he looked just about a giant to her. It was so strange, one minute he wasn’t there and the next he was before her, stepping out from the other side of the mirror so quietly and gracefully he might as well have been a ghost.

Blue eyes met her green, his blazed and the black pupils grew enormously as he seemed to focus on her mouth. Then he was kissing her.

It was hard, the first imprint of his lips on hers like a passionate crash that made Buffy slam her eyes shut and arch up. Then slowly, gradually, the movement of his mouth softened and it turned unrushed, tender. He explored her, languorous touches as his lips opened here and there against her own closed ones.

She tasted like heaven. It was the only thing Spike could think of to describe her, the softness, the heat. He’d never had this before. She was exquisite.

Buffy was already standing on her tip toes, her shaky hands moving hesitantly towards his arms. Her fingertips touched him lightly, and he increased pressure on her mouth. His tongue slipped around the seam of her lips, encouraging her to open them. Oh so very slowly she did, the gentle unhurried probing of his tongue feeling wickedly delicious. The cool wetness sent her spiraling until her body was flush against his. Her arms ran up his own as she pulled back for air, his sweet breath hitting against her trembling lips.

Then she dived in again, needing more. A craving started in the pit of her stomach, slowly controlling her whole body as her arms went around his neck and Spike moved his large hands from her shoulders to her ribcage, gently raking his cool palms against the material of her sweater.

Buffy loved the strange coldness he emitted. The man was passionate and it seemed he was both quenching a thirst and feeding a fire inside of her, his cold breath starting to send shivers up her spine, though the temperature had almost nothing to do with it.

She’d never kissed someone like this, where she felt a literal burn beneath her skin until she thought she might burst at the seams. Where she wanted to tear off his shirt and scrape her nails along his chest, have him run his own palms along her belly, soothe the ache that was building there.

Spike wrapped an arm fully around the indent of her waist, hauling her impossibly closer, needing to feel every inch of her. His kisses showed he wanted to consume her whole, though he never moved harsher or faster, but kept it slow. He moved deeply, the tangle of their tongues like silk against water. He inhaled her every breath, felt flames growing inside of him as her delicate touches became surer, as she started to take what she wanted and explore rather than just let him stake claim to her lips.

She was taking all of him, tasting every inch, her tongue dancing along his teeth and swirling with his as his free hand went to the back of her head. His palm ran through her golden hair, and he gripped her so she couldn’t pull away. When she drew back her lips for seconds at a time to breathe, Spike fought for unneeded gulps of air as well, the fire she was creating inside him close to consuming.

Her heat touched his lips again, and Spike idly wondered how he’d ever gone on without her. This sweetness, this heart, this passion that played with his own. The desperation she was showing in sharing this intimacy. He didn’t think he could ever let this go.

He pushed her against the back of the mirror, a tiny groan escaping his lips as she let out a small, unintentional mewl. Buffy’s fingers wove into his hair, the candy she’d held was long forgotten and on the floor. She held him to her the same way he was holding her.

Her breathing was ragged, but the kiss grew in heat and speed, and she found she couldn’t inhale at all as their lips stayed connected for much longer. Mouths fused together, she felt everything spinning out of control. Her arms were shaking, her toes barely touched the ground as Spike’s arm held her close and tight, his body pinning hers to the solid back of the mirror.

But it wasn’t quite so solid. Buffy gasped as her lips came away from Spike’s, her body falling backward when the mirror scraped against the floor, finally sliding due to the force Spike and she had pushed against it.

He caught her easily enough, simply pulling her back to him when she was about to slip away. Buffy wasn’t sure if he even realized the mirror had moved and wasn’t just reacting to her leaving him.

She found herself breathing heavily, looking at the black cotton covered chest she was pressed against. Spike was breathing just as hard, his gasps of air tickling her hair as he fought to come back to himself. They were both enveloped in each other’s arms. Buffy’s had come down to hug his waist as he held her with his hand still on the back of her head and her waist wrapped up securely.

The girl chanced a glance up at him through her lashes, turning away just as he looked down.

Buffy felt his eyes on her for a full minute before she finally had her breathing under control and could think again. It took longer to calm down when he was staring at her.

Spike swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to do now. He knew what he wanted to do, his body was screaming at him everything he craved. He wanted to lift her up and carry her downstairs to the nearest bed or soft surface. He wanted to taste her on his tongue, feel her shuddering, kiss every delectable inch of her body, lick and suckle the soft nipples on her breasts as she writhed beneath him. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her heat, feel the tight walls pulsing around his cock as he took possession of her body and marked her as his own. He wanted to sink his fangs into her throat as she climaxed for him, murmuring or screaming out his name. He wanted to know.

He wanted to find the places of her body that were most sensitive, know if she’d like it more with his fingers inside her or his tongue as he ate her out. He wanted to kiss her mouth and feel her lips wrapped around his length, wanted to make love to her body. He wanted to get lost in her. For them to get lost in each other.

But he knew, somehow he knew, that she wasn’t ready for that. Something told him today was not going to be the day when he could hold her and touch her without physical barriers, feel her naked flesh beneath his as they connected in the most intimate and primal of ways.

With a hard and yet quiet gulp, Spike chanced lowering his head and nuzzling his nose into her sweet smelling hair, surrendering to the urge he’d had for the last few minutes. It was like rain and sunshine in one, the scent from the autumn storm mixed in with a feminine shampoo and that little something that was uniquely Buffy. His Buffy.

Spike wasn’t sure how she would react to knowing that he already considered her his, but he was willing to work hard to get her to want to be. He knew she wanted him, felt and scented her desire as she’d kissed him with a fervor matching his own. She burned him alive she did.

Spike nearly felt his heart beat when Buffy’s grip tightened, hugging him closer.

He breathed her in again, loving the feel of her body against his. God she was so small, felt fragile like a baby bird. He didn’t know how he could get this to work. With what he was, what she was. He had no bloody clue.

But Spike was never one to give up easily, not when he saw something he wanted.

><

He felt so right in her arms, like they fit together. She felt safe here, she felt cared for, liked. There was no question that she had feelings for this man, but she didn’t know how she was going to go about them. Especially now.

Buffy exhaled slowly, the whole reality of the moment finally hitting her. It was one thing to spend time with him and look from afar, let her feelings grow as she steadily ignored them. She could do that. She was good at the denial thing, but now it wouldn’t be so easy.

They’d kissed. Not just a peck or a friendly hello on the cheek. It was a full blown make out session, with heat and blood rushing and the proverbial fireworks. She’d never been touched and ignited at the same time. No other guy’s hands had skimmed lightning paths across her skin, through her clothes she might add.

God she didn’t know what to do, but she realized she didn’t want to stop holding him. She didn’t want to let him go. It was attraction, and need, and fire. Feelings. Strong ones. She wasn’t going to run away from this… She just had to keep reminding herself of that resolve.

Or she could get out now before things got any worse, before she fell in deeper.

No. Then she’d be totally alone. Not only did she like Spike, felt tingles along her body when he looked at her just before smashing his mouth against her own, but she needed him. He was the only person who quieted the pain in her life, the sorrow in her heart. She didn’t want to let that go.

But now after the kiss, there was no way simple friendship could just take over again. She couldn’t hide her feelings, she wasn’t wired that way. It was either cut him out completely or make a try for something she was terrified to even think about.

She wanted him. God but she wanted him badly, and the idea of losing him just as a companion whom she could talk to was enough incentive to stop her from running away with her vulnerability and her heart securely encaged.

Buffy hugged him tighter when he nuzzled her hair. She didn’t want to lose any of this.

“Haven’ been breathless in a while,” Spike murmured wryly. “Could snog you all day, love.”

“Snog?” Thank God for funny British words. This would surely break any awkward kissage aftermath. “I assume that means…”

“What we just did.”

“You mean kiss?”

“That is what we just did, innit it?”

“Yes,” she nodded, biting her lip as she looked back down at his chest. Still wrapped up in each other. “We just kissed.”

“We kissed,” he agreed. A moment passed before he couldn’t help but ask, “How do you feel ‘bout that?”

Okay so maybe awkward aftermath was inevitable. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

He shook his head, causing her to look up at him. “Yes, you do.”

Buffy frowned. “If I say I don’t know then-”

“You’re lying,” he interjected. “Tell me what you felt. Don’t act like you’re all confused here, Buffy. I know you’ve got stuff bouncin around in that head f’yours.”

He rarely used her name, and while it sent a shiver up Buffy’s spine, she still felt annoyed by his interrogation. Why MUST she tell him what was going through her mind? It was her mind wasn’t it? “You’re not me. And while maybe YOU have all of your thoughts figured out and alphabetized, not everyone is quite so organized. Give me some time.”

She put her hands on her hips. She was getting defensive which either meant he was right, or dead wrong.

He decided he was right. “You know you feel something here, Buffy, and I wanna know what it is.” Spike spoke clearly, his voice a deep timbre as he pierced her eyes with his own. “I’ll tell you what I’m feelin.”

She glared at him. Why was he pushing her? It wasn’t like she was going to throw him out. True, she’d come very close to running away and closing herself off, but ultimately she’d decided against it. Did he really think she’d still be here talking to him if she wanted to shut him out? “Even if you spill your guts, Spike, it doesn’t mean I’m going to be able to-”

“I want to kiss you again,” he interrupted her once more, hoping to get her to listen and let go, to open up if she realized that she wasn’t alone in anything with him. “I want to kiss you for as long as I possibly can. I want to taste your skin.” He took a step closer.

Okay she was having trouble breathing again. He was getting closer, his gaze no less intense as it flitted over her blushing face. “I wanna hold you against me and feel your breath on my throat, your fingers runnin through my hair just like they were doin not five minutes ago. I want you Buffy, and I don’t just mean your body.”

She gulped inaudibly, her mouth was suddenly dry, and her eyelids felt heavy as she moved her hands to his forearms again. She wasn’t in control of anything. Seriously, her brain wasn’t the thing directing her movements right now.

Though, her brain was kind of mushy at the moment.

“I want to hold you close and watch you sleep,” he bent closer to her neck, breathing in her scent like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Like it was the only aroma he could detect, and basically it was, he was drowning in her. “I want to kiss you when you’re upset, I want to hug you in public and carry you to bed when you’re tired. I want to keep you… close.”

Buffy closed her eyes, fighting with her vulnerability as best she could.

“Very close...”

“I want that, too,” she murmured, all of her pride replaced by courage, though it felt like fear was the heaviest emotion right now. “I- I… When I kissed you, I felt… I don’t know, complete. It was… it was just-…”

Spike brushed her hair with his palm, smoothing it down in an attempt to calm her. Comfort her. “I know. Believe me Goldilocks, I know.”

Buffy’s face was burrowed into his chest, and suddenly she let out a little sound of amusement. Spike’s eyebrow quirked and he frowned down at the head of blonde hair. “What’s so funny?”

She shook her head against him. “‘Goldilocks.’ What IS it with you and nicknames anyway?”

“Like I said before, s’just a thing we Brits do… At least I do. And some f’the nicks just tend to fit you well.”

She pulled her face away from his T-shirt then, looking up into his eyes with a soft smile. He was glad to see some tease in her eyes, signaling that she was no longer so upset. “And ‘Goldilocks’ fits me?”

Spike smiled down at her, his fingers running through her hair. She seemed to lean into his touch without realizing it, and her face relaxed. He nodded. “I’d say so.”

“What other names do you think ‘fit me’?”

He frowned for a moment, then smirked. “Well... I’ve got one other. Though m’not sure you’ll like it.”

“Okay spill, I wanna know what it is.”

“Alright then…” He sighed. “‘Kitten’ does always come to mind when thinkin f’you.”

Buffy made a funny face, her nose scrunching even as her smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “‘Kitten?’ Really? How come?”

Spike shrugged a little sheepishly. “Don’t know. You just remind me of one, I guess. The way you always curl up on that couch at the library for instance,” he suggested, with a swirl of his finger imitating her supposed ‘curling up’. “You just look…” He laughed shortly. “Don’t know, ‘kitten’ just sort’ve fits you s’all.”

A beat.

“How come you never called me it before, then?”

He looked away from her, staring off into the shadowy attic. “It’s uh… It’s sort of a personal nick, love. Something I’d call someone who’s… who’s more ‘an just a friend. Wasn’ sure you’d…”

A long moment of silence filled the space, and finally Spike dared looking back at Buffy. She was chewing on her lip, and Christ but he wanted to nibble it for her. He wondered what she was going to say to his admission, if she said anything. Would she let it go? Scoff? Go back on what she’d said about wanting what he wanted and tell him to leave? He was terrified, and it unsettled him how much he wanted to hear her say-

“You can call me that.”

Spike blinked.

Buffy tried to pretend she didn’t notice the expression of sudden wonder on his face, her cheeks were hot and she was looking down. Her fingers came up to play with an invisible piece of lint on his cotton T and she swallowed to try and moisten her mouth. God she wished he would just say something.

Instead he leaned down and left an unexpected kiss on her temple, and she felt a smile against her skin.

The abrupt noise of a cuckoo clock in the corner sounding the hour broke the atmosphere. Tension slowly dissipated, and Spike and Buffy separated from each other’s arms, but they remained close.

The Brit glared at the clock before he started looking around the attic, and Buffy watched him as he seemed to get this curious look on his face. She stood up on her tippy toes to pull a string and the attic was immersed in light. “You can look around if you want. This place is full of cool old stuff.”

Spike glanced sardonically up at the light bulb above his head and smiled before walking towards a wardrobe. “What kinda stuff?”

Buffy frowned a little when she caught the look he gave the light. What, did he think he didn’t need it or something? Could he see in the dark?

With an inner eye roll Buffy shrugged it off and moved closer to her… her what? What was he to her now?

Oh wow she SO did not want to go down that road right now.

“Lots of things. Random pictures, some old clothes, glassware. Lots of… stuff,” she answered, and moved closer to Spike as he opened the old wardrobe.

He pulled out a dress and held it up to examine. Then he heard Buffy’s breath catch, and Spike looked up to see her staring at the dress with clear longing on her face.

He gently folded the garment over his arm. “You ever try it on, pet?”

Buffy shook her head but she wasn’t really aware that she did. How had she missed that dress before? It was beautiful. Long and creamy white. Encased in plastic and made out of a soft looking chiffon. The neckline was thick and drapey, and a high belt of white silk was wrapped around the bodice. The skirt looked like an A-line style that turned freely flowing and delicate as it met the floor. When Spike turned the garment over it was revealed that the drapery in the front went completely around and hung low, stopping to expose the wearer’s upper back.

A zipper sounded.

Buffy’s eyes shot up to Spike’s as he started opening the plastic garment bag, obviously planning to take the dress out.

Buffy gasped and moved forward quickly, putting her hands on his wrists. “What are you doing?”

“Takin it out so you can try it on,” he said matter-of-factly.

Buffy shook her head again. “No. You can’t, it has to be my grandmother’s, I don’t want to wreck it.”

Spike just looked at her. “Will she care if you try it on?”

“W-Well… I don’t think so, but-”

“Then you’re tryin it on.” He unzipped the bag fully, carefully extracting the delicate dress. “It looks like it’ll fit you, love.”

She looked down, glancing unintentionally at the beautiful neckline. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She didn’t respond.

He rolled his eyes. “Do you REALLY think anything’s gonna happen to it, Buffy?”

She chewed her lip, clenching her hands at her sides to avoid reaching out to touch the fabric of the white chiffon. “Spike, w-what if-”

“What if what?”

She sighed. She was nervous to try it on in front of him, that’s what. She was nervous about what he would think.

She wanted to try the dress on, but what if it looked terrible? What if it didn’t fit or- God forbid -what if she damaged it. Broke the zipper or tore the skirt? How could she explain that to Grams?

“Buffy.”

She looked up at him and met his eyes. His gaze was gentle, probing, encouraging. He smiled slightly and pushed the dress towards her.

Buffy sighed and took the garment into her hands, holding it protectively against her chest as she looked around the attic.

“There,” he pointed to an old folding screen a few feet away. There was a hole in one panel to the far left, but other than that and some water stains, the screen was fine and would give Buffy privacy to change. “You can try it on behind there.”

She nodded and walked away from him, ducking behind the screen only to poke her head out a second later. “Keep your eyes closed ‘til I tell you to open them,” she said sternly.

Spike rolled said eyes. “Fine.”

Buffy nodded and then went back behind the screen.

><

Spike clenched his jaw when he heard the sounds of rustling fabric. It was so low that he wouldn’t have caught any sound at all if he weren’t a vampire.

But he was, and the quiet noise of clothes dragging across skin just added to the difficulty he had with holding onto control. Buffy was stripping not fifteen feet away from him, and it was torture.

He walked over to a three legged table, examining it to try and curb his disobedient thoughts. The wood was dark mahogany and the surface, though coated in dust, was smooth and cool to the touch. It looked like a coffee table, but it was a little tall. There was a bookcase not far away hiding in a corner. It was bare, the bottom shelf falling off and the paint chipping.

Spike was mentally assessing what he could do to fix the thing when he heard a zipper.

He gritted his teeth.

All the images he’d just been about to get a hold on danced through his brain, little fantasies starting up that would no doubt demand to be finished later. He saw Buffy with her back bare, the slender curve of her spine and the smoothness of her naked skin tempting his fingers. Her round bottom raised in the air, waiting for his touch. His girl laid out on his bed, her chest heaving and the little pink rosebuds on her chest teasing him until he bent down for a taste.

Spike groaned.

Damned torturous imagination.

Why had he told her to try the bloody dress on?

A throat clearing from behind him caught his attention and he turned around.

*Bloody hell.* That’s why.

She’d snuck up on him, and evidently made it to the mirror before Spike could even think to look behind him. Now Buffy stood in front of the aged foggy glass with a light blush on her cheeks.

She looked like an angel. The dress didn’t just fit her perfectly, but looked like it was made for her. The soft white offset the strawberry blonde highlights in her hair, her green eyes popped vibrantly and the fabric flowed around her legs like water. She glanced down, holding out the ends of the skirt as she turned to reveal her half bare back to his eyes. The draped material hung low and exposed smooth skin. The dress fit exquisitely around every curve, and Buffy looked like what Spike would have imagined a magical fairy princess to look like back when he was a little boy.

“Spike? What do you think?”

He couldn’t even blink, let alone think. His eyes were riveted on her. He’d never seen someone as stunning. She was angelic. The dress made her look delicate and innocent, beautiful.

“Spike?” She was frowning, nerves all over her face as she took a double take in the mirror.

Silly chit, didn’t she know she was breathtaking?

“You look beautiful, love.” No, that was NOT his bleeding voice choking on the last word.

Her teeth showed luminously and she looked down at the gown again. Spike could’ve sworn his heart started beating.

*I have to have her.*

He smiled when she grinned at him, quickly twirling around in the dress like a little girl.

“Thank you,” she said to his earlier compliment. “You know I think this might have been my great aunt’s wedding dress, actually.”

Spike tilted his head, his eyes still fixed on her as she moved to-and-fro in front of the mirror. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. My Grams’ sister, Mary. I never met her before she died, but Grams showed me some pictures and I think I saw her wearing this.”

“Don’ think it could’ve looked this good on anyone else to tell ya the truth, love.”

She met his stare.

Spike raked his eyes over her, a touch of both awe and lust in his gaze. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

She blushed from head to toe, and Spike grinned at the sight.

“Thanks… I just wish I could wear it someplace.”

Spike’s brows knit together. “M’sure your Grams wouldn’t mind you borrowin it.”

“No it’s not that,” she replied. “I just really have nowhere to wear it.”

Spike took a couple of steps forward, reaching out to finger the delicate material of the gown. He didn’t notice Buffy’s intake of breath at his approach. “Looks like your Grams kept it in good shape all these years. I’d wager you could find someplace ta wear it.”

Buffy pressed her lips together. “Maybe.” She shrugged and then sighed, planning to get out of this garment and stop her forlorn thoughts. Before she could walk back behind the folding screen Spike caught her hand.

She gave him a questioning look in response and he pulled her closer, leaving a tender kiss on her temple before squeezing her warm fingers in his cold ones. “You’ll get to wear it someday, pet. Count on it.”

Pulling away and trying not to let her emotions show, her heartbeat racing, Buffy looked up at him. She didn’t smile, and she didn’t say anything, but her expression was both grateful and hopeful, warm.

Spike let her walk over to the screen to get changed, all the while wondering how he might be able to make it so she could wear that dress.

><

When Buffy came back out from behind the folding screen she saw Spike sitting on the floor a few feet away. He was cross-legged and looking over something. She walked to the wardrobe from where the dress had been taken and started putting it back inside its plastic garment bag before she asked him what he was looking at.

“Just some photos, love.” He turned to face her, a few random pictures in his hands. “Hope that’s alright?”

Buffy’s heart plummeted.

He couldn’t be looking at… No. Not the pictures.

She froze, her hand stilled over the just re-hung dress inside the wardrobe.

“These of you an your mum, pet?”

Buffy swallowed, a severe need to run away from the attic started to consume her at a pace that was almost as frightening as the past she fought so hard to ignore. The pictures were taunting, hateful, bitter memories that had the power to make her insides virtually collapse. They’d broken her all over again not a week ago.

She didn’t want to go near them.

“Buffy?”

She didn’t answer. How could she? Buffy’s chest was burning, and her eyes were rimmed with thin layers of tears just ready to shatter like glass against her cheeks. The past and all she tried so hard to hide from was not five feet away, sitting in an unmarked box and in the hands of a man she’d come to trust. Spike wasn’t supposed to be near her history like this.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, having felt the shift in the air. The pressure pushed darkly against his body, Spike felt unease enfold them both like a thin cloak. He was frowning, his face a canvas of concern as he stared at Buffy’s. She reminded him of a scared deer ready to run from a predator. What had happened in between the space of a second? Her heartbeat was rapid beneath her chest, and she gulped before practically whispering, “Can you put those away.”

It wasn’t a question, but more of a command. Spike squinted, his mind spinning to try and figure out what… Wait.

Instinctively he looked to the cardboard box brimming with pictures, and then he realized something. It was like the urgent sound of a bell going off. Small facts came back to him, the locket Buffy wore, she told him she’d moved in with her grandmother, she never spoke of any other family asides from telling him that the necklace she always had on was once her mother’s… The darkening of her light… Could these pictures get her to open up?

Spike decided to try something.

He didn’t know how well this would work, but…

She heard him stand, and the almost indiscernible brush of photographs between his fingers.

She hadn’t moved once, and before Buffy realized it he was right next to her with an old picture in his left hand. He put an arm around her waist.

He bent his head a little and looked into her eyes. There were shimmering tears there, ready to pour, and he felt a protective instinct overwhelm him.

He held the picture out to her as if displaying a crystal object to a young child who would have to be delicate with it. Except in this case, Spike felt the delicate object wasn’t the photograph.

“This your mum?” he asked.

He hated the choking noise he didn’t hear. Buffy made a movement with her throat that seemed to require a heartbreaking sound attached, but there was none. Just absolute silence.

It was the coldest quiet he’d ever heard.

Spike hated himself for pushing her, but he needed to get through. Buffy couldn’t let go of anything without feeling a little pain… or a lot; but he would be there to hold her. Maybe she just needed to realize that.

He looked back down at the picture. It had a lovely woman who looked to be in her late twenties, holding up a smiling little girl with the cutest nose Spike could pinpoint anywhere. That was Buffy when she was about three he’d guess, and he presumed the woman holding her was her mother. They looked alike, Buffy’s mum was beautiful just like her daughter, and they had the same smile. Spike just wished Buffy would answer his question.

“She’s wearin’ the locket you’ve got ‘round your neck,” he stated, remembering when she’d told him it belonged to her mother. He knew very well his hunch was right, but he wanted Buffy to tell him.

Though she looked like if she uttered a single word she’d break.

Spike swore his chest clenched when Buffy nodded her head without blinking or even looking down at the photograph.

But then she did, and an inaudible breath was taken in as a tear slipped down her cheek.

Spike didn’t want to, but he spoke again anyway. He knew why now. God he knew so much. A tiny guess had turned into full blown truth in the space of a few hours, and now he knew- he KNEW –why Buffy was always closed off. Why she was darkened by pain, the pain lie right here in his hands. Something happened to her family, at least definitely, to her mother. So he spoke again, as much as he loathed to hurt Buffy. “What happened to her?”

Her knees gave out. Spike fell with her only because he needed to catch her, and then he lowered them both down to the dusty ground. Her throat, once dry and tight, now choked her completely and made the most horrible sounds she’d believed she’d ever made. Her tears finally cascaded down her cheeks, past her chin, soaking the material of Spike’s shirt where her face was burrowed.

His arms wrapped around her protectively, holding her face against him as she sobbed. Her cries were muffled but strong, he felt the vibrations of them with every shake of her body. She sounded like a broken child and she wept without pause, Spike was sure, for everything she hadn’t yet dared to cry for. She was clutching him so tight and pinching the material of his shirt that he was sure she’d rip it. He only held tighter.

><

They sat like that for who knew how long. Buffy cried, she sobbed and coughed and sniffled pathetically and hated herself for every second of it. She loathed crying and had no right to unload all of this off on Spike. She didn’t.

But then he told her the opposite.

He shushed her, he sat on the old creaky wooden floor of her Grams’ attic and he held her tightly, anything or one that dared to threaten her at that moment was sure to feel Spike’s wrath. He looked into her eyes when the shuddering, breath stealing sobs had weakened to a steady leak of tears. He made her talk to him, just as he made her accept his comfort.

She’d relayed the story. Her whole life story. Her past, the bitter and not at all sweet memories because they were gone spilled forth on her tongue, and the shards of glass she felt piercing her heart were slowly removed by Spike’s hand. He listened.

She went into a detailed retelling of her years, how she’d lived in San Francisco her whole life, until now, with her mother and grandfather. How her dad had died when she was little, and after was when her grandpa had come to live with Buffy and Joyce. To help raise the little one, as well as comfort his grieving daughter.

How the death of Hank Summers had affected everyone. Buffy being so young at the time only had a handful of memories of her dad, but she still missed him. She told Spike about the trips that were made a couple of times to Grams’ when she was younger. Her life was spelled out for him.

Her school, her friends, how she’d been a popular cheerleader who had a secret penchant for reading. How it all had changed after the fire this summer following graduation.

“Grams flew out to California faster than a bat out a hell the second I called her.” She murmured between shaky breaths and tears, Spike holding her all the while. She told him about calling her beloved grandmother right after the fire, and how quickly the woman had gotten to San Francisco.

Buffy told him she’d lost her family all in one night, due to old wiring in a beautiful house that was probably once a speakeasy back in the twenties. Her home. A place that had been passed down through generations. Some uncle or cousin on her father’s side had bought the place years ago, and it had stayed in the family ever since.

Her family home was gone now, and with it her mom and Papa.

After Grams got to California, she’d grabbed the bull by the horns, taking care of everything. She’d grieved with Buffy, she’d made the funeral arrangements, and she’d opened up her home to her granddaughter immediately.

A month and a half was all it took for Grams to help Buffy handle everything that needed tending to after the fire. From money issues to nursing a loved one’s heartache as best she could.

The wills had left Buffy with everything, but “everything” consisted of a burnt down house that held a recent home equity loan, and not much money from either of her deceased guardians.

Buffy had been a wreck, barely able to hold herself up standing let alone try and understand what one did after such an incident. She didn't know how to deal with banks, insurance companies, setting up services for family to say goodbye- it was all daunting and Grams had been there to help her through it.

After the insurance company had finally come through and all else was taken care of, Buffy had insisted Grams go back to Alabama a week before she did. The girl had claimed she needed to say goodbye to friends and that she could take a bus down there on her own.

It wasn't easy to convince the older woman, but Buffy finally succeeded in getting her to agree.

“When Grams went back home, I used the time alone to just… exist, really,” she confessed to Spike, her voice quiet.

Her popularity had slowly diminished following graduation. And after the fire, all of those people who had once followed her around the school hallways, seemed to stop caring about her.

None of her friends came to the services, not even the girls she'd been with when she'd gotten the phone call that awful night.

And with each word, with every heart wrenching memory told and each breath used to relay her story and the recent past, Buffy grew more determined to get everything out. She was in so much pain it was amazing she could even talk, but finally telling someone and explaining her history was draining her of both energy and a feeling she couldn’t describe. Her tears felt like they were drying, she wasn’t just controlling them, but it felt like they were actually leaving. At least for a little while.

She was long heartbroken and her cheeks were raw, but she didn’t feel alone.

And Spike knew exactly what she was going through. In some twisted way she couldn’t understand. He said everything she never would have guessed she wanted to hear, yet after hearing it, couldn’t imagine having not. He held her through her whole story, through all the breakdowns in the middle where she cried for minutes at a time before being able to speak again. He shushed her, even kissed her lips once to try and comfort her. He watched over her like his life depended on it, like he was begging her for a smile in the midst of all this darkness. Like his happiness could only come if hers did, too.

Little did Buffy know that that was very true.

She was walking him out around eleven. After everything up in the attic, Buffy found herself beyond just exhaustion, and Spike insisted she get some rest.

As they stood at the open doorway now, not quite sure how to end the night, only one thing was certain in both of their minds: They were going to see each other again soon.

“I only wonder what mischief my grandmother has gotten herself into.”

Spike turned and looked at Buffy, there was a smudge of mascara along the corner of one of her eyes and she was tired and drained. All of her color was seemingly focused around her eyes instead of in her cheeks.

“M’sure she’s fine,” he replied. "I think the little boxer lady can take care of herself."

Buffy made a sound that was a bit like a laugh but not quite. A beat of silence passed, and Spike knew she was about to say something important.

He’d come to notice her habits and personal tells. Like the natural pattern of her breathing, the reasons why and when she bit her lip, the slight stiffening of her shoulders whenever something uncomfortable or painful arose, and the telltale sign of her hard swallows when she was about to say something she didn’t particularly want to.

“Thank you... for tonight,” she murmured, a gap in between the four words and her eyes downcast. Buffy’s arms were crossed over her chest and she was a veritable statue of control and self preservation.

He wanted to tell her she didn't need to thank him, but refrained. He knew that he'd always be near when she wanted him, and times when she wouldn't, but he didn't need to admit that to himself just yet. “You haven' told anyone... Have you," he stated rather emotionlessly. "Not even your Grams?” His tone was gentle and almost too quiet, but plain. Buffy didn't have to know he was still trying to keep himself from hauling her into his arms, the past couple of hours taking their toll on him as well. He found it unsettling how much it bothered him to watch her cry.

A part of Spike shriveled in self disgust. He knew she'd needed it, but he really didn't like the fact that he was the one who'd pushed her so far. And he hated knowing he'd most likely have to do it again in the future.

She shook her head at his question. “No. She… She’s always there for me but, I just-” Buffy broke off and looked down, then at him. Weary green eyes that were crystalline in the moonlight stared into his, and Spike swallowed. “It’s just easier to deal on my own. I don’t have to worry her then.”

He looked at her dubiously all of a sudden, standing less than a foot away he could reach out and touch her. He wanted to hug her, brush a hand down her hair in a show of comfort, but he couldn’t. Not just yet. He was afraid she would pull away.

So instead he said, “I think your grandmum can handle it, love. She cares 'bout you…” When she didn’t respond he started again. “Maybe you should give her a chance-”

“No.” Her voice was firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t want to hurt her. She-… She went through the loss too. She doesn’t need me crying on her shoulder. I have to be strong.”

Spike did take a step closer then, something determined flashing in his eyes that Buffy missed. “Look at me,” he said, and her eyes met concerned blue as Spike visibly tried to keep himself in check. He was so tired of knowing that this girl couldn’t let herself grieve. “You don’t always have to be strong, Buffy.”

The words sounded foreign to her ears, like something uttered in a different language, but she listened intently anyway.

“Tonight, everything you-…" The man pursed his lips. "You know that you can talk to me. And actually talking to someone never means that you’re weak, Buffy. Maybe you don’ want ta discuss things with yer Grams, but I think you can. She'd handle it.” Spike broke eye contact and looked down. He grasped her hand in his, his next words laced with resolve and certainty. “But either way, m’here. I’ll never break under a little strain, you can lay it all on me.”

She swallowed, and just barely choked out, "It's hard."

Spike looked into her eyes and she had to focus on not crying again.

“I’ll be here.”

God, Buffy hoped so, because as much as it scared the crap out of her, she was starting to believe him.

Still she rushed to say, "I don't want you to think that-" stopping and taking a breath before gesturing with her hands. Buffy didn't know how to say it. She just didn't want him to think she was keeping him around as a personal shrink or something. "I'm not just using you. I-I'm not just- keeping you around because-!"

His grip on her hand tightened, "I know, Buffy."

Spike's lips came down to touch her forehead. “I know. But if you're hurtin, and ya find someone that’ll listen… it usually makes things a bit easier, s’what I’m figurin.”

Her skin tingled where he rested, and Buffy squeezed her eyes shut tight.

Her hands moved up his arms where she gripped leather, and her eyes remained closed even as Spike hugged her. She let him hold her, wondering why the only person in the world she would accept comfort from was Spike. Why was he the one person she felt it might just be okay to let in?

To be vulnerable with?

There was no answer, other than the soft pressure of his lips on hers. The calming taste of his mouth and the dangerously enticing flavor of the tip of his tongue.

She opened for him and he sampled the shallow depth, teasing and barely taking what she offered. It was soft and wet, tender. Kind and reassuring. His free hand came to rest at the nape of her neck where his thumb brushed warmly. He helped to ground her. They moved like that for a time, gently kissing with passion both urging them to do more and yet keeping them in check as what was experienced seemed to be just right.

Buffy delicately tasted Spike’s tongue and mouth, murmuring when he pulled her closer to him.

When they parted, Buffy was breathing heavily and too dazed to wonder why Spike wasn’t. He left a few last chaste kisses on her lips before reluctantly pulling away, her whole body was soft and welcoming while his was rigid and practically magnetized to the woman. He wanted to stay and do things with her that would send his pulse back to beating, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

And not tonight, when grief was too present and might taint anything else they shared. When comfort and escape might be the major reasons behind a coupling Spike wanted- needed –to mean more. He would not allow pain to be between them when he had her.

And he would have her; he already cared too much to even consider leaving. A part of him knew it, and that part was still arguing with the other part of himself that was just begrudgingly starting to believe it.

Stepping onto the damp grass, Spike smiled warmly up at the flushed girl and bid her goodnight.

With a light breeze cooling the air, he disappeared into the shadows. If there had been a fog, Buffy probably wouldn’t have even seen which way he’d gone. The man practically vanished into the night.

With an affectionate feeling amidst the tiring emptiness this day had brought her, she thought absently on the conflicting sensations within. She was sated, and relieved and hurting and then just plain stripped; and affection still stood tall with all the other skyscrapers of emotion. She was a mess, but a controlled one at that.

With a sigh and one last look at the moonlit sky, Buffy went inside, preparing to get ready for bed and await Grams’ arrival back. She was sure someone from town would walk the older woman home, but still wanted to be awake when her grandmother got in.

><

As Spike walked home he internally battled over thoughts that he’d refused to think about while with Buffy. Thoughts even HE knew were too premature to dwell on. Oh, but he was dwelling. He was dwelling big time.

She was human. Spike had pretty much resigned himself to never getting close to anyone else in his unlife again, not after losing his family years before. He never found people worth the risk.

Except now.

The Brit shook his head, muttering some angry nonsense even he wasn’t sure of the meaning.

He’d shag a dame here or there over the years, being a physical being and needing sex like he needed violence. Spike had no problem with one night stands, and even shared a bed with a few regulars on occasion. It was hollow and simply gratification, nothing more.

He’d never been emotionally shut off, no matter how hard he tried, but nobody had charged him enough to get him to realize it.

Spike believed he was hardened enough to ignore the inner poet inside him that still lived in some way or another. The thing called out for love. Companionship. Another person to share things with.

His biting loneliness had become his friend over the years, a resented hateful presence used to remind Spike everyday not to get close to anyone. It was like being the subject of a knife thrower, and every blade hitting close to your skin was a warning not to move, or you’d bleed.

Buffy just came along, all fascinating brush-off turned to sweet smiles that were blinding. Her laughter was like music. Her pain like visual acid.

When the pain had become apparent to him, when he’d seen she was hiding something, Spike hadn’t been able to stop himself from getting closer. It bothered him that she hurt, and yet it still didn’t matter. He would’ve been enchanted by her just the same even if she was completely devoid of grief.

He’d never met anyone like her before.

He was buggered.

Spike ran a hand through his hair and lit up a cigarette.

It was too late to think of leaving, he couldn’t, and he didn’t want to.

That was the main point here, right? He didn’t even WANT to want to leave her now. He was in too deep. That part of himself that still rebelled at the idea of getting close to Buffy, let alone believing that he already was, had been squashed a few minutes ago. It didn't take too bloody long, really.

And Spike promised to be there for her. He meant it, too. No way was he going to abandon this girl.

Christ, he had no clue what was to happen if he continued down this road, all he knew was that she was under his skin, and it didn’t look like she was leaving anytime soon.

She was a bloody human. He shouldn’t have even started this, or CARED for that matter! Fucking hell, what was wrong with him? Getting too close, to someone who had a measured lifespan, who was susceptible to all the things that went bump in the night like him? She could go out for a walk and be pulled to the side and drained in a blink by any random vamp who walked along and got peckish.

Spike’s stomach lurched.

No. No bloody way was he was going to let anyone or thing lay a hand on her. She wouldn’t be hurt, he’d see to it. He’d fucking guard her and stalk her at night if that’s what it took.

Angrily throwing his cigarette to the ground, Spike stomped it out before fishing out another.

It didn’t matter that the area of MayBell was pretty lacking in the undead, thanks to Spike’s insistent nature that urged him to take part in some sort of violence, and his edginess that only worsened it. Fortunately for the town of MayBell, he was edgy quiet often lately.

The place was safer than most, and Spike usually staked a vamp any time he really felt like killing something. Not many demons even came to town anymore because they knew that if Spike wanted to, he would kill them just for the fun of it. However, some still did, either because they didn’t care about him or they wanted to take on the challenge.

He knew the gossip of his unorthodox hunting ways had spread through the demon world because he went to demon bars often enough to still get an earful of it. Of course, no one really bothered him because whenever someone did, they’d find themselves on the sharp end of a stake or an axe. The smart ones just avoided Spike’s territory. If you didn’t go within walking distance of his place at night, then he likely wasn’t going to kill you. It was well known. He was, after all, the infamous William the Bloody, and very few dared test him. No one even knew that he’d gone off the live stuff, they just thought he had a fondness for killing, whether it be humans or the undead.

Now he would just have to be sure to be extra merciless on his occasional… patrols.

God, he hated to call them that. They weren’t done for the good of mankind, he just wanted a little bloodshed. Of course, now though, he supposed they would be for a less selfish reason. He had something important to protect, and he would make sure no one touched Buffy. He’d stake himself before he let anyone hurt her.

It was a little surreal sometimes, being a vampire who after years of human destruction and mayhem across Europe, now only hunted other demons. He’d been this way for years, and for some of those years he’d kept his dirty “white-hat” ways concealed. It wasn’t long though until he’d stopped caring who might come after him because they viewed him as a traitor, therefore having an excuse to try and take on the Slayer of Slayers, and earning themselves a title.

Spike had taken on many enemies over the years, and slaughtered all of them.

Now no one fucked with him. He’d done his evil back in Europe when he had lived with his sire and their vampire "family" (more of a nest, really). After that, and killing two slayers only ten years apart from each other, Spike had earned many titles and nicknames. He was a veritable legend with facts of disturbing massacres and evil doings that were still remembered to this day, as fresh as a spring flower. Everyone who knew about him saw him as a killing machine, one who wasn’t prejudice against murdering those of his own making.

The only thing his fellow demons didn’t know about him (asides from the fact that he bagged it) was what had changed after he’d left that overpopulated vampire nest. One day he was Spike, William the Bloody, the Big Bad and Slayer of Slayers. Always up for a good brawl. The next? He was gone. Disappeared. Off the map. A few vamps that might still be around could probably attest to the rumors that half drained bodies of bastards and criminals had been found near Spike’s home for many years after his mysterious departure.

Little did they know that he’d also been knocking off demons and vampires that whole time, sparsely and only when he really needed to kill something. Otherwise he laid low, kept to himself and stayed pretty much invisible. He still basically did that.

Then he came around again, no longer just in the shadows, and everyone thought that he’d gone from human massacre machine, to just massacre machine. The fellow undead never spotted him snacking on people and then reluctantly letting them go. If one did, Spike offed them.

Sometimes, after turning partly tame, he had killed a human here or there by accident, and without remorse; but he only ever played catch and release with real pieces of shit that society would only lock up anyways. So the losses weren't exactly great.

And he wouldn’t talk about the people he had saved from the worthless ones. He was no better than the scoundrels, just lacking a soul.

Spike couldn’t kill anyone who was innocent, and asides from the occasional (and accidental) criminal-waste snack, he only murdered evil things that went bump in the night. Those had been his rules for many years now. It used to be annoying, now it was just everyday unlife.

There were a lot of things Spike had adjusted to over time, a lot of things that had happened, and a lot of things that had stopped happening. Being followed was something that had stopped.

“We’re a bit old to be playin hide n’ seek here,” he called out.

He wasn’t even a hundred feet away from the front door of his house, and he’d sensed the presence of a vampire minutes before. He'd wanted to see if the stranger would show themselves before he hunted him or her down with a stake, but then realized they weren’t just passing by, but following him.

He hadn’t been followed since he’d lived back in Europe, and though Spike was still well known here, not nearly as many American demons knew who he was or the fact that he was even living in MayBell. After leaving the continent his reputation had tagged along, but no one really knew he was in the area unless he showed his face, and then the news never seemed to travel farther than he did.

So being stalked? Yeah, it hadn’t happened in a long bloody time.

“Ya might wanna show your face 'fore I carve it off.” He pulled his Zippo up to light the cigarette dangling from his lips, his posture nonchalant and secure in the knowledge of over a century of experience.

“Whoever you are…” he called again, pulling the cig from his mouth as he put his lighter away. Spike looked to the bushes. “Step on up.”

The night, filled by quiet noises and the soft wind of an October breeze, suddenly echoed with the crunch of dry leaves as a woman stepped out into the clearing.

No, not woman. Vampire. Spike could clearly see her contorted fanged expression in the dark. Her short brown hair was wispy and matched the color of her worn jacket. Jeans with holes at the knees and a plain grey shirt covered a slim, tall frame. The female’s feminine build betrayed nothing of the power that Spike knew resided in her undead bones, and the grace with which she stepped was shaky with either nerves or anger or both as she approached him. There was clear hatred in her yellow eyes, something Spike was used to seeing, but there was more added to this one’s emotion. She didn’t just look at him like he was what stood in her way to earning a reputation, but rather like she truly wanted him to suffer. Like she really wanted to feel his blood drip through her fingers.

And there was something barely familiar about her scent… Had he met her before?

“What’s yer name, pet?” A mocking note was put on the last word, and Spike narrowed his eyes when she growled lowly. She was standing about twenty feet away from him, and the chit looked ready to pounce for his throat.

She acquired an abrupt confident air, and a long fingered hand dropped onto one bent hip. Her stance was almost cocky as she dropped the threatening mountain lion look. “The killer never bothers to learn about their victim’s family ahead of time…” She said the words in a considering yet lazy tone, like she was contemplating the subject with halfhearted interest. “I always found that rather sloppy, and I’d– personally, anyways -expect more from the Slayer of Slayers.”

Spike’s ears pricked but he remained calm, his hands were itching to just grab one of the sticks he saw near his feet and plunge it through her heart. Except he needed know that this broad actually meant to come after him. She sure as hell looked like she hated his guts, but he wanted to make sure her desire to see him dust was a solitary wish. He didn’t need to kill this vamp only to be ambushed by her lackeys (or boss, for that matter) later on. He might be able to get some information out of the bint.

“Yeah?” Spike drawled. “Killed many victims f’your own, have you?”

Her eyes blazed for half a second and Spike saw a weakness. This one didn’t have quite as good a control over herself as she thought she did.

However, she did seem to want to tear into his chest and rip his unbeating heart out with only her fingers as the surgical instruments, and she was doing a good job at keeping a safe distance away from him. That was smart of her.

“I only kill humans,” she said, her tone deceivingly quiet when he could tell all she wanted to do was roar. “I don’t love destruction so much that I dare STAKE a fellow demon, just to watch his dust glitter in the air.”

Spike snorted and took a puff of his cigarette. “Real noble, that is.”

She snarled, her teeth showing. “I have self control, something you obviously haven’t learned.” The bright flash in her demon eyes had Spike tilting his head in consideration.

Right. He was the bloody king of self control when it came to maiming and brutality. Patience? Now that was another thing.

“Yeah well, soulless demon an all here, love,” he said, allowing her to believe what she wanted. He dropped his half finished fag and crushed it beneath his boot. “Don’t really give a damn 'bout self control.”

He noticed her get a hasty hold on her temper, and in less than two seconds she was holding up that self assured mask again.

“So, William,” the female drawled his name on a sarcastic note, and against his will, Spike’s fist clenched at his side. He wasn’t really angered but it always was irritating when someone said his given name like that. He didn’t understand why, but it had always seemed to be immediately known to anyone around that he had once been ‘William’, a gentlemanly poncy poet. Spike’s enemies loved to remind him of that.

“How long has it been since you went hunting, to quench your animalistic bloodlust?”

She was so damn condescending when she said it that Spike’s irritation flared again. Annoying bint.

He answered her anyway. “Last night.”

“Planning on going out again?”

He puffed out a silent laugh and eyed her from head to toe. Spike made his stare lustful, though he really didn’t see all that much admirable about the woman, he simply wanted to piss her off.

Her eyes blazed again and Spike had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling. “Yeah. Though... I think I might just sate my ‘animalistic bloodlust’ by killing you first.”

He made his move, but as he blurred forth to charge her and his face changed, Spike suddenly found himself pinned beneath a net.

Yes, an actual net. Like one of those heavy, thick roped bloody things used for hunting or holding enormous amounts of flopping fish.

He would have barely been slowed down by it, but a thick layer of dark magick rested within the fibers, and prohibited any movement beneath. All of his limbs were frozen. He fell onto his stiff back as the weighty, choking power in the ropes propelled him down, and Spike looked up at a smirking cunning bitch.

“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed in a mutter. His lips still worked, thank the Powers for that; though he really didn’t know how much it might help him.

“Little thing I picked up from a voodoo shop in New Orleans.” She stepped over him with cruelty dancing in her eyes. Spike wasn’t sure she wouldn’t torture him if she had the time.

“You see…” she said sweetly, the syllable of each word ringing with malevolent promise. “I was making my way from Arizona to meet up with my brother. Imagine my shock,” she stopped to press a foot down onto Spike’s stomach, and she pressed.

His lips pursed to keep his groan lodged in his throat, where it belonged.

“when I felt him DIE on me.” Her eyes blazed again, but this time the anger and hatred remained. She did not stop her rage from showing, but moved her shoe up to Spike’s ribs and pushed until she heard a crack.

“Fuck!” He couldn’t help that one.

She smiled, nothing but pure malice on her face as her voice dropped to a growling whisper. “Do you know how it feels when the only family you have left gets taken away from you?"

He did know, but saying so was out of the question. Her voice rose. "To FEEL them disappear, and you wake up with their screamed lodged in your throat?!”

Spike glared at her, and yet he almost felt a pang of pity.

Wait. No he didn’t.

“Listen you spineless little cunt,” he growled, his voice soft but murderous. She broke another rib and Spike cursed roughly before continuing. “I don’t know who the hell your brother was, so how do you-”

Another rib.

He let out a short shout, gasping for unneeded air.

“No I bet you didn’t, did you?” She snarled at him, and then threw a punch into his stomach muscles. He groaned, and bit out another insult beneath his breath.

“You didn’t even care who he was, you just wanted to kill something!”

“It’s what I do,” he growled without remorse. She was right, he didn’t give a fuck about who the vamp had been or what his name might be, or what his history was. All he’d cared about was letting off a little steam, and the idiot had probably been right down an alley in town square, waiting for an evening meal to leave one of the shops.

She punched him in a broken rib and Spike flinched but refused to make a sound. She glared down into his eyes, amber meeting amber as her story started to spill. She was getting ready to kill him, and before she did she wanted to explain exactly how she’d found out everything she needed to hunt down her brother’s killer. Spike’s mind was racing to think of a way out of this fucking ridiculous situation.

“The second I knew my brother was dead, I’d immediately assumed the slayer had done it. He was too good of a fighter for it to have been anyone average, and too smart to get himself caught on fire. But then I talked to some people and realized that the bitch was in Ohio, guarding a hellmouth. Ironic,” she tilted her head and continued, her voice conversational and her heel scraping cracked bone together as Spike gritted his teeth. “ ‘cause after I met up with my brother and a friend a his in this shithole town, we were headed there.”

Suddenly she lifted her foot, relieving the pressure on his broken bones to take a switchblade out of her back pocket. She dangled it above Spike’s face and he tried to gather the concentration to thrall her. Not many vampires could be beguiled by another, but if one was good enough at it, then it had a possibility of working.

It seemed to be Spike’s only hope if he wanted to get out of this, that or try and make a deal with the bint. Except he didn’t think she would go for anything he offered.

Sending a praise of thanks to Drusilla for even showing him the ABILITY of thrall, Spike tried to force his mind to overpower the bitch who stood above him like a malicious child. The knife gleamed in the moonlight.

Then it was coated in red, slashing through the black material of his shirt and into his chest.

“Son of a-!” Spike yelled, his shout rising into a growl. “I’m gonna tear you apart-”

She cut him off. “I made my way to Alabama and I planned to avenge my brother’s death.” Spike rolled his eyes, she didn’t notice, but twisted the knife anyways just to watch him try not to scream.

“After I picked up a couple of things from a witch in New Orleans,” she continued, before pulling the blade out and then kicking him hard in the side. “I came to this fucking place and tracked down the guy my brother had been staying with. I questioned him until his ears bled, and then dusted his ass when I found out he’d run away when my brother was attacked instead of helping him fight.”

A memory flashed in Spike’s mind and he asked gutturally, “What was the moron’s name?”

Her lips curled into a sneer, and she walked away from him to pick up a random fallen tree branch. It was short but thick, and would do nicely as a stake.

Spike clenched his jaw and tried to think of a way out of this. He was the fucking Slayer of Slayers, he couldn’t be put down by a twat who probably wasn’t even a hundred years. The magick on the net was strong, though; he couldn’t move a thing. Closing his eyes- against his better judgment -Spike willed his mind to calm, trying to block out the pain. The ONLY shot he had right now was to thrall her.

He heard her voice in the back of his mind as he tried to concentrate his will. “The asshole my brother was staying with? Jared. Idiot surfer dude who shoulda never been turned. He was better left as meat.”

He heard her footsteps and Spike opened his eyes, now blue with the pupils dilated. He concentrated, could feel the power slowly coming to him. Fortunately, she didn’t seem quite ready to stop talking.

“Once I knew who you were, apparently always killing anything just because you could and if it was in your precious little fucking Mayberry of a town, I decided to catch you. Torture you a little. Then stake you.”

*You've got a lot to learn about torture if this is all you've got,* Spike thought.

Her chatter paused, and she glided closer. He opened his eyes and focused on the back of her head. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but off into the distance. If she heard something then he could’ve missed it, he was too centered on the thrall. It took much more work to conjure the control for it when you hadn’t used it in a while, and your target was another vampire… and you were currently bleeding on the ground with broken bones that ground together each time you futilely tried to move.

She whirled around and kneeled by his shoulder. Her smile was evil.

Spike tried to catch her eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him. If he knew hatred (and he did), then she would look at him just as she plunged the wood into his heart, or right before. He hoped she’d do it just before.

The bitch’s eyes practically twinkled as she ran the edge of her improvised stake against his still chest. “My name is Flora, by the way. Just thought you might wanna know who it was that killed you before I, well,” she giggled maniacally. “kill you.”

Then, her gaze met his, and just before he could snare her the woman’s body was flung backwards.

The stake flew into the air and landed with a dull thud that nobody heard. Spike’s eyes grew the size of saucers and when he saw the vindictive bitch propelled into a tree trunk, he felt giddy for a sheer perfect moment.

Then he frowned and looked around. No one was in-

Wait.

He sniffed the air, blocking out the scents of his vengeful torturer, his own blood, and the surrounding Alabama night.

His nostrils twitched and he smiled. Spike knew that scent.

Flora screamed and her chest began to glow. She looked at her assailant who was calmly emerging from the surrounding trees. “A GYPSY?! You are shitting me- Fuck!” She shouted when the burning glow around her dead heart flared brighter, she pressed a hand to her chest and was quickly singed.

Oh, Spike had seen that trick before, and Christ he missed the sight of it.

A tall, broad shouldered man walked slowly towards the vampire against the tree. Her chest shone as he held his hand up, palm open to her.

A deep, mixed accented voice entered the air. “You’ll die soon, don’t worry.”

Spike smirked, all of the pain in his body dimming in the light of this new turn of events. Leave it to Stevo Martinov to announce someone’s death to them in calm, even tones even as he's the one doing the killing.

Bloody hell but this was a beautiful sight. The vengeful bitch was going to die, in a moment she would burst into flames.

But something switched. Something that made Spike try and jump up to defend his friend despite the net. Flora growled as she pulled the burning ember ball from her chest, an agonized scream tearing from her throat. The vampire screeched and whipped it towards her towering opponent, and Spike watched from the ground as Stevo jumped out of the way to avoid the flame.

The man tracked the spinning and swirling ball of heat. Surprised, zoned in eyes, concentration, and a will of power. He said a few words under his breath and the flames extinguished.

The air crackled with magicks, the night seemed violated somehow. The blood from Spike’s wound continued to seep into his shirt and the ground, a wind played with dried leaves in the dirt, and the surrounding silence was unnatural.

Both males turned back to the place where Flora had stood. She was gone.

Stevo breathed in deeply as he supported himself on his hands and knees. He moved back to sit on his haunches. The man squinted his eyes, examining the incapacitated vampire and looking anything but impressed.

Spike felt his pride take a hit, and pursed his lips when the gypsy raised one dark eyebrow at him.

Quiet deafened, and with a ‘fuck you, just get me outta this’ look on his face as he was judged by his friend, Spike almost wished he'd gotten to take his chances with possibly failing to thrall his attacker.

With a sigh, Stevo stood up and raised a hand above the net still holding him immobile. He frowned, Spike guessing he was impressed by the magick he felt bound to the trapping net, and then the gypsy bent his fingers into a fist. With matching movements of his arm, the net levitated up and away; Stevo tossed it onto the dirt and murmured some foreign language under his breath as Spike groaned and got to his feet.

The thickly roped net glowed brightly for a moment, and then turned black.

Stevo twisted around, looking at Spike's injuries with disapproval. A little concern touched the edges of his honey-bronzed eyes. “Want to tell me how the hell a vampire of only about eighty managed to catch you in such a ridiculous trap?”

Spike pushed a hand against his bleeding chest, silently wishing he had enough aggravation towards his friend to endure the pain of lifting an arm and slapping the helpful oaf upside the head. “ ’Ello to you too, mate.”

Stevo followed as he started walking away. “I don’t know who you managed to piss off, but whoever she is she's powerful. That spell most likely wounded her but I don't think it will keep her down for very long. She's not a witch, but I’ve never seen a vampire take hold of that spell and throw it back before.”

Spike let out a couple of painful coughs which went ignored as Stevo continued, unbothered, “She knew I was Romani, too. Right off the bat.”

Spike put a hand to his broken ribcage and cast a glance at the taller human behind him. “Anyone who gets one look at you can tell you’re a bleeding gypsy, Stev.”

The man grinned, an almost proud and very unrepentant look coming over his features. “Either way, she was powerful. That net that you were sprawled under like a shot tiger practically hummed there was so much magick covering it.”

Spike groaned as he approached his front door as quickly as he could. “ She said she got it from a witch in New Orleans, the bloody thing felt like lead. Couldn’t even flip the bitch off.”

Stevo nodded and walked a little bit ahead when they were fifteen feet from Spike's front door. He unlocked it and opened it wide for the vampire to step through.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “How’d you get my keys?” He stopped to pat his empty duster pockets and then rolled his eyes heavenward.

Stevo just smirked. “I taught you how to pickpocket, remember.”

“Yeh," Spike nodded. "I remember.”

The two men slowly entered the warmth of the house, and Stevo closed the front door behind him before glancing around. “I forgot what this place looked like.” He set the keys on a nearby table.

Spike headed for the kitchen. “S’what happens when you only see a place once an then don’ come back for five years.”

He shrugged. “Hey, that’s much less than any of the other times we’ve been apart.”

Spike made a noncommittal sound and pulled off his duster and bloody T-shirt, opening the refrigerator as Stevo leaned up against the doorframe.

The gypsy placed a hand over his heart and spoke in a flattered tone of voice. “Why now friend, did you miss me?”

Spike sent him a scathing look before vamping out and ripping into a blood bag, thankful for the liquid red running down his throat. His wounds burned and ached, the bruising on his side was darkening and the gouge in his chest was still bleeding. Christ he was hungry.

Crossing his arms, the human standing in the doorway looked over the injuries from a distance. He shrugged again. “Think you’ll want some bandages wrapped around those ribs?”

Spike dropped the empty blood bag on the counter and opened an overhead cabinet to pull out a bottle of Jack Daniels. He waved it at his friend in response, who smiled and nodded.

Spike opened the liquor bottle and took a swig before wading some paper towels around his hand and wetting them in the sink.

“So,” the gypsy started, wanting to know why his friend of over a century had gotten himself into yet another absurd and dangerous situation. He’d honestly thought Spike had learned by now how to smell a trap. “I’d love to know how you managed to get yourself caught under a NET. Did Ms. Flora lure you with bagged virgin’s blood or…?”

“Sod off.” Spike growled, pressing wet toweling to his bleeding chest. He'd been an idiot, and didn't really feel like talking about it.

He took another swig of whiskey.

"Ooh." Stevo hissed, and put a hand back over his heart, his words drenched in mock-hurt as a smile appeared on his lips. “And not even a thank you."

Spike threw his bloody paper towels into the garbage and then turned back around, aggravation in his voice and apparent on his face. He’d underestimated her, the Flora bint. That had been his problem, and her opening. “I fucked up. Thought she was gonna be an easy kill, an I didn’t bother to look up when I went for her.”

Stevo shook his head and tsked. “Thought you were smarter than that, William. It’s been a while since I’ve had to bail you out of a crappy situation.”

Spike growled and glared at the same time. “Call me that again an I’ll rip your lungs out.” He strode away, leaving the JD on the counter.

“Ooh, touchy, touchy,” his friend said.

Stevo followed, clasping the neck of the abandoned whiskey bottle in his hand as he continued to talk. “Alright, so you’ve managed to make another enemy. I’ll ask you how in a minute. First,” he took a swig of the alcohol, sighing in approval as he climbed the staircase behind a wincing Spike. “you need to know that this isn’t just a social call, friend. Dru had a vision, and well, it wasn’t good. The rest of the blokes are on their way here.”

Spike came to an immediate halt on the landing, turning to face the man behind him. Obvious worry covered his face. “What the hell was the vision about?”

“You.”

Spike snarled, his vamp face gone but not the demon inside. He was not only injured and irritated, but now concerned and bordering on pissed. “That’s not a surprise considering you just showed up an saved my arse from a sadistic pipsqueak! What m'wonderin is WHY the hell Dru's havin visions ‘bout me?”

Stevo took another drink of the whiskey. “I wish I knew,” he said, raising his eyebrows and tilting the bottle at him.

Spike clenched his jaw and muttered a curse under his breath. “What did the vision show,” he asked irritably. “Was it at least clear?”

The taller man shook his head apologetically. “She said it was muddled. But it involves you," he nodded at Spike. "and something bad.”

The vampire scoffed. "Well that's real bloody detailed."

His friend frowned, shaking a head of brunette hair. "Spike, you know Dru's visions are seldom, but no matter how garbled or clear they are, they always involve protecting something. Hell, the last time she had a vision about one of the guys Ace's father almost clawed his way out of that hell dimension."

Spike puffed out a laugh. God that had been a bugger of a fight, he remembered it well. Just what exactly was going on NOW? Running a hand through his hair, he sighed, “Christ. They're on their way here, then; s'Dru comin?”

“No. She hasn’t left Europe since 1880, and I don’t think she’s planning on it anytime soon unless there's an emergency or the mobs start again.”

Spike scoffed amusedly. Then he shook his head, suddenly hating his life and wanting to get blackout drunk. He understood why Dru wasn't coming, that was fine, it was everything else that was threatening to drive him batty. Not only did he have a vengeful little fuck of an enemy out for him- a powerful one at that –but this vision most likely meant there was more shit to the story. It wasn't good news. And Buffy was in even more danger now with this Flora bint out and looking for a way to enact revenge.

Spike clenched his fists at his sides. “Shhhhit,” he hissed.

“What is it?”

He shook his head in reply and just asked, “When are the other bloody five supposed to arrive?”

Stevo blew out a breath. “Well, Rex will probably be here first, Thunderbird and all; possibly by tomorrow night. He was in Asia doing some damn exploring or something.”

A smile actually almost came to Spike's lips. Stevo, even the gypsy that he was, didn’t do much travelling, and he didn’t understand the people that did. He’d been all over Europe and now resided mainly in England; he said his past travels weren't all that great.

His large clan, including Drusilla, knew of his powers and had ones of their own. Gypsy healers and witches and fortune tellers alike lived together on a small strip of land, and the tradition of moving from place to place had ceased years ago for them. The entire clan kept their lives quiet and simple, their powers and supernatural lifespans a secret to outsiders.

And Mr. Martinov had just said that Rex would most likely be the first one of the group to get here. Lovely. The guy was a fucking Thunderbird, and they had awful goddamn tempers. He was a very real "mythological creature", one of the beings from those Native American legends. Though Rex was walking proof that those legends were a bit off, and he’d be the first to set you straight on the matter. The bloke was part America Indian, and he could shape-shift into a human form. Though when he was winged, he could fly faster than a jet. He'd be here soon, alright.

“Can’t wait to see him,” Spike shook his head. “S’been a while since I’ve gotten into a good screamin match with the pigeon.”

Stevo’s lips quirked. “Call him that and the screaming will start real early.”

Spike nodded, and said in a tolerant tone, “And the others are on their way, too?”

He nodded. “Yes. Ace and Dylan were in Africa, they should be boarding a plane right now. And Blake’s been spending the last month at some brothel in Switzerland.”

Spike couldn’t help the snicker he let out.

Stevo just rolled his eyes. “I know, friend, I know. What do you want, the guy says he needs human sexual appetite as well as sex. It took me three days to find out where he was, I finally had to do a tracking spell on him.”

Spike laughed softly. Then, tilting his head in thought he studied his friend for a moment, blue eyes wondering. He poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, then asked, “You know I don’t need a babysitter, Stev. An I can see why after Dru’s vision you might wanna come out here ta check up on me, but I don’ see why the rest of the bloody pack's comin in." He gestured impatiently with an open hand. "This warnin could just be about that bint I met t'night."

Stevo raised an eyebrow and looked Spike up and down pointedly, his expression said he was not all that impressed with the vampire’s ability to watch his own back.

Spike glared. “Now that I know the bird is-”

“It’s not quite so simple, my friend.”

He sighed, losing his patience once again. “It never is.”

“The Gem of Amara might be involved.”

The air froze, and Spike frowned. Hard. “The Gem of Amara,” he repeated. “How the hell did that buggerin thing come into play here?”

“Dru says that… she can’t explain it." Stevo shrugged. "She just says that the vision gave her some sort of knowledge that the Gem was involved. She didn’t see it but she… I’m not sure, felt it.”

Spike nodded, having enough understanding of Drusilla’s visions to know what Stevo meant. He just wasn’t sure if he believed it. “The Gem is s'posed to be a bloody story, how can we even be sure it exists?”

“We can’t, but with Dru’s vision, and what I just witnessed outside I’m going to say that we need the others here to help with whatever the hell it is we might be dealing with.”

Spike ran a hand through his hair again and over his face. Stevo, and the other five blokes coming in, were the few people Spike allowed himself to trust. He’d known them all for years, and while the majority of his existence had been spent alone, these men were Spike’s friends. They were strong supernatural beings with good senses of humor, sturdy tolerances for alcohol, and they’d helped him through hundreds of bad fixes in the past, just as he had with them.

They were a few people in this world that Spike actually cared about, though he never admitted it, not even to himself.

“Veritable superhero brigade.” He muttered.

Stevo spoke up. “So, are you going to tell me why exactly that lean little female was torturing you underneath a voodoo net?”

Spike rolled his eyes and planted his forehead against the wall. “You did kill that thing’s power, right?”

Stevo nodded.

Spike pulled away from the wall to pinch the bridge of his nose. Vampires weren't prone to headaches unless they were nursing a hell of a hangover, yet he could feel one knocking at the back of his skull. “I killed the bint’s brother, she was lookin for revenge”

Stevo's eyebrows rose. “She had a stake ready and raised above your heart. Someone like that usually isn’t the type to simply give up. I think she’s still going to be looking for vengeance, and you’re going to have to end her before she ends you.”

“Yeah,” Spike announced as he strode away, “I plan to.”

The two approached a door, which Spike opened up to reveal his bedroom. There was a large king size in the middle covered with soft linens and an elegant comforter. The wood flooring was dark brown with a rich area rug of reds and yellows, burgundy and gold covering much of the cool surface. The painted walls were a deep purple maroon, a large soft leather chair sat in a corner, and there was a doorway leading to a private bathroom on the left. One massive chest of drawers resided next to that.

When Stevo entered, he froze.

Spike headed to the chest when suddenly, a little sound drew his attention.

His eyes doubled in size, and the next second he noticed that the silence in the room was too immediate, too heavy. He pursed his lips and turned around. *This is just all I bloody need.*

Stevo's face as he stared at the kitten was one of both shock, and unsure excitement. The little feline peered up at the stranger in curiosity from the floor. Then she decided she wasn't as interested anymore and hopped up onto the bed, walking to the middle where she sat and wrapped her tiny tail around herself. She looked at Spike and meowed.

Quiet positively drowned the room, and Spike cast a guarded glance in Stevo's direction. The look on the gypsy's face could make anybody feel like a helpless child about to be bullied on the schoolyard.

Grinning from ear to ear, with way too much laughter bubbling up beneath the surface, he started to ask, "Is that-"

"Stevo," Spike growled. "I am not in the bloody mood."

"That's a kitten."

"No shit, moron."

Said kitten meowed again, and it was all Stevo could take. He started cackling, a rich and deep sound that made the feline's ears twitch around on her tiny little head.

Spike shook his head as the man's obvious delight grew louder, and then sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that night as he went to get a clean shirt. When Stevo spoke again it was in between raucous laughter.

"God please tell me you named her."

Spike didn't answer.

Stevo put a hand to his stomach as he tried to control himself. "I bet it's something pretty isn't it? Fitting for a furry little lady," he laughed.

"Will you shot your gob?!" Spike said abrasively.

"When did you get her? Was she just begging for you to take her home with those big eyes and you couldn't say no?"

Spike hated the tone in his friend's voice, hated that Stevo's guessing was right. It was mocking and merry and bloody hell but he was never going to hear the end of this. "I found her."

"And you just couldn't say no to that face, could you?" Stevo mock-pouted, and if he hadn't been busy making fun of Spike at the moment, the vampire might have actually laughed at the sight.

Instead irritation just set in further.

The gypsy approached the bed and gently scooped the kitten into one large hand.

Spike took a step forward. "What are you do-"

Stevo brought the mewing animal up to eye level and smiled. "Did your 'Big Bad' master leave you home without any company?" His voice was sympathetically sweet, with enough tease directed towards Spike to almost make the vampire blush.

The muscle by his jaw jumped. "Drop her, Stev."

"Ooh, someone's getting protective," the man said to the kitten. "You know little one, you have one of the fiercest owners in the world. Why, he was a major evil back in my day, and known for his torture techniques." He snapped his fingers with a jolly flick of one tanned wrist. "No one will dare try and hurt you as long as you're living under William the Bloody's roof!"

Spike's nostrils flared and he groaned. "Oh, piss off!" He went to the bathroom, and just before slamming the door barked out, "As long as you're holdin her ya can 'least give her some food while I take a shower!"

Stevo laughed again, shaking his head as he looked into the green eyes of the little animal. "Oh the guys are just going to love you."

She needed a number.

Seriously, anything. A cell phone or house phone, an address. Something would be nice.

Spike wasn't at the library. It had only been two days since their... time, spent together at her house, the attic and the kissing and the 'Let's learn the history of Buffy's life' game.

And he wasn't at the library, hadn't been for the past two nights. The day right after being with him, she'd wanted- felt like she'd NEEDED, to come back. The place was practically calling her, she had already spent so much time away from it. After showing up every day for over a month, a week was a pretty long sabbatical.

Buffy thought she would see Spike there, but he never showed. Then, the absence of his presence the following day had started Buffy thinking he might be avoiding her. She kept trying to tell herself that he wasn't, that he was busy or something. Anything but allowing her usually untrusting nature to take charge and cause a great big hole of disappointment in her heart.

Now it was the third day, and she was trying to convince herself that she was totally NOT worried.

She just wanted a number.

Buffy groaned, flopping her head forward into the open pages of her book. She had gotten through only half of this novel in the three days since she'd chosen it.

Three days, and she still wasn't finished.

It was insane. She always read a book quickly, always. Hardly ever did it take her more than a day to read a novel from start to finish. Yet Spike, and the antagonizing thoughts of him and the trying to ignore the doubts which said he was avoiding her, were taking up precedence in her brain.

Buffy sighed to herself. It wasn't like he'd said he would see her at the library, she'd simply assumed. But thinking he would show up here wasn't crazy in the least. It was their spot, the place they'd met and spent the most time together. Maybe with recent developments it could be strained at first between them, but that was pretty hard to believe.

They would probably just talk and hang out. Or maybe they'd sit close while they both read quietly. Either way, she missed having him around. She liked solitude but now the library's third floor just felt bare.

Running a hand through her hair, Buffy looked around the silent room. She was being ridiculous. She felt she knew Spike, he hadn't acted like someone running scared from her the other night.

If he did manage to change his mind sometime after he'd left her, realizing that he didn't need a dejected head case with trust issues in his life, then Buffy had sorely misjudged him.

She felt she hadn't. In her heart of hearts, even with these worries jumping out from all corners, she believed he wasn't running away from her. He wouldn't.

And she shouldn't care so much if he did.

Buffy groaned again, an empty room the only listener to her aggravation and worry. She shouldn't be so preoccupied thinking about him. She wasn't one of those desperate girls who sat by a phone waiting for the guy to finally call when he wanted to; IF he decided to.

And this wasn't even the same situation. Spike and her were not 'labeled' or dating. They'd shared some kisses... Close, invading, pulse racing kisses; but kisses all the same. They were just lip locks, even if they felt like more. He didn't owe her a thing.

Yet he'd promised to be there for her. To lean on. To talk with.

*He might've changed his mind.*

Buffy shook her head of the thought. She had to stop obsessing. NOW. It had only been two freaking days! It didn't mean he was dropping her. And if he was, then... that was okay. She didn't... She didn't need him. If her doubts were correct, then she'd live. She'd be hurt, but what else was new. She could deal.

"Real 'glass half full' there, Buffy," she said to herself, rising from her seat and standing to stretch. She was being crazy. She shouldn't even be doubting him, it had been less than, how many hours were in three full days? Right. Seventy-two. It had been less that seventy-two hours and she was wigging.

Sitting down again, tucking her bare feet beneath her knees, Buffy promised herself she would calm down. She'd give him time. There was nothing pressuring either of them to seek one another out. Spike probably had a job, he had a life, she was sure he had things to deal with that didn't always include the library. She hadn't asked him what he did for a living, or about his daily habits, and she couldn't be assuming the worst just because she hadn't seen him in a couple of days.

Speaking of jobs. Buffy figured she should probably look for one. As much as she loathed the idea.

Oh, GOD how she loathed it. But sooner or later she would most likely need one, and right now, Grams was suggesting it. Not cruelly, or to get Buffy out of the house, but literally just suggesting. She knew that her Grams wouldn't nag her about it or force her, but the woman was (unfortunately) right. And Buffy knew that, too.

Looking for one in town was probably the best option. *I can see it now. Handling myself with lots of people, possibly friendly ones who like to chat about the plans for their daughters' birthday parties and their busy schedules. Working as a waitress? Yeah, how great.*

Maybe she could get a job at Pretty Penny's, if not at that diner in town. She could waitress. She'd done it before a few times in California. She didn't want to, but she doubted anyone else was looking for employees anyhow, the stores were all small and had enough workers she was sure.

She wasn't too keen on the idea of learning how to be a checkout girl, anyway; or gaining any other new skills. She knew waitressing. She could do it, quick and efficiently, and maybe even be able to wear a headphone in one ear while she went from table to table... Okay, that was most likely grasping at straws, but she could fake smiles like a pro.

Buffy's ponytail bobbed as she shook her head. She needed to do this. She didn't want to, but she had to. Not because it might help her calm down and focus better around people, but because she needed to start saving more money for herself. And a job was the best way to do that.

But for now she was just going to try and read her book. The last two nights had been rough, with many nightmares bustling in and waking her up. She was tired and wanted to read, to escape for a little while. Not think about jobs or possibly pretend issues with Spike.

She took a deep breath. Looking down, her eyes started scanning over the words written in simple computer print, and as the real world tuned out, the warm air in the library draped over her in a blanket of comfort. She started to relax. Her shoulders dropped and a smile touched her lips at a funny line the main character spoke. A beat of Buffy's heart, the next page flipped, not a noise following behind.

Footsteps suddenly started up the stairs. Her head involuntarily looked up and she sat with a stiff spine, listening for a familiar approach and the creak of wood beneath Doc Martens.

Until a stranger emerged and headed to the restroom.

Buffy huffed.

This was going to be a long day.

><

They'd gotten in last night. Rex was late, as were the rest. Blake, Dylan, and Ace's flights had all been longer than expected, and their drives from airports to MayBell tedious. The blokes had passed out the second they'd hit Spike's living room floor, which was covered by an old queen mattress with sheets and pillows.

It wasn't a surprise. They may be strong and could sometimes go longer without sleep than mere humans, but each had stayed up for their entire travels (Rex having actually flown himself).

So you understand why none of them had barely even uttered a greeting before tugging off their shoes and shirts, and collapsing on whichever soft surfaces were directly available.

Stevo had laughed while looking down at the half-dressed forms of their comrades. "You better have food for them when they wake up."

"I went shoppin yesterday for the bloody vultures, got everythin worth spendin on and some stuff I just swiped. We should have enough for now."

Stevo gave him a funny look. It wasn't reproachful, but more amused. Spike knew he wasn't even thinking about the stealing comment, for Stevo was no stranger to taking what he wanted if it was convenient. He was thinking about something else.

With an eyebrow quirk, the gypsy stated, "You sound annoyed."

Spike gave an obvious sniff of affirmation., but said nothing. In truth he wasn't all that angered by his mates' presences. On the contrary,- though the circumstances blew -he admitted he'd actually missed them.

But right now he was missing someone else.

"What, you had better plans than housing a group of friends?"

Spike sighed. "It's not them, ya moron. Just the bloody vision m'thinkin about."

Stevo nodded, unknowingly accepting a half-truth.

The night quickly moved to its end after that. Spike went to bed as the sun arose, hoping sleep would continue helping to heal his ribs, and Stevo (who had the guest bedroom) conked out not too long before that. The vampire and gypsy were the first two up come four PM, and their friends were still asleep.

Well, three of them were. One was found in the kitchen.

"Morning, guys," said Dylan, the half-Brachen demon and youngest of the group. He was the epitome of kindness this bloke, even looked the part. Dark blonde hair and friendly brown eyes, his complexion light and his build powerful yet compact. You'd never guess he hid a demon face of green skin and spikes.

He was a bit taller than the vampire in the room but shorter than Stevo, a bookworm with glasses to go; his demeanor presenting a man of both greeting and shyness. Sometimes Spike wondered how he ended up sticking around in the group, he wasn't the least bit mischievous like the rest of the men, and not even close to evil like Spike was. He was intelligent beyond belief, soft spoken unless it came to theories, and had a silent laugh that made it so only his friends or the most observant of people could tell when he was amused.

And he was currently sitting at the table typing like a pro on a computer.

Spike just raised an eyebrow, while Stevo went to the refrigerator and squeezed Dylan's shoulder in silent greeting on the way over.

Stevo wasn't a morning person, so he wouldn't stop grunting in replies or commence talking until he'd had his coffee. Which, the gypsy was currently making.

Spike was usually a bundle of energy anytime of the day, more alert with blood fresh in his system. Right now though he was just trying to figure out how long Dylan had been at that laptop. The man could spend days on the thing going through data or researching.

"Have you even eaten yet?" Spike asked with a frown.

The half-mortal shook his head. "Went straight to the web. I've been doing research for about an hour. Although if you're making it, Stev, could I get some coffee?"

The gypsy grunted, setting the percolator pot on the stove. Spike just shook his head, walking to the fridge and retrieving a bag of O-neg. He popped it in the microwave and glanced at the taller tanned skinned man to his left. Stevo's face was covered by his hand, trying to shut out the light coming in from the kitchen window. His black hair was mussed and hanging over his eyes, the tired look of the human not matching his fit and healthy stature. Damn but the guy wasn't any good at all without caffeine.

Spike didn't drink coffee often, however, he felt like he might need a cup himself. Once the others got up, the day was going to be one giant headache; filled with trying to figure out that vision and maybe hunting down Flora if they had the time.

It would be exhausting. There would probably be food runs into town a couple of times, plenty of arguing, and perhaps even a power nap for one or two of them. The research could get ridiculous, the theories and ideas for what the big picture might be becoming heated debates.

Trying to work with these men was immensely frustrating, and almost impossible, but they always managed to get the job done. Not because they felt it was their duty of course, none of them (except for Dylan) were very kind or selfless.

Stevo had never caused harm to any human, but he didn't abide by many rules. He cared about his clan, everyone outside of it had to follow their own path and deal with their own lives; but he was obliging to those who sought his help.

Ace, an immortal half-demon, had gone through an evil streak hundreds of years before. The natural dark power of his father swimming in his veins had given Ace the desire to spill blood. Then, around the 1300s, he'd apparently turned over a new leaf after meeting a person who'd been related to his mother. The girl had breathed a sort of a conscience into him, he said; though it wasn't quite as effective as a real one, and he liked it that way.

Rex was a killer, born a predator, but had stopped eating humans about three or four centuries back. He'd decided that the grief families felt after he'd kill a loved one was starting to ruin the meals for him. Now he stuck to animal meat, sometimes being the hunter and sometimes just going to the store and buying a steak. He was hot-tempered and didn't have much patience, but the guy was basically good, he just stayed that way for selfish reasons. He'd never admit to going soft.

Then you had Blake, the walking erection. His life was sex, and asides from just being a rather selfish bugger and needing to learn the maturity he had now over time (very little of it, mind you), he was also basically good, but still lacking a true conscience.

The only thing that had gotten this group of mostly self-interested superbeings working together on occasion to keep the world in tact was the same thing that had originally united them: Drusilla.

Her visions. She only got sent certain ones, they weren't regular occurrences. Presumably from the Powers That Be, and always important, they had led Stevo to Spike. The gypsy had already known the other men from past experiences, and acquaintances and friendships had been built by the time Spike entered the picture. Dylan was the last member to come around in 1910.

Several threats of the impending apocalypse had been sent to Drusilla over the years, most often involving relatives or connections to one of the men in their little group. She got those straggler visions too, the ones that weren't telling of any real threat. And then sometimes there was a completely random demon getting too close to unleashing hell on Earth.

Stevo, Spike, and the rest, had ended up saving the world many times over; and if it weren't for the fact they had a mutual agreement that Armageddon would suck, then Earth could very well have been resting at hell's feet by now.

The last vision involving Spike hadn't been anything tremendous. Actually it was more of a little note, really. The only thing it did was lead Stevo to the vampire, nothing more. Maybe the Powers had known Spike would be needed in the future when it came to saving the bloody world, otherwise he couldn't fathom why they'd done it; sent his sire a vision with info to give a caregiver and friend on where to locate him.

"Whoa, nostalgia comin off a you, boy."

Spike's eyes shot up, and he realized that Blake had walked in the room. The microwave suddenly beeped and the vampire opened the door to retrieve his blood. "Nice to see you too, mate."

The black haired male of six-foot two offered a half smile, his blue-green eyes friendly and whimsical in that way you could only describe as impish. He always had a somewhat threatening edge to him, but was cracking jokes just as easily as he was throwing around charm. "What's with the emotions, you'd think we were all dead the way you're remembering the past in Technicolor."

Spike poured his warmed blood into a mug, biting back an amused sigh. Blake was a pretty decent empath, and it was a hop and a skip away from reading minds if you were intelligent enough. "Just rememberin the times when you didn't used ta talk so much." He took a sip of his breakfast. "S'been a long while since you've shut up for more 'an five minutes without bein passed out or sleepin."

Stevo scoffed from the side, having just gotten in his first sip of coffee. "You're one to talk."

Spike glared without malice. "Weren' you s'posed to get Tech-boy a cup o' joe?"

Dylan raised one hand with a pointer finger up. "True."

Stevo took a second swallow of his caffeine and went to grab another mug.

"The other two up yet?" Spike asked the brunette in the corner.

Blake shook his head. "They'll stay out for at least three more hours, guaranteed. Ace hates mornings more than Stev, and Rex was flying. The idiot didn't even stop for food, probably held his bladder the whole way here."

Spike smirked. "Wouldn't be surprised. He's always in a bloody rush," he leaned against the counter and scooted out of the way as Stevo brought a coffee filled cup to the man at the computer. "So... Switzerland, eh?"

Blake grinned, his pearly perfect teeth practically gleaming as his eyes turned hot. "Oh man, you have got no idea how much fun that was."

Dylan breathed out a silent laugh, Stevo snorted, and Spike smiled. "Someone had a good time, then."

Blake nodded and Stevo muttered, "I'll bet."

"Hey, if you wanted to go all you had to do was ask, buddy. I know it's been a while since-"

"Not all of us need to go to brothels to get women, my friend," Stevo interrupted over another muted sniff of laughter from the tech at the table.

Spike bit the inside of his cheek but said nothing. Blake started again. "No, we don't. But it's nice to actually get one or two, don't ya think?"

Stevo glared at the tease in his friend's eyes and took another sip of coffee. "Yes, as long as you're not buried underneath them."

Blake blinked and looked at the ceiling as if he were thinking hard about that. "Well..."

The gypsy rolled his eyes and cut him off again."You know what I mean, dumbass. I had to do a locater spell on you!"

He grinned as he walked to the fridge. "What can I say," Blake shrugged, "I was buried underneath all those women."

Stevo groaned. Spike laughed softly and caught Dylan's amused eyes while shaking his head. Maybe things wouldn't be too bad. At least he got to be with these perfect morons until the threat of danger was gone, it could be worse.

"Well now, Spike. Did you go on a feline friendly diet while we were gone?"

Blake's curious and sardonic voice pierced through the air, along with Stevo's sudden deep boom of laughter. Dylan looked up from his computer screen. "What?"

Blake stared at Spike, who was trying not to show or feel any emotion at the moment. "Do you share nightly meals with the local strays or something? What's with the cat food, buddy?"

Dylan stood up, casting a confused glance at Stevo who was still laughing and now leaning against a nearby chair. Spike sent a glare in the gypsy's direction as he tried to ignore Blake's eyes on him, while Dylan moved to look inside the fridge.

"Someone's nervous..." the empath taunted, another grin spreading across his features. "Chuckles," he looked to Stevo, "you know somethin we don't?"

The man had to sit down, his laughs turning almost painful as he clutched at his stomach while Dylan was looking confused as he stared inside the refrigerator. He pulled out a half empty can of kitten food. "Spike, why do you have cat food in your fridge?"

"Go ahead," Stevo coughed, forcing his bellows down in order to watch his friends' reactions without tears clouding his vision. "Tell them."

Spike glowered a look that could melt ice, but the gypsy did not even blink. Instead, Blake and Dylan just got more curious. "Spike," the latter questioned. "did you get a pet?"

The vampire groaned. Why couldn't his little furball had found him AFTER all of this vision, Gem of Amara crap had been dealt with? And why'd he have to put the bloody can in the front of the fridge to begin with?!

He took a hard swallow of his blood.

"Oh my god," drawled Blake. "you got a fucking cat, didn't you?"

"Where is it?" Dylan added quickly.

"Oh no, it's not a cat," said Stevo, ignoring Spike's warning look. "It's a kitten."

Blake practically beamed while Dylan frowned and looked to the gypsy for answers. "Not for poker?"

"Holy shit." Blake's voice was dumbfounded. Stevo shook his head in the negative to Dylan's question, and the empath finally shouted, "Where is it?!"

"Probably still in his bedroom."

Finally, Spike couldn't take anymore. "A'right, yes! I have a bloody cat, and NO, you can't see her!"

"It's a her?" Dylan asked, starting to put the cat food back in the fridge when Blake abruptly seized his arm and grabbed it.

"Oh no, Dylan!" He walked to the entry of the kitchen and through it, the opened can still in hand. "We'll need this, the princess will want her breakfast now won't she?"

His tone could make a clown blush, and Spike's eyes doubled in size but he didn't move fast enough before Dylan had run after Blake, with Stevo right behind.

The vamp slammed his mug down on the counter and prepared to take on the load of crap he KNEW he was going to have to deal with until the end of time. Or maybe he'd just kill the idiots he was currently chasing up the stairs after, that way he wouldn't have to listen to-

"Holy fuck, it is a kitten."

Spike grit his teeth. Just lovely.

><

A few hours later, after she was tired of getting distracted every time someone walked up the steps to the third floor, Buffy decided she was hungry enough to head to Leonard's Place. The same little diner she'd eaten at her first day exploring MayBell.

She could've gone to a closer destination, like the little cafe where she got her coffee, but figured she'd see if there was a waitressing job available at the diner before she sat down to eat. It wasn't a fun prospect, she was fidgety and nervous, she felt like she was applying for her first job again.

Although instead of being worried if the employees were nice or not, and whether she'd trip and fall, or spill food on somebody, Buffy's fears were more focused on just being able to deal with a crowd. She knew the restaurant wasn't very noisy, at least the day she'd gone there it wasn't. However, the customers talking, the loud clanging of dishes, her inability to focus on most people for too long without getting a headache- all of it spelled disaster.

Another thing that worried her was the friendly chatter she was sure to experience should she get a waitressing job. No doubt the curious yet kind people of MayBell would all already know her as Anne Summers' granddaughter and want to learn more about her, or not have any clue who the stranger in their midst was and so would therefore, feel inclined to know her better.

Buffy hoped and suspected that if she could get used to the chatter, then she would probably do fine with just tuning things out while she carried trays and took orders. She could focus on walking, not spilling water on customers' laps, pulling out cheery smiles if they were required of her. In a small town and a small diner, she was basically begging to become part of the neighborhood, but in truth Buffy just needed a job. She didn't want to be too social, and hoped that once she settled in, and people got used to her, they'd mostly just leave her be.

Stepping through the door and into the warm, bustling diner, Buffy made note of the fact that the restaurant hours were from seven AM to midnight. She supposed a lot of truckers and travelers passed through town, and since those schedules were always so random it was probably why a diner in such a tiny town had long hours. There were probably plenty of workers here. A part of Buffy hoped they could use one more, while another part of her hoped they couldn't.

Taking a deep breath, she headed for a small inconspicuous booth in the back by a window.

"S'cuse me, darlin!" A tall waiter with a heavy tray of plates set on one broad shoulder passed straight in front of her, almost knocking Buffy on her butt. She blew out a breath and silently counted to three before moving forward again. The place was overly crowded today, with almost every seat taken and people of every age group talking and eating.

There were parents and children at tables with babies in booster seats, teenagers in booths, and a few old married couples at tables for two. No one sat alone, even three scruffy faced men in their forties wearing baseball caps, sitting at the counter on stools were sharing each other's company.

Feeling very much the loner amongst a bunch of social butterflies, Buffy wove her way to the empty booth in the corner. Sitting down finally with a sigh, she picked up a plastic covered menu with black lettering and a drab cream background. She took out an earphone, the sounds of one of her guilty pleasure songs dulling to silence in the midst of all the noise. Her stomach decided to start protesting the idea of food, but she hadn't eaten since noon so she planned on forcing down a sandwich at least.

When she spotted a tall waitress headed her way, a pretty smile on her painted face, Buffy quickly closed the menu and turned off her iPod.

"Hey sugar," the lady said, setting an ice cold glass of water down in front of her, one acrylic fingernail tapping against the tabletop as she looked at her customer with big blue eyes. "Know what you'll have?"

She stared up at the woman who had to be at least five-foot nine. Buffy felt like a shrimp. Frizzy blonde hair was piled on top of her head in curls, adding to the height, and her eyes were shadowed purple with black liner. Her lashes were thick and possibly fake, she was a little heavyset, her demeanor sweet and friendly. A nametag that said "Harriet" rested against her yellow diner shirt, the crisp collar matching her white knee length skirt and apron.

"Yeah," Buffy started. "Can I have a turkey club with everything on it and- um, water's fine."

"That all?"

"Yes." She nodded, then remembered her purpose. "Oh, wait. S-Sorry, I um, I'm sort've..." The waitress stared at her with expectancy, one manicured hand holding on to a notepad and the other resting on a solid hip. "I'm looking for a job. I was wondering if maybe there was a waitressing position open... here?"

*There. That wasn't so hard,* Buffy told to herself, though her racing heartbeat protested otherwise.

The waitress nodded, then looked her up and down, clearly assessing something. What it was, Buffy wasn't sure. "What's yer name?"

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Summers." She figured adding in her last name might make the woman a little more patient with her, which Buffy soon realized was a good call because the waitress's eyes lit up with recognition.

"Oh, you're Annie's granddaughter aren't ya?"

Buffy nodded.

She smiled in response. "I'm Harriet. It's nice to meet you. So yer lookin for a job, huh?"

"Yes, um... I've waitressed before and I was hoping," *More like dreading* "that maybe I could apply here."

Harriet smiled again, her white teeth contrasting powerfully against her hot pink lipstick. "Well now I think you could carry a heavy tray or two, and Leonard's lookin for a new girl. Follow me." She waved a hand for Elizabeth to stand.

Which she did, clumsily but she did. Her brain was teetering a little on the foggy side as she slipped her iPod back in her bag and threw the strap over one shoulder. When she turned and followed the waitress, striding past full tables and people spit-balling at each other, her head started to ache just a little. Already she wished she was alone.

At least it seemed to be too noisy though for her to let her mind wander. That might prove to actually be helpful with her concentration waning.

Harriet led her to the back of the diner and into the kitchen. There were four cooks at separate grills and a couple of busboys carrying loads of dirty dishes to a teenager at a sink, up to his elbows in soapy steaming water. Three waitresses and a waiter, all in matching uniform shirts, rushed around grabbing plates and pinning notes with people's orders onto little turning racks. An older black gentleman wearing a white cap opposed to a hairnet like the other cooks, stood over five sizzling meat patties. His gray bushy eyebrows and lined face told of his age, and his hands flipped burgers like an seasoned pro, the spatula blurring with every movement.

"Leo!"

His head didn't turn as he answered Harriet's voice, his eyes still on the burgers. "I'm busy here, Harriet!"

"Well maybe you can be a little less busy." She waved for Elizabeth to follow her again without looking at the girl, and Buffy walked after her and tried not to let everyone rushing around unnerve her. She was so out of tune with people's whereabouts, she was going to be bumping into things left and right until she got used to the diner. IF she even got the job.

"I've got a girl here, Annie's granddaughter." Harriet stood next to Leonard with her hands on her hips, the buxom blonde waiting for him to turn and look at her.

He finally did, glancing at the short girl to Harriet's left. "Nice to meet you," he said, before going back to the burgers.

Harriet rolled her eyes. "She wants of job. Don't you still need another waitress?"

This got his attention. He quickly tossed two done burgers onto open buns on nearby plates, and then set down his spatula to face the women. "I do. One for nights." He looked at Miss Summers. "You wanna work here?"

Buffy swallowed before nodding.

He titled his head, his dark skin sweaty from being inside the hot kitchen all day. "You ever waitressed before?"

Buffy nodded again, this time responding to the man's heavy southern voice in a clear cut tone of her own. "Yes, I have."

He regarded her, almost like he was considering something. Then he looked her up and down much like Harriet had done not too long ago. "Can ya lift heavy trays?"

Buffy almost laughed when she got it. They were wondering about her size. "Yes," she said with a little smile. "I can lift heavy trays. I'm stronger than I look."

That seemed to appease him. Leonard nodded and said, "Okay. How's the night shift work for ya? Six to midnight, sometimes from four til then. Minimum wage, and ya keep yer own tips."

Buffy nodded again before asking, "How many nights a week?"

"Probably three, never more 'an five."

"Okay. I'll take it."

"Great." He told Harriet then to go get her a uniform and a nametag, and the blonde waitress scurried off. Leo turned back to his new employee. "What's yer name, hun?"

"Elizabeth," she told him.

He bobbed his head. "Well 'Lizabeth, ya think you can start t'night? F'you can't then tomorrow'll be fine."

A bit surprised and nerves fluttering abruptly all throughout her body, Buffy gulped but answered in the affirmative. "I c-can start tonight."

Harriet arrived back, a small uniform shirt in her hand and a blank nametag. Leo gestured from her to Elizabeth. "She's gonna start t'night. You can train her while yer workin, can't ya?"

Harriet nodded immediately, "Sure thing, Leo. C'mon, sugar," she took Buffy's hand, "Let's get you an apron."

As the woman tugged her away, Elizabeth barely had a shot to say thank you to her new boss before she was dragged into a closet sized dressing room. Harriet handed over her things and said, "Alright now get into this, your jeans'll do just fine for this job. We ain't real formal in here. All you gotta do's make sure you're wearing the yellow blouse when you're workin."

Buffy nodded and breathed out a shaky sigh. Her feet suddenly felt weighted down. God, tonight was going to be stressing. Maybe saying that she could start right away wasn't the best idea.

Harriet set a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Don't you worry, now. You'll get the hang f'this place in no time. And you've waitressed before so as soon as you get into a rhythm, you'll do just fine."

Buffy smiled as fine as she could at the older woman, and then looked down at her uniform. Harriet left the dressing room and said she'd be waiting right outside, and that Elizabeth could put her bag on the top shelf in the thin locker that was present amongst the purses and other items in the small room.

A few large bags overflowing with clothes and personal items like hairbrushes were lying around on the floor in the cramped space. Buffy assumed the things belonged to the other workers, and she realized just how much the people in this diner (if not in this town, as well) trusted each other. If Buffy were a thief, she could get away with about four wallets and what looked like a gold bracelet hanging out of a large red purse. She wasn't usually quite so carefree about her personal items, but knew that her bag would be safe in here.

Buffy started unbuttoning her white shirt. She'd just gotten it, and honestly didn't know why she'd even worn it in the first place. Grams had bought it a day ago, claiming she'd seen it at a store in town and immediately thought of her.

Accepting the gift with a thank you and hug, Buffy hadn't told her Grams that she most likely wasn't going to wear it too often. Maybe if nothing else was clean, or a few times to please her grandmother, but otherwise she hadn't a reason. The blouse was soft white cotton, a tiny bit of lace design lining the row of small buttons. It fit like a glove and drew attention to her chest and waist, and the buttons didn't close higher than just above her breasts.

She'd stopped wearing things that drew attention to herself a while ago because really, she'd stopped caring very much about style and had started to prefer comfort over cuteness. Her pullovers and jeans and sweatpants were perfect. Yet she'd worn this blouse today, why? Maybe because she'd been hoping to see a certain blue-eyed Brit, who might just take notice.

Well, that had failed; and now she was going to have to squeeze into another button down blouse, but this one wasn't as soft and was boring yellow instead of fresh white. Oh well, at least it wasn't going to draw much attention, that was for sure.

A couple of minutes later, dressed and ready, she peeked her head out the door and Harriet smiled kindly at her.

"Great. Now here," she walked over to Elizabeth, holding a black sharpie in one hand. She started writing on the clip-on nametag. "E L I Z A B E T H, right?"

Buffy nodded and looked up at the woman bending over her boob, pressing the plastic tag into her chest as she spelled out the name. Buffy almost laughed. Harriet was very forward and welcoming, behaving like a well-known friend instead of a new acquaintance.

"Ya gotta a nickname?" She asked.

Buffy shook her head. "No."

"Well, that's okay. This'll fit just fine." She finished the tag and Buffy noticed the "H" in her proper name almost fell off the edge of the plastic.

Harriet stood straight, capping the marker and smiling once again. "You ready to get started, sugar?"

"I'm ready." *As I'll ever be.*

"Great." She handed Buffy an apron and then lead the way out through the busy kitchen. "Now don't you worry 'bout a thing tonight, I'm workin a double so I'll be here til closin. And since I'm trainin you, we both get to do things extra slow. Mikey and other girls will take over some of my tables in exchange for yours."

"Okay." Her nerves were starting to flutter again.

"But first," Harriet grabbed a plate off of the counter and showed Buffy a turkey club sandwich. "You wanna eat? Ya did order this, and now it'll be on the house if you want it 'fore ya start workin."

A little weight lifted off of Buffy's shoulders even as she declined the considerate offer. "Thanks, b-but I'm not really hungry anymore."

She hadn't been very eager about the idea of eating anything when she'd first walked into the diner either, but now she refused to take even a bite. She might feel a little better with this nice and friendly woman helping her to get used to her new job, but Buffy's stomach roiled at the thought of food right now.

Harriet just nodded. "Alright, then let's get started."

Buffy took a deep breath and followed the woman out, picking up a clean notepad and pencil as Harriet explained where the orders went after they were written down, which tables they'd be working tonight, and how to act should anyone stare.

"Stare?"

"You're new to town, darlin," Harriet explained, revealing the fact she knew a little bit about Buffy's life. "Any newbie is gonna be looked over like one, especially in a town this small. Don't worry though, no one'll be mean or nothin; but they're gonna look. They might even ask 'bout yer life and whatnot. Just smile and answer vaguely, and then take their orders. They'll tip nicely the more ya smile, too." She winked.

"Great," Buffy said derisively. "Just great."

Harriet grinned at her. "Don't worry. I promise, you'll get the hang of it in no time."

With another deep breath, Buffy walked over to her first table after Harriet showed her the spot where plates were set once they were ready to be served, or had been retrieved from a customer.

The air was scented in perfumes of spice and grease, surprisingly not an unappealing smell. Laughter echoed throughout the space, and smiling faces were everywhere around. Buffy didn't feel... a part of it. But she didn't feel very alone either. Actually, she felt sort of isolated, like a needle hidden within that proverbial haystack. And Harriet was watching over her like a mother hawk. It wasn't horrible, to tell the truth.

She found herself slipping back into familiar territory, and the role of a waitress soon fit again. Just like when she'd worked at that restaurant back home. Memories threatened to seep inward, but then she was writing things down. Carrying a tray, refilling water glasses, smiling a greeting.

The first group was a success, her tip a small percent of the bill. And as she cleaned off that first tabletop, awaiting the ring of "Order up, table fifteen!" to be shouted through the diner so she could serve another set of customers, Buffy thought that just maybe she could do this.

It was ten o'clock when Dylan finally broke up the fighting.

A slightly violent scuffle occurred after Spike had endured more teasing than any being could bear (much less him) when Blake met the feline of the house (or "Princess," as he had named her).

The "adults" were separated by Stevo afterwards, to prevent another physical altercation.

The following hours were filled with an abundance of arguing, a detailed recount of Flora's attack, researching, and the dead asleep snoring from Ace and Rex in the living room.

Everyone needed a break by nine PM.

But they'd pushed it another hour. Now it was ten, and all of them were at the boiling point.

"Blake, you and me. We're getting food and bringing it back," Dylan declared, shutting his laptop and rubbing three fingers against one temple, his eyes closed in fatigue. "Maybe we can all clear our heads a bit by taking a break from this."

Stevo nodded agreeably, sending a glare in Blake's direction when he rolled his eyes. "He's right. And maybe one of use will get an idea of what Dru's vision meant if we give our minds a break."

"We have been looking up crap about this elusive vampire power gem for the last five hours," Blake replied, his tone steeped in exasperation. "There is nothing on the internet except what we already know- Stories and supposed facts from only three books in Dylan's ENTIRE library, and even those didn't help us. The info is obsolete."

"Hey," Dylan shouted, indignation clear in his voice. "That 'info' has all been magically loaded into that computer from hundreds of ancient texts and stolen tomes. Some of them aren't even available at the Watcher's Council Headquarters anymore! Everything you read on there is not 'obsolete,' as a matter of fact-"

"I only meant that the stuff we're reading isn't helping us," Blake interjected. "It's all just legends."

"So's your gene pool," Spike said. He glowered when Blake sent a silent "fuck you" look his way. "Yet, here you stand. So stop being so bloody difficult and just go out an get the food. We'll need it when sleeping beauties one and two wake up."

Blake rolled his eyes again but left obediently, following Dylan to get their coats.

"What's still open here," the latter questioned.

"The diner in town, place called Leonard's. Doors won't shut til midnight."

"Kinda late for a tiny town like this," Stevo pointed out.

Spike shrugged. "Guess people like to stop in late from time to time. Like you two are 'bout to right now. Just take the main pathway, it isn't hard to find the square."

"Square?" Blake asked.

It was Dylan's turn to roll his eyes. "Town square, idiot." He opened the front door and left, leaving Blake behind a little bemused.

"Did he just call me an idiot?"

Stevo smiled a little, his tired eyes glinting. "Now do you agree that we've all been working too hard? Dylan's calling people names, and not because he just found out his friend has a pet kitty cat."

Spike growled quietly and left the room. "One-track minded berks."

Blake cracked a smile before leaving, shutting the door while Stevo stood there and chuckled.
"C'mon man, it's not like they didn't like her!"

"Bugger off!"

Spike went back to the kitchen, the place which had been research central for the past few hours. Dylan's computer sat atop a small table near the wall, the island in the middle of the room was littered with old books and pieces of paper with scribbles of ideas and theories. It wasn't Flora who posed the greatest threat- though her use of strong magicks and obvious power was alarming -but the unknown which had everyone most on edge. Flora could just be a part of it somehow.

Going off of what they had and trying to figure out what it all meant was difficult, to say the least. Dru hadn't called with any more information on visions or intuitions, so all the men knew was to research the Gem of Amara and try and find out the background story on Flora. Maybe find the witch she'd gotten the lead-weight net from in New Orleans. There were who knew how many voodoo shops and at least fifty practicing witches who sold to customers in that entire city, and those were just the ones listed online. Black markets, unlisted witches- and fakes for that matter -were things that fogged up the search immeasurably.

Ace was taking over phone duty for calling the lovely practicing people of New Orleans when he finally woke up, whether he bloody liked it or not. Spike's ribs may be healing, but it didn't mean he wouldn't use them as an excuse to get out of this cringe-worthy project. Dealing with a bunch of cheery store owners and witches with annoyingly thick Cajun accents was more irritating than taking jibes about his cat.

Spike didn't even know if he was suitably describing Flora to them, though it did help when he explained she was a vampire- WHEN the people weren't fakes and actually knew and believed in vampires. Still, no leads.

He contemplated searching for the bloke's place where Flora said her brother had been staying. Maybe he'd left something behind.

Or maybe the rib-crushing bint herself was even sleeping there until she could get her revenge, but something told Spike it was a dead end. She was too smart to go someplace she might be vulnerable, and it was doubtful she'd leave anything of her brother's behind that might be valuable or could reveal any secrets she might want kept hidden.

Another thing Spike and the guys tried was messing with that bloody net. Stevo had already gone back and fetched it, to see if he could do a tracer spell and maybe get a location on the witch who'd sold it, or possibly even Flora.

Unfortunately, the thing had dried up and shriveled to a fried crisp the second the spell was tried. Evidently, it was protected against anything that could be used to track its maker's or owner's whereabouts. That's what Stevo had said after he'd tried his spell. The gypsy was thoroughly impressed, and everyone else disgruntled.

The only thing they could really go off of or work on was finding out more about the Gem, though that was obviously easier said than done. Stevo had started looking through spells in a diary he kept, a thick old book passed down to him that was filled with curses and herbs and spells, and just about everything else magick related that anyone had ever written down in his family. Stevo was looking for something he could use, or possibly re-create, to try and find the Gem of Amara- if it even existed. However, the diary wasn't color coded or indexed, and Stevo wasn't even halfway done reading through it.

It was one of the very few things the gypsy had brought with him. His bag- packed with clothes, the diary, and not much more -had been tossed aside by the house when he'd arrived and heard Spike's shouts. His bag was retrieved only after meeting "Princess" later on.

Spike grumbled. He hated fucking Blake sometimes.

But oh, the cat didn't. Nope. She loved the attention she was getting from everyone, at her owners' expense of course. Even Dylan liked mocking Spike, though the nit hadn't dropped the little furball for fifteen minutes after picking her up.

Dylan loved animals, but never got a pet, mostly because he was always so busy travelling and learning. Collecting books and working on computers from time to time for extra cash, while still living off of an almost century old inheritance from an uncle which he'd invested with so well, it had never run out.

And in all of Dylan's books, only one of them vaguely pointed out where the elusive Gem of Amara might be located. Coincidentally, it said somewhere in the south-eastern United States.

Frustrating was a bleeding understatement.

But on top of everything,- the stress, his mates, the work, the phone calls -the worst part of all this was the fact that he couldn't go to the library.

He missed his books and he missed the quiet of the third floor, but most of all, Spike missed his girl.

Buffy had been flashing through his mind since he'd last seen her. The day after Flora showed up, Spike awoke to a wounded chest and an aching ribcage, and Buffy was the first thought to enter his mind. How was she, would she be going to the library today, would she expect to see him, was she looking forward to it?

It had taken him quite a while to shake the thoughts of her long enough to concentrate well on anything else. Then Stevo and him were preparing for the others to arrive. Stevo was calling Dru back in England, and Spike was stocking up on food (which a third of, was already devoured now), and the time to think about Buffy had been when he was alone or trying to ignore the gypsy's teasing comments about the bloody kitten. Or in random flashes, where for a brief moment before he shook it off, she occupied his mind and Spike's attention was lost completely.

Then the others had arrived, and Spike was still missing her like crazy. He kept thinking about her in that dress, the way she'd looked and walked, her eyes and that beautiful smile. The blush he loved on her. Her kisses... Christ, it felt like his nerves melted when he thought about her. Her lips were warm, rich, soft, pushing him to the limit. Her small hands strong yet delicate.

He pressed his teeth together subconsciously, and when Stevo walked in the room, the vamp was very grateful that the man wasn't an empath.

"Spike," Stevo strode through the kitchen, a tiny fluff of fur and green eyes in one hand. "Wanna feed your feline? She's been following me around upstairs meowing and looking at me like I'm her mama cat."

Spike smiled in spite of himself and took the kitten from the gypsy's hand, raising an eyebrow when he noticed Stevo keeping his hand poised beneath her until Spike had her pressed securely against his chest.

*Looks like I'm not the only one who's wrapped around a kitten's tail.*

As he went to the counter he set the animal down on the smooth surface and started mixing a tiny bowl of kitten formula. "Any luck with the book," he asked the man behind him.

"Not yet. Though I did find a spell or two that you could use to find someone without need of a personal item."

Spike glanced at him over his shoulder. "So can we use one of em to find this Flora bint?"

"They can't be used on vampires. Only ghosts and humans."

Spike groaned and mumbled to himself. "If only I could turn the bitch into a ghost, that'd be perfect."

"I might be able to change some things around and make one of them work for a vampire, but I'm not sure. I don't know where to start and it would take me a while."

Spike sighed. "You think it's worth the-"

"Well, I'll be damned."

Rex entered the room with the newly risen look of a man who'd just had one damn good sleep. He stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of worn in jeans.

"Yeah, you probably will, friend." Stevo walked up to the man who stood at only an inch shorter than himself, and cuffed him on the shoulder in a friendly hello. "Mornin."

Rex only glanced at him before looking back at Spike, and the countertop. "You got a pet didn't you."

The vamp internally sighed. *Here we go again,* he thought. "Yeh, I did. An you can bypass the shite you're ready ta give me 'cause I already got it from the other three morons." He finished the milk and then pushed it over to his eager kitty cat, who immediately started lapping up the formula.

Stevo was chuckling again, and Rex's face held one of the largest grins Spike had ever seen on the temperamental man. "William the Bloody... has a kitten," he said with a voice full of giddy declaration, the undertone of tease thick enough to taste. "This is just too good."

Rolling his blue eyes heavenward, Spike ignored the idiot. Looking back down at the kitten who was licking her chops, he felt both like smiling and slapping himself. But when Rex asked if she had a name, arms crossed over a chest trembling with laughter, Spike only sighed and answered, "No."

"That's not true," Stevo proclaimed. "Blake calls her Princess."

The vampire groaned, "An that's not her name."

"Well then what is her name, 'Dad?'"

Spike sent the thunderbird a cutting glare. Before a nasty comment could be made, the topic of conversation hopped off the counter and walked her furry little self over to Rex's feet, and started playing with his bare toes.

"Ah! Hey-" The tall brunette jumped back as if scalded. He gave the feline a frown and looked over at a smiling Spike. "Does she always do that?"

"What, you afraid of her?"

Rex glared and just gave him a look that said he was a halfwit, before flinching again at the feel of a sandpaper tongue against his big toe. He took a step to the side.

"I think she likes you," Stevo announced.

"Yeah," Spike added. "Must like the taste of bird."

Rex huffed and scooped the furry animal up in one hand, his fingers wrapping all the way around her little body. He stared at the feline and said, "Yeah? Well I happen to be hungry, and kittens might not be bad snacks."

The kitty just purred. Spike, knowing that Rex would never eat a fucking CAT no matter how many other demons would agree with his previous statement, stood his ground and smirked when the kitten licked the over-towering man on the nose.

Stevo laughed. "She seems to think you might make a good snack, too."

Grumbling, Rex dropped her on her feet before striding to the refrigerator. "Ace is still out but he'll want coffee when he wakes up," he stated as a conversation changer, "and if he doesn't get it then we'll all be dealing with a bear." He opened the freezer door and examined the contents. "Got any steak, Spike?"

"Steak? Goin all out for breakfast, are you?"

"It's ten in the evening."

"Yeah, lucky you and Ace sleep like the dead. The lot of us 'ave been screamin at each other like banshees all bloody day."

"And it will just get better with you up and about," Stevo chimed in with a sardonic smile.

"Where are the other two?" Rex asked, ignoring that comment and opening up the fridge door next. "Dylan should be on the computer and Blake should be making sarcastic comments that grate on my nerves."

Stevo walked up to the refrigerator and shut the open door. "They went to get some food from a place in town, for everyone," he said. "I don't think a steak will be needed, save it for later when we don't have time to head out. God knows we'll all be up 'til the sun rises."

The two men standing next to each other looked almost like they could be related. They both had darker complexions, though Stevo's was bronze toned while Rex's was more russet. Their builds were equally powerful, tall, and muscled throughout; and their faces showed resemblances, from the straight and wide noses to the shape of the eyes. However, where the gypsy had honey-brown colors, Rex's eyes were more yellow, almost golden. People often asked him if he wore contacts. And while Stevo had shaggy black hair that framed his face, Rex had short chestnut brown that let his strong jaw stand out.

Rex may have Native American blood in his veins, but a lot of him was English and mutt, too, like Stevo.

The thunderbird sighed. "When'd they leave? I just woke up from a sixteen hour rest, that's a long time without eating. Especially for me."

"We know you're a carnivore with needs, friend. Just be patient. In the meantime I'll make coffee. It sounds good right about now." Stevo went to the stove, always the helpful mediator.

Spike watched Rex sigh again and sit down on one of the stools surrounding the island. The kitchen became quiet except for the sounds of Martinov filling the percolator with water. The sink running, then shutting off. A cabinet opening and closing. The stillness surrounded only Spike, his mind wandered yet again to Buffy as Rex stared at the feline playing with her tail on the floor.

With a thunderbird sitting at his kitchen island, and a gypsy making coffee while they waited for another immortal to wake up and an empath and a half-demon to come back with food, Spike felt he really didn't have a right to miss her. A human. His Buffy... Someone who couldn't fit into this world, his life... someone who most likely wouldn't want to.

He wouldn't blame her, but he couldn't let her go.

But maybe, now... if he started distancing himself now- No. He couldn't. He couldn't leave her. The girl needed someone, and if she needed him he'd stay and be there. Spike just didn't know what was going to happen between them. Sooner or later he might have to tell her what he was, and then she would leave.

*But what if she doesn't,* Spike thought.

It was unlikely. Ridiculous. Any sane person would run for their lives.

*You wouldn't. If the situation were reversed.*

It was true. He wouldn't. He already loathed the thought of leaving her in THIS situation, if he were in hers he wouldn't care if she wasn't human. He'd only care about HER. Obviously she cared about him.

Spike knew she wasn't using him as an outlet for her grief, the girl was barely able to talk about her past let alone use someone to forget about it or drop it on them like a tearstained anvil. Buffy talked to him because she liked to, she confided in him because she could and he could handle it, she kissed him because she had feelings for him. She looked at him with a happy sparkle in her eye. She teased him because it was fun. Buffy liked him, she would get attached; Spike already knew he was.

He just didn't know if he was lying to himself, or what if he was just plain wrong? If she truly wouldn't go running for her life should she find out he was a vampire, then Spike was left to wrestle with the question of: Did he have a right to do that to her?

He would explain everything from the start, if they got serious and the time came where he told her what he was then he'd lay it all out on the table for her. He'd let her choose. But was it fair to allow her to get any closer to him without telling her first that he was a demon? A monster? A heartless bastard who had killed and tortured and maimed for years in the past?

Spike would not make the decision for her, that was not his right, and he wanted her so much already that if he got in any deeper he knew he wouldn't be able to push her away. Not for very long, at least.

Yet if he continued this thing with Buffy without telling her the facts about himself, and she chose to disappear from his life after he DID tell her, Buffy would be broken up over leaving. No matter what people say, they always manage to get attached to others in their lives. It's inevitable. And feelings are already there for the two of them, they would only get stronger over time. Giving her the whole truth, even a month from now, could cause her pain just if she chose to separate herself from Spike because of what he was. But if he told her sooner...

She still might go. It wouldn't hurt as bad, though. For either of them.

But she needed him. He wouldn't abandon her. And he couldn't lose her.

Spike sighed.

Rock. Hard place. Perfect bloody setup.

"Why is there a stray poker chip running around your kitchen?"

Ace's grouse cut through his tumult of unwelcome thoughts, and Spike noticed the immortal standing in the doorway, looking very much the tired un-caffeinated male who was accustomed to no less than six cups of coffee a day (at least two of which were consumed in the morning). "Not a chip, mate," Spike said with another sigh, this one drenched with weariness.

Ace looked at the vamp, and then back at the kitten on the ground. He stared unblinkingly for two seconds before his brain- which was only awake enough to control slow body movements and work the voice box -decided it needed its regular juice before attempting to work out the reason why there was a kitten in his soulless vampire friend's kitchen.

He looked at Stevo and grumbled, "Coffee."

The gypsy nodded. "Already on. Should be done in a couple minutes."

Ace nodded and walked over to a stool, plopping down gratefully across from Rex who chuckled. "Virtual zombie."

"Do I look dead to you, Tweety?"

The thunderbird glared, his yellow eyes flashing dark for a split second. "You wanna be?" He hated being called nicknames.

Stevo rolled his eyes and turned off the stove. "Shut up, the both of you."

"Yeh," Spike added. "You know Rex is sensitive 'bout that bird nature a his."

The man in question scowled. "Maybe I will eat your cat."

"Try it and I'll clip your wings."

"Enough!" Stevo ordered. "I am not going to tear you two apart like I had to do with Blake and you earlier, Spike. I'll let you bite into Rex's throat and I'll let him snap your neck a couple of times before I even think to intervene." He slammed a mug down on the countertop, his face exasperated and edgy. "I am hungry and irritated. You can fight once I've had some coffee and Dylan and Blake get back."

Ace didn't even flinch, just blinked his tired eyes and then grinned contentedly when Stevo placed a cup of steaming black liquid in front of him.

Spike and Rex had to hold in amused snorts. Instead of arguing anymore though, the latter just asked, "Can I get some coffee?"

Ace growled a little at that. "I call that pot. I'm not going to run out because I'm sharing with you."

Rex jeered and flipped a hand in exasperation. "Stev is having a cup!"

"He made it. He gets one."

"Thank God m'not a big coffee drinker." Spike smirked at Rex as he passed to get a bloodbag from the fridge.

Ace continued drinking, becoming more and more alert with each sip of the hot brew. He walked away from his stool and downed the last bit of coffee, going to get another cupful.

Ace stood at Spike's height, but that was where their resemblances ended. He had brunette hair with natural auburn streaks that were only noticeable in direct light, his eyes were so dark they were almost black, the pupils barely distinguishable. He carried a friendly air about him that contrasted sharply with most of the other men's personalities, especially Spike's. His build was sinewy, he had a long torso and powerful arms strengthened from lugging around crates, as he loved to sail and got paid to do it while working on cargo ships.

And he loved his coffee. The bloke had drunk two more cups before finally asking, "So what's with the cat?"

Stevo again, couldn't help himself from laughing, and Rex was happy to explain. "Oh, she's Spike's pet."

Ace's eyes widened. "Pet?" He looked at the kitten rolling around on the ground. "Like a companion for lonely old widows? That sort of pet?"

"Hey!"

Ace raised an eyebrow at Spike's outburst. "Ya that lonely, pal?"

"Piss off, flu bug," he growled.

"Hey! You and I both know I never use that power."

It was true, though Ace did have the power (thanks to his demon father) to make people, animals, and a lot of fellow supernatural creatures ill with a simple touch or chant should he wish it, he never did. He'd stopped using the ability centuries ago and got rather defensive whenever it was brought up.

It didn't mean Spike couldn't use it as a jibe, of course. "Just don't get the tabby sick and I won't wring your neck."

Ace actually stopped and smiled then. He looked at the floor and scooped the animal up in his large hands. "Good luck livin with this guy, whiskers."

"Oh no," said Rex. "Her name's Princess."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I can't leave this one alone. Spike. Did you really name her-"

"No, you wanker! I didn't name her at all, Blake soddin called her that."

"Oh," he chuckled, sitting down again and setting the kitten on the island. "Okay, then I know he's just screwing around, but if you had actually named her that I'd start asking when was the last time you'd gotten laid."

Spike clenched his jaw and changed to game face. He ripped into the cold bloodbag in his hand and drank deeply, craving a good kill but taking the bloody snack as a replacement. It wasn't releasing any tension but took the edge off a bit. When he was done he wiped his mouth clean with his forearm, and his ears tuned in again to the conversation around him.

"So where did the other two go?" Ace questioned.

"Diner," Stevo replied. "Picking up food. They should be back shortly."

><

Buffy was tired, her feet hurt, her head ached from listening to people chatter at her and ask her questions. It was getting harder and harder to focus on smiling and actually listening to some of the things they all said. The orders she could do, and had actually gotten so fast at placing them and multitasking, that Harriet had allowed her to continue without keeping an eye out. Three tables were all Buffy's. She still shared the responsibility of three others with Harriet, who also had four more of her own to serve, but Elizabeth was getting good quick.

It still didn't mean this job was easy. Buffy had been asked about herself, and then her grandmother, too many times to count. She always smiled; and thank God teenagers were still out and about at this time because they didn't question her at all, just looked her up and down in an assessing way and ordered their meals.

It was the older couples who gave her the most trouble. Them and the families, or girlfriends who were out to dinner while their husbands were working. Buffy had never heard so many warm endearments in her life.

Many people asked her last name, and then would exclaim that she looked exactly like her grandmother- Fortunately no one here knew her mom, or at least they didn't remember her all that well because no one brought her up. Which was good, Buffy didn't think she could handle that tonight.

However, everyone must know about what had happened, because she'd heard so many concerned and almost pitiful "How have you been doin, darlin's" that Buffy felt like her head might explode. But of course, she always replied politely, and then very quickly asked if they were ready to order yet. When they said no, she claimed she had to go to another table.

One time that hadn't worked. The set of female customers had kept her trapped with conversation and actually asked her to take her hair down for them, and when she finally did, they'd exclaimed "what a beauty she was!" Buffy accepted the compliment wholesomely, though a part of her did absently wonder if she'd gone back half a century or two in time.

*"What a beauty?" I mean really?*

It was going on ten thirty now and she was ready to get home. She'd just gotten off a much needed break, a cup of hot cocoa and some toast in her belly. Buffy felt a little better but seriously wanted to get away. Her thoughts had been preoccupied with not messing anything up, and images of Spike that brought bitter sweetness. She needed to get home.

But this was her job now, and she wasn't going to do it half-assed. She wasn't going to ask to skip out early on the first day or anger anyone. She'd just have to plow through. Besides, money needed to be earned and then saved. This job would work.

Unfortunately, her butterfly filled stomach hadn't calmed enough to allow for anything but dry toast to enter it. That and of course something chocolaty, which had added up to that weird combination of toast and hot cocoa. Harriet hadn't said anything about it, though.

Just then the tall smiling waitress approached Buffy. The woman had been working for hours, but that smile had yet to wane. "Finished up, sugar?"

"Yep," Buffy stretched her arms a little above her head, bracing herself to get started again. "I'm ready."

"Okay, well I'm gonna get you behind the counter, okay? Your tables will go to Susie now."

Buffy felt a sudden pang of disappointment and a little shame. Had she screwed something up? Everyone she'd served had seemed happy with her. "D-Did I do something wrong?" She couldn't help asking, or the little half-lip raise that happened when she did. It was her self-conscious face.

Harriet beamed disarmingly and shook her head. "No dear, no. I just want you to learn how to man the counter should ya need to. It's a lot easier than waitin tables, and you need to learn how to use the cash register."

"Oh." Buffy blew out a relieved breath, and idly wondered why she'd cared about how she came off while waitressing as long as she wasn't fired.

Harriet's statement normally wouldn't have gotten the reaction from her that it had, and Buffy realized that she was happy she'd done well with waiting her tables. She wouldn't normally care about something like that. At all.

Weird.

Buffy followed the older waitress to the cash register. The counter was a long, yellow surface that matched their work blouses. Except it was shiny clean. There were some truckers drinking coffee and eating huge plates filled with food sitting on four stools, a man in overalls having tea and a BLT, and one young girl enjoying a banana split at the end. The cash register was an old looking thing made out of shiny brownish metal, not electronic. Harriet showed Elizabeth how to use it, and once Buffy got it down, the woman explained that sometimes the drawer stuck so you had to elbow it to get it back open.

"Right," she grunted, "here," and banged her elbow against the side of the machine, the drawer popping open with a ding a second after. "See? Just bang it there nice and hard and you'll do fine. But don't use the palm of your hand, for some reason it only works with an elbow."

Buffy looked warily at the large contraption and nodded. "Okay. Whatever you say."

Harriet smiled yet again. "If ya need me, just holler." She placed a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "And I MEAN holler. No one's gonna think nothin of it if ya yell in this place, but they will get annoyed if there's no one behind the counter to take their orders." She winked, and left Buffy to her station.

The girl blew out a breath and looked at the coffee pots behind her. She knew how to work them, but fortunately there were already two fresh pots full and hot for refills. She grabbed the black rimmed coffeepot, wrinkling her nose at the red one that said "DECAF" on its label, and turned around to face one of the men at the counter.

"Would you like some more coffee? Okay." She poured. She poured another to the man sitting at the far end of the counter. She took away the empty bowl from the little girl with ice cream on her face and accepted the pile of coins she offered as payment with a smile. Buffy worked well behind the counter, just as she had with the tables, and when she opened up the cash register for the third time and the drawer stuck, she used her elbow to get it open again.

Not much time passed, and she didn't notice what with her buzzing around like a bee. Two men, in addition to the little girl, had left, but three more customers sat and took their places. She was practically on automatic, just refilling a mug for a nice old gentleman when two bickering voices poked through her tired concentration.

"I shouldn't have followed you. You can't tell your ass from a hole in the ground, much less a main road from a bike trail."

"Calm down, we got here didn't we?"

"Not with your help. Remind me next time to take Rex, he at least knows direction."

"Well of course he does, the guy has nothing better to do than worry about flying into windows."

Buffy frowned, and figured that last part hadn't meant to be overheard since it was hushed. She shook her head and finished filling her customer's mug, then went to the old man holding up a hand at the other end of the counter.

"Coffee?" she asked.

"Decaf, please."

"Sure." Buffy went to switch out pots and when she did, a bright and delighted voice suddenly caught her attention.

"Holy hell, where did you come from, gorgeous?"

Buffy turned with the red rimmed coffeepot in hand, and she met the blue-green glittery eyes of a tall brunette. The man was very attractive, and had a smile that was straight and charming. His demeanor said womanizer as plainly as if it was written all over him in sharpie, while inky black hair added an element of mystery to him. He was staring at her like she was a yummy little dessert ready to be devoured.

The guy made her want to get his order placed as quickly as possible.

"I'll be with you in just a minute," Buffy said. She went to pour her waiting customer his decaf and didn't notice when the black-haired stranger followed her down the length of the counter.

He watched her until she finished serving, then said, "A pretty face pouring coffee, now that's my kinda girl."

An internal sigh. "It's decaf," she said regrettably, then walked away again.

The man only followed. "Ah, not real coffee, then." He shrugged, "I'll settle."

When he reached the cash register where Buffy stood expectantly waiting for an order to be placed, a dark blonde with a warm countenance and eyes to match looked at her and smiled apologetically. He was everything his friend wasn't, not so forward and much friendlier looking. His face was kind and his eyes brown, reminding Buffy of a puppy's. He took off his thin glasses and stuck them in his coat pocket before scowling at his companion.

"Not now, Blake," he said in an exasperated tone.

"Now seems like the perfect time," he replied, never taking his eyes off of Buffy. Eyes she wished were ice blue.

Gulping and rearranging her wishful thoughts, Buffy stood her ground. She so didn't want to deal with this right now. "Can I take your order?"

"Yes, you can," Blake replied, "but first you have to tell me when you get off work."

Buffy scoffed, and fought back that headache she already felt coming on. She had just felt it waning due to her coffee runs back and forth, the smell of the black liquid always relieving stress for her very well.

There wasn't enough coffee in the diner to make this one go away. "Sorry. Can't. And I have other customers, so place your order guys," she spoke with finality.

"Blake, just hand her the list."

"I will, Dylan." The brunette smiled at Buffy again and looked at her nametag. "Elizabeth? Pretty name." He retrieved a slip of paper from his coat, the list he and Dylan had made for their rather plentiful order on the way here. He played with the paper in his hand for a moment. "It's a pretty long list," he said. "My friends need nourishment, and well, they're big guys."

Buffy took the offered slip and said, not ungratefully, "At least you saved me the trouble of writing it down." She heaved a quiet sigh. "To-go, I assume?"

He nodded and then winked at her. She raised an eyebrow, suddenly needing to start serving other people coffee again or something. Just to get away. It wasn't that he was giving off bad vibes or anything, she just wasn't interested in the least. Not to mention the fact that chatting with a customer? So not something she enjoyed.

Buffy quickly walked to the kitchen with the paper in hand and gave it to Leonard, the boss who'd been friendly to her over the last few hours, especially after seeing her work efficiently. "Um, these guys came in with a big to-go order," she said, "I figured I should give it to you so you didn't start making ten T-bones and wondering if the place suddenly had tigers for customers or something."

Leonard smiled at Buffy, slightly crooked but bright white teeth gleaming in the kitchen lights. "Thanks, honey. I'll get this order made up, you just go on and tell those fellas to be patient."

She nodded, smiling a little bit as she walked away. Leonard reminded her of her grandpa, and he was very nice. He made her laugh and feel somewhat relaxed instead of sending her mind on unpleasant wandering.

When she got back to the counter, the two men hadn't left. Blake actually reminded her of a tiger, his predatory dexterity showing in every inch of his stance. While his friend, apparently Dylan, was looking tired, and yet also a little amused.

When she passed to bring a customer his change, Blake smiled at her again. His grin was dripping allure. "Do you know how long the wait'll be, dollface?"

*Oh, for the love of-*

Buffy was sweaty, her feet hurt, she'd been up for hours, her ponytail was frizzy- Yeah. She was a real 'doll' right now. "About twenty to thirty minutes," she told him quickly, a very little edge to her voice that she couldn't help.

Blake blinked at her, and she heard Dylan laughing just before she walked away.

Buffy studiously avoided them for the rest of the wait, and fortunately, Mr. Flirt seemed to get the message that she wasn't in the mood to deal with him, and so he didn't say anything else. Buffy didn't even feel his eyes on her very much. Once in a while she'd glance over if she thought he was staring, but never caught him, so she just kept working.

When she realized disappointingly that she should probably ask the men if they wanted anything while they waited, she was saved as their order was finally called. Buffy carried two large brown paper sacks over and rang them up. Offering a tight lipped smile and a goodbye when they left, Dylan sent a pleasant grin her way while Blake gave a smirk and another wink.

She sighed when they were finally out the door, and went back to her other customers. It was almost eleven and the diner was noticeably calming down. People were leaving and two waitresses got off work, along with a busboy. The night was, thank God, coming to a close.

><

"I really don't think I've ever seen you get the brush-off from a girl before, Blake."

The other four males sitting in the living room all heard the voices of their friends as soon as Blake and Dylan entered the house. Their ears perked with interest as a conversation unfolded in front of them, one man amused and the other exasperated by the joy.

"And as I just told you, Dylan," Blake replied as patiently as possible. "It's happened. Not often," he raised a finger to make his point. "Seldom. Very seldom. So seldom in fact that you've never witnessed it."

The blonde man laughed. "Ya know, she wasn't just annoyed by you, but she honestly didn't even have the time for you. She was practically indifferent."

"She was busy."

Dylan only chuckled, and then when he saw everyone piled into the living room on the mattress and the couch, he smiled even wider. "Hey, look who's up! We can tell them all the story now!"

Blake rolled his eyes and dropped a large paper bag in the center of the guys, and then took the one Dylan was holding and deposited that too. Stevo and Rex eagerly grabbed for the food, while Ace sat Indian style looking at Dylan expectantly. Spike was sprawled on the couch, he took a white Styrofoam container of buffalo wings from Stevo and waited for Dylan to continue.

"You're practically bouncing, man, " Ace said. "C'mon, spill."

Dylan smirked. "Blake met a pretty waitress at the diner."
Just then, the empath groaned and said, "Give me my food," as he removed his jacket and plopped down on the mattress.

Spike bit into a spicy wing. "Yeah? He shag her in the bathroom or outside somewhere?"

"Neither," Dylan proclaimed. "She brushed him off."

Rex blinked.
Ace stopped reaching for his food. "What?"
Stevo's eyebrows rose.

Spike just snickered, his eyes twinkling. "Oh really?" He took another bite out of a spicy wing. "Please, tell us more."

Dylan started but Blake cut him off, his pride shot to its halfway point already. "Oh I'll do it, you'll just manage to make it seem worse than it was."

Dylan held up his hands in acceptance and sat down, reaching for his meal and a can of soda.

"So we walk into the diner, go up to the counter, right?" Blake grabbed his takeout container and accepted one of the steak knives Rex had just retrieved from the kitchen. "Thanks- So anyway, we walk in and Dylan's arguing with me 'cause we took a wrong turn-"

"Told you they got lost," Ace interjected.

Blake ignored him and continued. "When Dylan finally shuts his mouth for a minute, I notice the girl working behind the counter. Not gonna lie, I haven't seen a chick who was that beautiful and not on a magazine cover in a while."

Stevo regarded his friend with a little surprise. "You sound genuine on that."

He nodded and spoke around a mouthful of food, "I am." Blake swallowed. "She's gorgeous. Blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, kinda short but ridiculously cute in her own way, this button nose..."

Spike sat up, licking sauce from his fingers. He frowned at the description of this waitress, something sounding just a little bit too familiar to him and a weird feeling in his gut.

"She had green eyes, a great smile- That was the first thing I noticed about her actually."

"She didn't smile at you, of course," Dylan added while taking a bite of food.

"No, asshole," Blake said. "I saw her smile at another customer before she noticed us."

"What was her name?" Spike asked.

Blake turned and his gaze snapped when it landed on the vampire. He studied him and said, "You're feelin kind of off there, buddy. What's up? You think ya might know this girl?"

"What was her name, Blake?"

The empath shrugged and took another bite of steak, seemingly unbothered by Spike's sudden dangerous tone of voice. "The nametag said Elizabeth. Pretty name for a pretty girl, and this time I really mean that line."

Dylan glanced at Spike. "She wasn't the usual type, ya know? She had somethin special about her."

"You mean like supernatural?" Rex asked.

"No," Dylan shook his head. "Completely human, but she just seemed... I don't know, different. And she knocked Blake right off his lady killer high horse." Dylan smiled and shook his head in memory. "When he called her 'dollface' I thought she was gonna hit him."

Spike stood up and went immediately for his coat.

"Where are you going?" Stevo asked.

"Out. I'll be back." He slipped on his duster, bending to put on his Docs next.

"Don't you think with Flora out there it's kind of dangerous now, man?" Ace questioned. Stevo and Spike had filled him and Rex in on everything they knew before Blake and Dylan arrived back, and he was more worried about this Flora vamp than anything else. Ace was always one to go by a motto he had: Fight what you can see.

Of course, Spike didn't give a damn about Flora at the moment. He needed to get to that diner. "I'll be fine, and don't any a you follow me or I'll knock you unconscious an leave you for the sun."

With that, he slammed the front door.

Silence engulfed the room. The group sat still and a bit shocked at the vampire's behavior, the same suspicion brewing between all of them.

Blake finally broke the tension. "Ya think he knows that HE is the only one allergic to sunlight?"

Spike moved through the forest surrounding his house, and down a main road to the populated area of town. He passed houses with lights out, little homes with televisions flickering through thin curtains, a couple of parties going lively but quietly at two residences. It was peaceful and crisp, the moon shining brightly through gray wispy clouds in the night sky. The sounds of dry tree leaves rustling played a timeless sound throughout the quiet.

Tranquil surroundings, and one infuriated vamp.

Quite a combo. Spike's soundless stride but volatile mood was noxious enough to scare a rabbit more than twenty feet away. The laughter from a group of teenagers died when he walked passed, and the vicious warning of a dog bark sounded when he neared the animal's gate.

He was headed to Leonard's Place, and he had to get there before closing. He wasn't sure if his hunch was right or not, but a nagging feeling in the back of his head told him it was. The waitress at the diner was Buffy.

The description was accurate. The nose, the eyes, the hair. Everything. That little something special Dylan mentioned... It didn't matter her name was Elizabeth, maybe it was her real name and Buffy was a nick. Or perhaps it was her middle name. God knew why she didn't just write "Buffy" on that nametag.

Spike had been thinking about her near incessantly for the past two days, and today as well. A full seventy-two hours now of not seeing her and then his friends come back from an errand to tell him about HIS girl. To tell him she'd taken a job. To describe her to him; how she was unique and cute with a smile that drew you in, as if he didn't already know those things. As if she wasn't important to him, as if he didn't know who she was. As if he didn't care.

As if Blake had any right to hit on her.

It was a good thing Spike left the house before he'd lost it.

He spotted the diner about a block ahead of him and moved faster.

Why was she waitressing? He knew how she felt around crowds. How was she dealing with this? Had her grandmother forced her to find a job? Spike doubted that. Buffy held her Grams in high regard and obviously loved her very much, just as Spike believed the old woman cared for her granddaughter the same.

Maybe Buffy had decided to get one to try and meet the people in town, though Spike didn't think so; she loved being at the library, alone. She couldn't have gotten a job there, of course, the owner never hired anyone. He mostly took care of the place himself with help from family. But Buffy didn't need a job, did she? She'd said that the money she had from the insurance was enough to live well for a while. Did she lie? Or was she just ready to start saving up more for herself, starting now. Was her grandmother having issues paying the bills?

Spike had no idea, and the only way to find out was to ask her.

Of course, his temper wasn't exactly anything anyone would want to be around right now.

He was pointlessly angry, he knew, but angry all the same.

Buffy was a waitress, Spike was almost positive she was HATING it, and he hadn't seen her in three bloody days. Hadn't hugged her, kissed her. They hadn't bloody talked. They hadn't met at the library, their place. One of his friends had fucking HIT on her- Which Spike knew he didn't even have a right to be mad about (though he rebelled against such logic), and he fucking missed her worse than he could stand it.

So storming into the diner and startling the few customers inside, then scanning the whole place like a panther on the hunt was naturally what happened when he finally reached Leonard's door.

><

Green eyes snapped up from the task of cleaning the countertop. She knew it was him before she saw him. At the first resounding clash when he practically jumped inside the diner, at the heavy door banging closed. When the remaining customers all paused to watch the bleached blonde in leather.

Buffy literally felt her eyes bulge, almost to the point of pain, but she couldn't close them. Spike was here, and in a split second she realized just how much she'd missed him. After this long day, the bad sleep the last couple nights, not knowing what the hell he was doing or if he was rethinking his decision to stick around, be near her, those kisses. She was overly relieved and wanted to go straight to him, but caution prevented her.

What was that rule? Don't make any sudden movements around a wild animal... Yeah, something told Buffy to follow that instruction right about now.

He was pissed. It was all over his face, and when those smoldering blue eyes locked onto hers, she actually felt like a firefly snared in a fist.

She didn't blink as he approached. The man looked her up and down, nostrils flaring. If it wasn't ludicrous, she might've actually thought he was sniffing her- But that was nuts.

She wanted to hug him. She wanted to run.

"Spike."

He smiled with closed lips, a cajoling almost mocking smile. "Kitchen still open?"

She blinked finally, a few times in rapid succession. Was the kitchen still open? "Yeah, for almost an hour," she responded, giving him a peculiar look.

Spike smirked, though it wasn't teasing or friendly. It was close to a sneer, actually. What was wrong with him?

He sat down on a stool and clasped his hands together. "Didn't know you worked here..." he looked her over again, eyes lingering on the place where a nametag was pinned. "Elizabeth."

Her cheeks flushed, she hadn't a clue, but the look he gave her made her feel guilty. She had no idea why, but it did, and so she went back to wiping off the counter. "I just started today. And Elizabeth's my 'proper' name, Buffy's just a nickname," she explained. Tucking a strand of blonde behind one ear, she asked, "Do you wanna order something, Spike?"

Looking into his eyes again, they were even less welcoming than they had been before. Jeez, why was he so upset? Buffy had no idea what was running through his head but did have a suspicious feeling that it involved her, unfortunately.

Spike clenched his jaw. "Ya never told me that, pet."

"Never told you what?"

"Your real name."

"Oh." She looked down and sighed. "Buffy is my real name," she said, "It was what people called me in San Francisco. I only started using Elizabeth again when I got here." She turned around and plucked up the coffeepot. "I'm about to do refills, want a cup?"

"Not really."

She frowned. "Fine. I'll be back in a sec."

As she walked away, Buffy sensed his eyes on her the whole time. She could practically feel tingles where his stare roamed over her in waves. She didn't let her ankles wobble, and tried focusing on the pain in the soles of her feet.

When she got back to the counter, having walked around to the few occupied tables and refilled people's mugs, Spike couldn't hold his tongue for very long. "Never said you were gonna take a job here, pet."

"So?" She asked, getting irritated when his eyes flashed primitively. She would have told him about her plan to start waitressing if she'd SEEN him, but he'd been MIA for the past three days.

Buffy looked up at the clock. Yep. Three full days, an entire seventy-two hours now. Fifteen minutes past, actually.

"Thought you liked talkin to me."

She hated the way he'd purred that sentence, both charm and demand at the same time. "When you're around."

For a moment his face looked repentant, but only for an instant because the next, Buffy spoke again. "But it's not like this whole waitressing thing is a big deal. I might not have mentioned it to you anyway," she lied.

His jaw clenched, and Spike huffed in aggravation. "S'that so? Well excuse me for wantin to know what's goin on with you."

Her eyes widened. "You don't HAVE to know, Spike." God, this man could get her temper going like nobody else. Her anger was getting the better of her and the worries from the past couple of days were fighting to the fore. Buffy tried not to sound forlorn when she added, "Especially when you're not around."

Spike sighed through his nose and growled stubbornly. "You should have told me."

"You weren't here to be told!" After her shout Buffy quickly looked around in alarm. Two customers glanced her way and she caught Leonard's curious expression from the kitchen. She smiled at him reassuringly and took a breath.

Turning back to Spike, not understanding what he wasn't getting, she whispered, "Spike, you come in here acting like I owe you an explanation, and you know what, I don't." Her brow puckered with anger and frustration. "You don't have a right to know about every single decision I make and everything I do." Buffy's voice shook a little, and a small part inside of her rebelled against her own words.

His eyes flared and then narrowed. She just did not realize the things going through him right now, how close his demon was to the surface, how much frustration was boiling away, how angry he was that she was right. He felt like he couldn't hold on to her, and it was true and he was terrified. "Never said ya did, love," Spike grit out.

"Well you sure acted like it," she said, with an exasperated arm wave that couldn't be stopped.

Spike's jaw clenched again and he closed his eyes for a second, acting like he might be counting to ten before speaking. Though when he finally did, his didn't sound the least bit calmer. "You meet someone here earlier tonight?"

The question was so abruptly different from their conversation that Buffy frowned, her face confused and her anger dimming just enough to feel guilt. The words she'd cast around a second ago were hurtful and yet true. But she liked telling Spike things, she just didn't like the way he was acting.

A little angry at herself, and not very happy with him either, Buffy answered the question. "A lot of people, unfortunately."

He continued to stare at her, studying her face. She felt a bit self conscious, knowing that her hair must be a ratty ponytailed mess, her eyes tired, and her makeup completely gone. "Happen to remember a bloke, obnoxious sort who talks too much?" he asked.

She frowned, wondering what in the world Spike was getting at. "Maybe," she said, not sure how much she wanted him to know in light of the fact that he seemed mad at her for reasons Buffy deemed unfair. He hadn't even bothered to offer an actual hello yet, just came barging in and acting grumpy.

"Name of Blake," he added.

She hummed in affirmation, "Yeah. I did meet him. Friend of yours?" She raised her eyebrows in both question and challenge.

He didn't like it. The way she was answering, so simple, no details, deliberately holding back from him. "Sometimes," Spike replied. "You two talk for very long?"

"What does it matter?"
"You tell him your nickname?"
"What's with the third degree here, Spike?"

He didn't answer, just bore into her with those intense blue eyes. His lips were pursed tight with impatience and anger. She had no idea what to do with this man, so Buffy decided then, to ignore him.

She went to leave, and the proverbial steam almost shot out of her ears when he reached over the counter and grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?!" She growled.

His nostrils flared, and in that instant she realized what his biggest problem was... or at least part of it. Blake, his friend, must have mentioned something about her, and Spike...

Jealousy. Oh what a strange emotion. How could he be jealous of comments his friend (sometimes friend?) had made about her? The fact the guy had simply talked to her? Flirted yeah, but nothing more. Surely he hadn't made it seem like she'd flirted back-

Oh. Maybe that was it.

Abruptly, a somewhat giddy- and unwelcome -emotion ran through her, threatening a blush. Buffy's stomach turned warm. She shouldn't feel this way over Spike's jealousy, she should be annoyed by its irrationality. Besides, the two of them weren't dating.

But that's what made it even better, wasn't it? They weren't a couple, and so he felt his place in her life was threatened by some random Casanova? It was ridiculous, but far from insulting... Well, actually, Spike thinking that she was so fickle as to just drop him like a hat and ignore what they had, and her feelings for him, because a random guy came around flirting was maddening. Spike should know that she wasn't that type of person. They'd shared too much, held a connection between them that still managed to throw her at times. She felt like she knew him more and more every second she spent with him.

Yet here HE was, all bully-ish and with the questions.

Buffy sighed, still staring into those gorgeous blue eyes and awaiting an answer as to why he'd grabbed her arm. A reply that might not come. Perhaps Blake said something to anger him, maybe he'd painted Elizabeth to be a total skank, or worse.

Or maybe he hadn't and Spike was just being heartthrobing-ly, infuriatingly, and unwarrantedly jealous.

"Spike," she said, her voice quiet and just a little breathless from the tingle on her skin where his fingers were, "how'd you know I was Elizabeth?"

He swallowed, and Buffy saw the throat muscles move enticingly beneath his skin. "The way he described you. What he-... What he said."

"What did he say?"

Spike looked into her eyes, those hazel green depths he adored, and he loosened his hand on her arm. He hadn't been gripping hard enough to hurt her, simply stay her. "Green eyes, beautiful smile, blonde ponytail, short..."

Buffy ignored that last part but gathered from what Spike was telling her, that this friend of his hadn't said she'd been flirty or responded to his advances. If Blake had, it would have been the first thing Spike told her in response to her last question.

Relief warred with aggravation. Unless something else had crawled up Spike's butt, then he was jealous for absolutely no reason and worrying about the fact she hadn't told him she'd started waitressing (which had only started TODAY, by the way) because of this jealousy.

They both knew his reaction to her new job was ridiculous, and Buffy was getting tired of having to defend herself. Her feelings were mixed, with warm girly flattery that annoyed her in one hand, and true bitterness in the other. All she knew was that someone had come into the diner, mentioned her to Spike, and then the man-of-questions had flown in acting resentful and demanding; as if she'd done something wrong by not including him in the development of a stupid new job. *Of all things, I am a waitress for God's sake!*

She pulled free of his grasp and sent over a glare. "Your friend was a hell of a lot more pleasant than you're being right now, Spike."

That made his eyes narrow once again, dangerous cerulean slits that sparkled with anger. "S'that so? Guess his practiced charm managed to get past your defenses then, eh love?"

She took a step back from him, irritation pulsing through every vein and making her voice tight. "Not in the slightest, Spike. But you obviously wouldn't be convinced unless you'd been here yourself."

As she stormed off, he thought privately that he wouldn't have let Blake within five feet of her without kissing her first, in front of the whole bloody diner, but now he couldn't do anything but watch her walk away. Sighing, he clenched his jaw once again and internally called himself all kinds of a fool.

He shouldn't have let it show; his fear, his jealousy, his aggression. He shouldn't have illustrated how hard he was trying to hold on. Being an ass and acting like she owed him anything was the surest way to piss the girl off. If Spike had thought this situation out at all, he could have called her reactions in a heartbeat. Instead he'd acted on unreasonable anger and frustration. Now she was mad- And rightfully so.

Buffy didn't owe him anything, she told him things because she liked to, not because she had to. And he'd acted like a jealous boyfriend whose calls had gone ignored for a week.

Spike's head shot up. Calls...

He tried to catch a glimpse of Buffy in the kitchen, but he only saw the top of her hair as she spoke to an older black man in an apron. She was nodding and the bloke was regarding her warmly. Spike saw them shake hands.

Buffy came back out and as she strode by with weariness and a tiny thread of joy he spotted in her eyes, the Brit wondered if maybe, just maybe, she'd thought about him as much as he'd thought about her over these past three aggravating days.

She'd mentioned him not being around. She was angry about that, which explained even more so why his attitude had bothered her- Asides from the fact that he'd been accusatory on no grounds.

Buffy had missed him.

And now she was pissed at him.

"I'm leaving in a few minutes," she declared, untying her apron and setting it on a shelf beneath the counter.

Spike frowned. "Doesn't the place close at twelve?"

"Leonard's letting me off early." She sighed, renewed irritation evident in her expression as she looked at him again. "Bye, Spike. Next time you wanna stop by and act like a jerk, give me a heads up."

She was gone before he could reply.

><

Buffy hurried to the back of the diner where that tiny little closest of a changing room was. Leonard gave her the night off a bit early because she'd done so well, and he was very kind to her, even offered a burger and a coke on the house.

She'd said no. She really just wanted to get out of here, and while she was happy that her new boss was nice and she'd done well today, Buffy was anxious to get away from a certain bleached Brit.

His obvious frustration and doubt bothered her more than she liked to admit. All she wanted was to get away from him for a little while, and because she couldn't ask him to apologize- and she certainly wasn't going to -distance was much preferred right now. Spike probably didn't even get why she was snappy with him, Buffy bet.

She knew he could be an ass sometimes, but with all the work she'd done today she wasn't willing to deal with it. Normally, she would spell it out for Spike, tell him why and how he was acting like a jerk, but tonight? Buffy just wanted to go home and try and get a sound night's rest. And attempt not to think about Spike and this altercation too much.

Evidently, she wasn't going to get what she wished for.

"Spike!"

She was just taking off her yellow button up when the door was yanked open and he came in. Buffy pressed her crumpled shirt against her chest to cover up and glared in shock and infuriation. How in the world had he slipped past the people in the kitchen? "What the hell are you-"

He shushed her.

It only made her more indignant. "Don't you shush me-"

He put a hand over her loud protest and said, "I'm sorry."

The statement threw her, and Buffy stared with wide eyes at the man in leather. He apologized. She wasn't sure if she should feel relieved, or focus on ways of kicking his ass.

As it was, his hand was still covering her mouth so she couldn't even talk right now.

Spike glanced down at her torso, wishing immediately that he hadn't. Christ but the chit was changing. He'd walked in on her changing. This was just bloody great.

"I was a berk." *Am a berk,* he inwardly corrected, staring intently at her eyes as he forced himself to ignore her barely covered chest. "I shouldn't a acted... I was unfair. You're... right. You don't owe me anything, and I shouldn't a acted like you did. I know ya did nothin wrong, s'just..." He pursed his lips. Buffy didn't know how hard this apology was for him. He hadn't said sorry to anyone in years. A lot of years.

Yet he was willing to spew it all out and admit his grievances in a split moment for this girl.

The girl who really did know just how hard it was for him. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the tension simmering beneath his skin. Elizabeth's irate emotions puddled into gratitude and warmth. Her eyebrows drew together as she studied him, not sure how quickly it would be okay to forgive her guy, but seeing the sincerity in him as clearly as one could spot the moonlight on a crystal pond.

She didn't have time to mentally wig or analyze the possessive term she'd just put over Spike in her head. HER guy? Since when did- Oh wait, he was talking again, and her brain was solely focused on the movements of his lips. Crap.

"I never said hello to ya, did I?" His eyes glinted with bewilderment as a little self-depreciating smile changed his expression. He looked even more apologetic and a bit disappointed in himself.

She narrowed her eyes. An immensely unreasonable burst of irritation ran through her like lava, and she bit him.

"Oi! What was that for?!" He whispered harshly and shook his hand, trying not to let his mind wander to better examples of bitey Buffy.

"For being an ASS!" She yelled with more breath that vocals. Somehow, they'd both mutually decided to be quiet so as not to alert anyone to their location and her voice was that of an enraged cat burglar. "You're right, you never said hello! Or called me kitten or Goldilocks, you just w-went off on a little... tantrum, because of something stupid!"

Spike rolled his eyes, his jaw clenched, and he said, "I was unfair."

"You were jealous!"

H growled low in his throat and took a step closer, distractedly glancing at Buffy's exposed torso. Her hands had moved to her hips and her light blue bra was the only thing covering her up. "I haven't seen you in three bloody days."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Mine," he grumbled, stuffing his hand in his pocket, looking for the napkin he'd written on after she'd gone to the back preparing to leave. "Here," he handed it to her.

"What's this?" Buffy looked at the numbers scribbled down in ink.

"My address, and the only phone number I've got; it's for the house. I don't have a cell phone, no use for the bloody things."

Buffy looked at him in quizzical shock. She was torn between asking him how the hell someone didn't own a cell phone in this day and age, and tearing the napkin to shreds. While a part of her was ready to slip it inside her bag for safekeeping. "Why are you giving me this," she demanded.

Spike looked surprised at her tone, and answered the question with slight wariness. "I thought you'd like it, so you can get hold f'me if you need... somethin, anythin."

She scowled at his shrug. "You mean if I need your shoulder to cry on."

He bit back a sigh. Now she was going to get defensive about this. Couldn't she tell he'd gone practically barmy these past three days? He wasn't giving her this information out of pity. He was giving it to her because he wanted to be on level ground with her, so they could both contact each other when they wanted. Asides from just meeting at the library or him stalking her house.

"I mean if you want to contact me, love."

"Oh," she handed him back the napkin and turned to find her white blouse. "Well, keep it. I don't need it."

Spike frowned. "You don' want it?"

His voice sounded hurt and questioning. Buffy forced back a cringe. She didn't want to take the napkin. He was pitying her and she was still annoyed. She'd missed his dumbass and he couldn't even show one ounce of missage. Only unfair jealousy and pity.

"Buffy."

"What?"

"I want you to have this."

The surprising touch of his hand slipping into one of the back pockets of her jeans had Buffy's breath hitching, and her back straightening like the handle of a stepped on rake. "Wha-What are you doing?" she stuttered.

Spike smirked a little at her shaky voice, tucking the napkin deeply into her pocket and gliding his fingers out slowly. "I want you to be able to get a hold of me." His breath touched her ear when he spoke. "I missed you these last couple f'days."

"You could have gotten a hold of me," she claimed, her voice very quiet. Accusatory stress coated her statement, while her insides hummed at his proximity.

"I only know where you live, love. S'not nice to come over uninvited, though."

Buffy took a silent, deep breath. Spike had missed her. She didn't believe that he was all that worried about politeness in general, however, something in his voice- maybe a hint of humbleness? -made her accept his statement. Maybe she hadn't been the only one going crazy these last three damn days.

God. Only three days, and this is what happened to the both of them.

It was scary, but she turned around anyway. "I would have let you in," she said, her eyes guarded but vulnerable. Her voice luring, yet almost emotionless.

Spike smiled, his gaze travelling over her and tenderness lining every feature of his sculpted face. "Yeah? I'll have to remember that, then."

Buffy sighed softly, the feeling of a weight coming off her shoulders. Looking up into his focused warm eyes and feeling her anger melt away, she was comforted. Lord she'd missed those colors of blue. Sticking her hand into the pocket where he'd put the napkin, Buffy pulled out the barely crumpled white paper. There was a little tension on his face as she examined the numbers, but it dissolved when she turned around again and stuck the napkin in her bag.

She pulled her white blouse out and replaced it with her yellow work shirt. She'd need that tomorrow so she had to bring it home to wash. When she spun around again Buffy became very aware of her state of dress- or lack thereof, really.

She saw Spike's pupils dilate as her eyes rounded and her cheeks flushed. Instead of wasting time asking him to leave before she properly covered herself, Buffy just slipped the white blouse on over her arms and started to button it as fast as possible.

Her breath caught when Spike's fingers brushed hers away, and he took over the job of dressing her. Very slowly.

His fingertips gently slipped tiny buttons through tiny holes, gradually moving upward in a careful dance. His thumbs brushed the small patches of skin revealed every time he moved to another button, travelling between her breasts and raising goose bumps on her flesh.

"You don't have to-... do that," she said, albeit a little belatedly.

He swallowed. "I want to."

It was only a partial lie. What Spike really wanted to do was remove all of her clothing so he could cover her body with his own, but he didn't think it would be such a successful idea to ask.

Fully buttoned and flushing bright red, Buffy only managed a jerky nod when he pulled away reluctantly and said, "All done."

She gathered her things together faster than a fashion model would move to change between catwalks, and turned back around ready to bolt out of the confined space, if only to try and be able to breathe again.

Spike stood in her way.

When he didn't move she raised an eyebrow at him. "Gotta get out the door here."

He smirked a little and her knees literally wobbled, but she blamed that on exhaustion. Leaning in towards her, Buffy didn't pull away from him, her body demanding what it wanted and her brain too foggy to protest. "W-What are you doing?" She asked, even though she knew very damn well what he was doing.

The smirk grew. "Giving you that hello."

Then he was kissing her. Closed lips and smoldering electricity. God, she really had missed him.

"Spike, you don't have to walk me back."

They were meandering down the street in front of Leonard's, in the middle of town. The sidewalks were empty and the moonlight shone bright in the partially clouded sky. It was only by her companion's insistence that she wasn't alone, walking with headphones in back to Grams' place.

Spike had refused to let her go home by herself. After he'd first offered and she had told him it wasn't necessary (though she did crave his company), he said he didn't want her to go alone.

"Like I said, pidge, s'not safe at night."

That brought out another smile from Buffy. "Spike, this is MayBell, for one. And two, I've walked home alone at night before. And look," she stopped and gestured to herself, "still here."

His eyes swept over her like a fluttering fan of heat, lingering on her torso which adorned an open jacket. That shirt she had on was definitely not one of her sweaters, and while a part of him missed the big oversized things for some inane reason, Spike was also very pleased by the alternative. This blouse clung to her body and showed her beautiful shape, small breasts that pressed enticingly against the fabric, buttons taught. His mouth watered.

"Yeah," Spike said, "An that's the way I'd like to keep you, pet. Still here."

He reached out and took her hand, leading the way; and smiling when she squeezed his fingers in hers.

"No hatchet-y murder-y guy is gonna come and steal me, Spike," she said.

"Let's hope not. I'd have to go hatchet-y murder-y myself, then." His voice was light, laced with tease as he repeated her term, though something in the message itself offered a strange kind of seriousness.

Buffy scowled without heat. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Never," he said with mock sincerity, as he fought back a grin.

She pressed her lips together and glanced his way, feeling a lightness in her steps even as her feet ached with every one.

"So, when'd you get the job?"

"Oh," she looked at the ground, taking in the night sounds and breathing deeply. After being inside with greasy food smells all day, it was very nice to have some fresh air. "Today. It was time I got one, just to save up some money."

He looked down at her. "Thought you had money."

"Left over. But it won't last forever, and I've waitressed before." She shrugged. "It's not much, but I don't need much."

"Can't be easy either," he said, tilting his head in that Spike way and frowning in concern.

"It's okay." She turned to him as they walked, and with a voice approaching optimism said, "My boss is really nice. And Harriet, another waitress who works there, she showed me the ropes today. She's really sweet. They like that I'm quick. It wasn't very hard to get the hang of things."

Spike nodded, giving her a considering look. "I know how you hate crowds, love; much like m'self. It's not buggin you havin to deal with the customers all day?"

"Oh, I didn't say that." She glanced up at him. "My head pounds unless I'm holding a coffeepot and my cheeks hurt from smiling just about as much as my feet do, I have to carry heavy trays all day, and the people are pretty talkative..." she sighed, "but it's not so bad at times. I kinda... like it, just a little. Not really the social aspects but it isn't as hard as I thought it'd be... to concentrate. Ya know?"

"Not really, love," he said with a small grin. "I've never been a waitress before."

Buffy watched their feet stepping in sync. "Bet you'd look cute in an apron."

"Ha!" He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "Not as cute as you do, kitten."

She blushed. She turned positively pink, and couldn't resist leaning up to kiss him on one perfectly defined cheek.

Spike pulled her closer as they walked, grinning like a schoolboy. They headed through town, going past dark homes until finally coming to the street where only a few residences sat widely separated, and just one house whose windows weren't dark.

"Grams is still up, as usual." Buffy puffed out a short laugh. "She'll be wondering what I was doing all day."

"You gonna tell her you started waitressin, petal?"

Buffy illustrated an entertained smile at the nickname she found so cheesy cute and abundantly corny that only Spike could pull it off without making her gag, and she replied kindly. "Yeah. She was the one who mentioned it, actually. And while I don't think she meant for me to get one RIGHT away, I'm sure she'll get over the surprise quickly enough."

"You don't think she expected you to get one now, huh?"

"Nope," Buffy shook her head. "I think she only mentioned it because she wants me to get out more. She knows how... antisocial I can be."

Spike was charmed by the way that nose of hers twitched sometimes when she talked, and he smiled with his next question. "You tell her about me?"

Buffy's face became slightly guarded as Spike raised an unthreatening eyebrow at her. She hadn't said anything to Grams. She didn't really want to, afraid of sharing details about Spike and then getting teased or questioned like crazy.

However, Grams hadn't brought up the subject since she'd asked who had told Buffy the story about punching some guy named Arnie in the face. "Not really..."

He frowned. "Why not? Afraid she'll ask me over for supper an I'll embarrass you?" It was said in jest; truthfully, he wasn't worried much over the fact that Buffy was keeping him a secret from her grandmother. Which is why he was surprised when she turned on him with a defensive look.

"No. I-I just..." she stumbled over her tongue, looking down before frowning up at him again. "This is really... new, Spike. I don't want to have to deal with a bunch of questions. Grams is great but... I'm still-"

"Her granddaughter." Spike nodded considerately, reaching up to tuck a strand of blonde behind her ear. "I know, Buffy. She'd be curious and probly nosy. S'only natural, bein your Grams an all. She cares 'bout you."

Buffy nodded, looking at him with apology in her eyes. She wasn't sure why she felt guilty. She wasn't ashamed of him or anything like that, it just wasn't time yet. She wasn't even sure if they were dating or not. She didn't know much about his family, or how old he was, what his job was- She only knew Spike, but not a whole lot of details.

"Who cares about you?" she suddenly asked, her voice soft.

"What?" He gave her a blank look.

"You." Buffy's brow furrowed before she continued. "I'm nineteen, and Grams is the only person I've got left. I have money because of a fire that stole my life away, and I waitress at a tiny diner in a tiny town with no more than a thousand residents. Probably less, I never looked at the population count on that Welcome sign on the bus ride in. But... this is my life. My only real family is in this town." She bit her lip and fumbled a little, fingering her bag's strap which wrapped around her torso. "Where's your family, Spike?"

The question threw him. His body tensed and his face turned to expressionless stone. He didn't want to talk about this, never did, and spent a hell of a lot of his time trying not to think about the past. It bit at him. And if he was going to tell her anything at all about it, he'd have to lie or seriously cut out details. The prospect did not sit well.

"Gone," was his only answer. He hoped she wouldn't press any further.

But the sudden distance in his eyes and the bleakness Buffy saw there alarmed her greatly. She had never quite seen this look on him before, only a similar grief once when she'd caught him reading over a piece of paper long ago, at their library.

She took an experimental step closer and was emboldened when he didn't protest or move away. "How old are you, Spike?"

It felt weird asking that question, he knew her age but she'd never gotten to ask his. It was one of those simple things people should know about each other, especially ones who were close. And they were close. Spike even got a sudden bit of surprise in his eyes, as if he too thought the same thing, right before all emotion was cut off again. She hated that look on him, was used to it on herself.

She touched his arm, silently urging him to give her an answer.

"I was um..." Spike laughed a little unexpectedly, a self depreciating sound. "Well, in human years m'about ten years older than yourself, pet."

Ten years. Wasn't that sort of much? Buffy didn't particularly think so, and idly wondered why so many people believed age gaps mattered all the time. "Well," she started. "you said you lived alone. How long have you been that way?"

"What way?" he asked irritably.

"Alone," Buffy pressed. She'd be as gentle as she could approaching this, she didn't want to hurt him, and obviously digging up the past was going to be painful. But he'd listened to her, and she wanted to make sure Spike knew she would do the same for him. She wanted to help. And she really wanted him to trust her. Like she trusted him.

A trust she was starting to believe in. It would have to go both ways, though. For his sake.

He didn't answer her, and Buffy felt cruel for even asking or using the word 'alone'. She pushed her feelings down as far as they would go and took one of Spike's hands. His skin was cold.

"It's okay," she said. "You don't have to... I just want you to know that I'll listen, okay? Remember when you said that thing to me?"

He swallowed, his eyes hard and the colors in them unbending. "What thing?"

She smiled, trying to coax a little emotion out of him. "About not having to be alone? Not if I didn't want."

He grumbled quietly and scoffed. "Took you a bloody while to accept it."

"Oh I still haven't. Not really, anyhow." Buffy leaned up to kiss the corner of his frozen mouth. "But I'm getting there."

Desperate wonder stormed his eyes in an instant. He stared at her for no more than three seconds before grabbing her around the waist, and hauling her close. He kissed her immediately, parting her lips with his tongue and tasting her warmth. Spike held on almost too tightly but Buffy took the embrace as what it was. His way of grasping for what she was offering, a need to have faith in her, just as she'd needed to have faith in him. Doubt and fear laced the kiss, along with a pleading wish to trust.

Spike claimed her fiercely, his mouth ravenous and heat spreading throughout his limbs. His head was empty and his nerves singed, but his heart clung onto the warmth Buffy kindled. Warmth he craved from her. The fire she fed. The peace she offered. God, nothing more than WANTING to trust her, to believe she would always be there as he would for her, could feel this powerful. Nothing would make him desire this frantically and heavily. She didn't know what he WAS, he wanted to tell her everything and never talk of anything. The creature lying beneath his skin wouldn't allow either.

Only when his mother had gotten sick and he'd blamed everything on himself, and thought of what could have been avoided if fate had been changed; only when he felt the acute pain of the loss of his family- Only then, when truest agony entered his world had Spike EVER wished for his humanity back. Wished he was fangless, mortal.

He'd never again, in a million years apologize for what he was; he refused to, knowledge and time having brought reality into his brain and fought down guilt. He was a vampire, he'd always loved it, and only once in a blue moon had wished not to be it. And only because of what might have gone differently for his loved ones. Or perhaps, he could have avoided the loneliness immortality served. But never again. He'd promised himself long ago not to feel guilty for loving what he was, even if he did drink bagged blood.

But in this moment, as he pressed Buffy harder against him and held on tight, kissing her for all and more of what he was worth, a part of him wanted to be human. So he wouldn't lose her.

He tore his mouth away. NO. If he'd been human he would have died, and never met her. His girl would be without anyone to cry in front of, she'd be hurting, and he wouldn't know her.

He wouldn't be here.

"Spike," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her lips brushed his in invitation and Spike consumed her whole again, his tongue thrusting possessively into her sweet mouth. He wasn't going to lose her. In that instant Spike refused to believe it. She was too good, too powerful to him, and she was his and would remain that way. He'd do whatever possible and a part of him, somewhere deeply seamed within the demon and the heart, believed she wouldn't run from who he was.

Not his Buffy.

All he needed was time.

She moaned and pressed closer to him, shuddering when both of his palms ran across her back and under her jacket. She could barely breathe and idly considered giving up the habit all together if it meant she could have more of this. Longer. With no breaks in between.

Her arms tightened when she felt his hand roam down and squeeze, grinding her intimately against the apex of his thighs. Buffy gasped, the hard length of-

Her arms hugged him unmercifully and she whimpered, sensation lancing through her so fast that she felt herself shaking.

Spike hissed in pain.

Buffy abruptly pulled away, her breaths trembling and her cheeks flushed with heat. "W-What is it?"

Spike put a hand to his ribcage and his face creased in discomfort. "Nothin just, uh... bruised a couple a ribs the other night, is all."

Buffy gasped. "That's all?!" she shouted. Right away she reached for his coat and pushed it aside, attempting to slide the hem of his T-shirt up. "How did you bruise your ribs?" she asked, concern etching every feature on her glowing face.

Spike let her reveal his discolored torso, being careful to make sure she didn't go high enough to notice the knife wound. It was only a scar now but he still didn't need her worrying about that. "I uh, tripped down the stairs. Bloody clumsy move. Just 'bout healed up now, though."

Her fingers ran delicately over his skin, so light he could barely feel it. Little tingles of heat spiraled delicately through him like magic, Buffy's fingers gliding as her eyes scanned searchingly. There was so much sweet distress on her face Spike wanted to kiss her again.

"You fell down the stairs?" There was no accusation or dubiousness in her voice, and considering she didn't know who he was in history, he wasn't surprised. If she was aware of his vampire makeup she'd be giving him a third degree by now.

"Yeah," he studied her fretful, downturned face. No one worried over him. He hadn't had anyone, let alone a woman, to show the concern that Buffy was showing right now. It made his chest tighten. "I'll be okay, Buffy."

Her eyes snapped up to his for the first time since she'd gotten a look at his bruises. She looked slightly embarrassed, right along with determined and troubled. "Did you go to a doctor?"

He frowned. "Well... no. They're just bruised, s'nothin a doc can do anyhow."

She scowled and brushed her fingertips against one of the bruises again. "What if they're broken, you could puncture a lung or something."

"They're not broken, Buffy."

Her forehead creased with lines of disapproval, and just when he thought she might argue again, instead she said, "Well you should at least wrap them or something."

He smirked. "I've been in worse shape than this before, kitten. I heal quick an you don' wrap somethin that isn't broken."

That frown of hers was so cute Spike had to bend to kiss her right over the lines denting her forehead. "The bruisin will be gone soon, love." That was true, he'd probably be completely healed in a day or two. Of course, he couldn't quite tell her that.

She let his shirt fall back into place and kissed him chastely on the mouth. "Okay," Buffy murmured. "But no falling down steps anymore," she ordered.

Spike chuckled. "Not plannin on it, Goldilocks," he replied, and then kissed her again.

They stayed that way, in the sweet embrace for a few minutes, before Buffy pulled back reluctantly for air. As Spike watched her breathing against his chest, his useless lungs sucked in air he didn't need but sought all the same. The human and the vampire, a novel and surreal thought, even worse when it was true. She was so alive, almost too much, Spike thought. Because every time he was around her, he soaked up the sensation and swore his heart might be beating for her.

His human heartbeat, a small girl filled with life and a whole lot of grief to match. Spike absently traced a thumb over a dark circle beneath one of her eyes, and he felt pure concern flow through him. With a little niggle at the back of his mind urging him to ask, Spike said, "Have you been sleepin well, Buffy?"

She looked up dazedly, and then bit her lip when her brain sorted out his words. Should she tell him about the nightmares... she didn't want him worrying. There wasn't anything he could really do about them.

She settled for something close to the truth. "Yes... and no. Sometimes I get crappy dreams but, they're just dreams, right? They'll pass."

He frowned at her offhanded answer that clashed directly with the way she averted her eyes, and the way she shrugged. A movement which was supposed to be casual but ended up cramped and awkward. He touched her chin, encouraging her to face him. "Sometimes?"

She could lie to him, but he'd probably just see straight through it anyway. Shit. "Okay," she relented. "Often. Almost every night... but it's not like they'll never go away." She smiled positively, trying to make the worry on his face disappear. "It's no big deal."

"If you can't get sleep it's a big deal," he claimed.

"I can get sleep. I get plenty of sleep." She turned around and started for her house, absentmindedly shaking off the chill that fell on her when their contact broke. "As a matter of fact it's probably a good thing I get the nightmares, otherwise I'd never get out of bed," she joked.

It didn't fool him. Spike was at her heels and he was concerned. Deeply. Which bothered him, especially considering he couldn't do anything about bloody dreams. The unease wouldn't lessen. "How long have you had them, Buffy?"

She shrugged casually again. "Since the fire."

He halted abruptly. "You've had nightmares every night... for months."

"Not every night," She said, then sighed loudly and turned towards him, a weary look coming over her features. "Spike look, I can't do anything about them, okay. And I don't want to medicate. So stop looking at me like I'm some charity case, they'll..." Buffy waved a careless hand and looked at the ground. "They'll go away in time."

Spike agreed, but it didn't mean he had to like it. And it didn't mean he couldn't try to help her.

She didn't back away when he approached, and she let him wrap her in a hug. A tight, warm embrace that she allowed herself to burrow into. Tears stung slightly behind her closed eyelids, but there was no reason to cry and she didn't want to. She just wanted to be comforted, without water works or sniffles.

"You know," Spike murmured, "you can talk to me about them if you want, love. I won't turn you away."

She nodded against him, and that was all the response he needed. When the light in the living room of Buffy's house went off, it spurred her attention to the fact that she should probably get inside. She didn't want Grams going to bed without knowing she was home.

She stepped out of his arms, sighing silently. With a gentle smile at Spike, she said, "I guess I should get inside. We've been standing out her for awhile now."

That brought a sinful smirk to his lips. "We've been a bit busy."

Buffy blushed, remembering the kisses and forcing her heartbeat back to normal, even when Spike's grin widened, almost as if he'd heard it.

He leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers in a soft but sensual contact, pulling away before they both could let it deepen. "Goodnight, Goldilocks."

"Goodnight, Spike." Buffy turned again and started up the stairs to the house, pausing at the screen door when her guy called her name.

"Be sure to call if... well, for any bloody reason, really," he said. His smile was warm, endearing to her, and all tenderness and boyish welcome.

"I will," she said with a grin of her own.

"Even if you don' have a reason, love," he added. "M'always home and- Oh, balls." He stopped suddenly and sighed. Loudly. The man's head leaned back and he groaned at the sky.

"What is it?" Buffy asked.

"I've got some friends stayin with me..." Spike wiped a hand over his face. "A couple of which I believe you've already met."

"Oh." She thought of the two men at the diner, Blake and Dylan. Were those Spike's only visiting friends? She wondered if he would revoke his invitation now. A cold disappointment touched her; and she wondered if he'd do it because of his friends being a possible embarrassment, or HER.

Buffy's question was answered the next moment, though, when Spike gave her an apologetic look and said, "If you come by, kitten, your company's much appreciated. Probly the only thing that'll keep me from blowin my own head off over there. But I warn you, m'friends are... well, they're ridiculous an very well might irritate the hell out a you."

She made a small sound of amusement. "Seems like you have a very high opinion of these guys, Spike."

"No," he said, ignoring her sarcasm. "I actually bloody do, they're good blokes, just..."

"Embarrassing?" she ventured, grinning and laughing when Spike groaned again.

"Yeah, that's the best word to describe it, I s'pose."

She nodded. "Well thanks for the warning, I'll keep it in mind." She opened the screen door and then the next, about to step inside when she turned back to him and added, "But it's not gonna scare me away, Spike."

He grinned. "Knew it wouldn't, love."

><

The smoke was black, she couldn't find her way, could barely see. A long hallway with no end, numerous doors that wouldn't open on each side. The sounds of pleas for help echoing in her ears, pleas she heard at night but had never actually known. Turmoil engulfed her and sickness planted itself in her gut.

Her feet frantically moved over a hot floor, the air was too thick and she felt like she was suffocating but she couldn't collapse. She wasn't breathing but her body kept fighting, and yet, the pain didn't stop. Like drowning with no end. The hallway was infinite, as were the screams in the darkness.

Her hands grabbed frantically at doorknobs as she ran to the people calling for help. Each one was locked, nothing would budge. Her shoulders ached from trying to bang into unyielding doors, because she swore someone was crying and screaming behind each one.

Tears spilled from her eyes and she burned her fingers when she touched a scalding door handle. This was the one. Her mother's pleading voice begged from the other side. Buffy heard her.

"Mom! Mom, it's okay! I'm here!" she screamed against hot wood, throwing herself into the door even as her shoulders screamed their own soundless misery. Buffy rattled the doorknob until it threatened to break off, begged for it to turn and open, no matter that she knew flames would be roaring on the other side. She just had to get in.

Her mother's tears were in her mouth, the smell of smoke surrounding her, her vision a blur. She couldn't see a thing. She had no idea where Papa was, all she knew was that her mom was here. She had to help her now, then she could go and-

The door disappeared.

"Mom!" Her desperate shriek was met with sudden silence, then she was falling. Buffy's throat hurt but no sound came out. An endless pull of gravity, unforgiving, the floor unseen.

An orange and red glow came into sight amidst the ever thickening smoke, and she realized flames were her awaiting ground. Her cheeks singed from the fire's heat, her lungs gave out and a stabbing pain engulfed her chest; all the while she fell.

She woke up on the floor, gasping for air that felt foreign. She sucked in breath after shaky breath and her limbs quivered. It wasn't real.

Her mind rolled in on itself, remembering every minute detail. She still couldn't breathe right. Her eyes were spilling over, salt was in her mouth.

"Shh," the sound whispered in her ear with urgency. Buffy flinched as arms surrounded her, a comforting cold embrace she knew. She shook beneath the large form of a man, and he murmured to her in a voice all too familiar.

"Shh, it's alright. You're alright Buffy, it was only a dream." Spike held her closer. His unbeating heart breaking as he watched her crying, thrown out of her nightmare and onto the floor.

Buffy didn't fight him, she couldn't even if she wanted to. In the aftermath of these nightmares she was often an incoherent mess. The crying lasted until her head cleared enough for her to understand the world again, and right now she was only aware of Spike. He was there. She could lean on him.

It would be okay.

He managed to arrange her on his lap, and he leaned against the wall hoping her grandmother wouldn't hear anything and come in. He held Buffy with a protective concern the likes of which millions would envy. Anyone who could see the way he clutched her then, knew; one arm around her back while a hand cradled her head against his shoulder. He murmured to her in soothing tones, shushing and leaving kisses in her hair and on her forehead.

She just wouldn't stop shaking. It was almost worse than the tears. She was literally trembling and Spike felt near helpless. He just had to give her time to calm down, and be thankful that her breathing had evened out now.

Bad dreams she had told him. No big deal, they didn't come every night.

Bollocks.

After leaving earlier he'd decided to do a patrol, look to see if Flora was around, and then come back to Buffy's and watch over her while she slept. Just for a little while, until morn.

He hadn't even thought about his plan, it felt like instinct. Without second guessing himself and refusing to go back to his place and deal with a million questions, Spike hadn't even decided to go back to Buffy. He simply did. It wasn't a choice but an occurrence.

Approaching her open window at the sound of her whimpering was a kind of fear Spike hadn't experienced before. He couldn't see what was causing her distress until he'd reached the windowsill, and then he'd paused for a mere second in shock before lunging inside her room just as she'd hit the floor.

He was torn between relief that it was only a nightmare and not something physical which had harmed her, and then grief over that same fact. Her heart was breaking every time she had these dreams and God only knew how many times she'd fallen out of bloody bed during them. Tossing and turning, strangling her legs beneath quilts, sweating ice.

It was something Spike couldn't stop and therefore it was disconcerting. Buffy as the victim made it fucking terrifying.

He held her tighter. She was chilled, but warming quickly.

Her cries quieted, then silence was the only company to her breathing and silent teardrops along her cheeks. Buffy realized exactly where she was. The cool air of her bedroom, Grams' house. Spike was holding her, the smoke was gone, no smoke had ever been. No endless hallway. No screams or flames.

Her head jerked up, and green reddened eyes stared into Spike's icy blue. The look on his face was almost too much, and his gaze glistened with tears. Their foreheads touched. So close. She could feel his cool breath. He was always so cold but Buffy felt warm. It was beyond strange, and her mind didn't feel like studying the thought.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice sounded weak even to her ears, and she held back a cringe. Vulnerability and her were not good friends.

"You said you had nightmares..." was Spike's tentative answer. He let out a pointless exhale and tugged her impossibly closer. "I came back a lil while after I left, to check on you. I saw you thrashin on the bed, your window was open. Came in when you hit the floor."

Buffy's lip trembled mutinously and her heart skipped a beat. Her voice was shaky as she asked, "Why did you do that?"

The question seemed ridiculously simple to answer, but at the same time it was extremely difficult. By impulse, desire, and instinct Spike sought to prevent harm from coming to her. So, almost with offense, he answered, "I wasn't just gonna let you lie there twistin in the sheets."

Buffy swallowed. She wriggled in his grasp and sat up. "You came back just to... watch me while I slept?" She peered at him with puffy hazel eyes, questions abound in the irises that still shone with residual moisture.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Was just gonna check in on you. Didn't 'spect your window to be open, or for you to fall out of the bloody bed." Irritation grew. These dreams were a much bigger deal than Buffy had first clarified. At least to Spike they were.

She felt an argumentative stir at his reproving tone. "The nightmares are not usually this bad. And I like to sleep with the window open when it isn't too cold out."

Spike glowered at her. "You flew out of bed, Buffy."

She stiffened. "Well, take it up with my subconscious, Spike." She tried to push away from him but he held fast.

"I'm not sayin it's your fault."

"Good. Because it sure as hell isn't."

He released a mental sigh, and gave her a considering look. "Will you do me a favor?"

Buffy relaxed marginally and turned away. She didn't want to be angry or upset, and the melancholy which her nightmare had delivered set her close to tears even if she had already sobbed quite a few out. In a weary tone, she answered him. "Okay."

"Let me stay with you."

She met his eyes, a hundred questions suddenly materializing. "What? Y-You mean like here, i-in my room?"

He nodded.

Nerves bombarded her quicker than a whip. He couldn't mean... No. He wouldn't, not right now. Buffy shook her head. The mere thought was ridiculous, and she refused to acknowledge the tingle in her veins caused from where her mind had just went. "W-Why?" she stuttered.

He smiled knowingly, guessing exactly where Buffy's thoughts had ventured. As incorrect, and yet tempting at the same time, as they were, he wasn't going to move in on her. Not tonight. He just wanted to see her get some rest. "You might sleep sounder if someone's... nearby."

Was that a twinkle of amusement in his eyes? Was she blushing? Buffy swallowed. As much as she hated being vulnerable or weak, Spike's presence was comfort in the best possible package. A huge part of her rebelled against this idea, yet still, she sat there. In his arms, warm and... safe. It was so unfamiliar a feeling that she wanted to turn around and rage at the things which had stolen it away from her to begin with. The past, the dreams, the fire. But one couldn't fight a ghost of unfortunate events and memories.

Spike didn't press her for an answer, and it was over a full minute before he received a jerky nod.

Standing without putting her down, Spike ignored Buffy's halfhearted protest that she wasn't five, and carried her bridal style to the bed. Setting her on the quilts, he surreptitiously nuzzled his face into her hair too quickly for her to notice, and then pulled back. The warmth of her form beat like a drum on him. He missed holding her weight immediately once he'd released her.

Spike swiped a pillow quicker than a blink, and then one of the ten blankets from underneath her legs. Buffy just watched him, silent and confused as he sat on the floor and, with a casual drop of the pillow, straightened out. Putting one hand behind his head, he lay there. Still and on the ground as if he might just be ready to sleep, with a quilt that was too small to cover even half of him, and a squashed pillow.

Spike looked at her, and Buffy frowned. "What are you doing?"

He frowned back. "What do you mean?"

She gestured at his splayed out form and pursed her lips in annoyance. Was he supposed to sleep down there? Was she wrong to assume he'd share the bed with her? It was large enough. Well, they'd have to sleep close but still, no way was she letting him rest on the hard wooden floor of her bedroom. Especially when he was only staying here for her. "You're on the floor."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

She scowled at him. "You're not sleeping on the floor, Spike."

He sat up on one elbow. "I'll be leavin by mornin, pet. Unless, of course," he gave her a smirk that only managed to set her teeth on edge due to the fact that she felt awkward and knew she was blushing, "you don' mind your Grams findin me in here when she rises. Might scare the color back into her gray hair, whattya think?"

Ignoring that comment, she sent a glare his way and then waved her hand futilely at his resting place again. "I don't care if you are leaving soon, I don't want you sleeping on the floor!"

Spike's expression of pleasure at her flustered state changed then. He gave her an almost daring look, but it was gentler than that. He was asking a question with his eyes that underscored his vocal one. "Where should I sleep then?"

Buffy looked around the room. There was no furniture asides from one small wooden chair, her chest of drawers, and... well, not much else. She could have moved other things into her room, but the space wasn't that large and honestly, what would she need to move in? She was fine with things the way they were, and she liked the openness and the color of the wallpaper.

But there was absolutely no other place for a protective bleached Brit to sleep, and she didn't mind the thought of him sharing her bed, but she was afraid at this point that HE did.

Buffy glanced at him. "Well, um..."

*Oh, just bite the damn bullet.*

She sighed.

And bit. "We can share the bed."

His eyes snapped with amazement, but she didn't see it because she was avoiding his gaze specifically. Spike wasn't going to embarrass her any more than she already was, and though that blush was oh so pretty, he wanted Buffy to look at him again without guarded hesitance.

She felt more than heard him move, standing up and dropping the pillow back on her bed. He set the quilt down by her leg and then lifted the others, and Buffy moved without having to be asked. She snuggled beneath the blankets as he stripped off his duster and hung it on the short wooden bedpost, sliding in next to her a moment after.

Before she had a chance to mentally curse herself for mentioning the bed, or accepting his offer to stay with her until morning, he destroyed her rigid worry over how the hell she was supposed to fall asleep without touching him in this confined space. Slipping a strong arm around Buffy's waist, Spike hugged her; not too close, not too slack. "No funny business, love," he assured. "M'just gonna watch over you."

She let out a soft sigh, and relaxed in his arms. The support he offered was addicting; and as ridiculous as the notion was, she felt like bombs could be going off outside and Spike's simple presence would hold them at bay.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy inhaled his scent, something masculine and dark that she couldn't describe but knew undoubtedly that she didn't want to share. Unwittingly letting go of her worries, she burrowed into his chest and smiled thankfully when he tightened his hold.

Placing her hand on his ribcage, mistaking his shudder for a wince, she gentled her touch and said, "And you wanted to sleep on the floor with your ribs like this. Stupid Brit."

Spike worked on ignoring his rather heated reaction to her closeness, and asked. "Did you just call me a stupid Brit?"

She nodded in the affirmative, and looked up at him with a glint in her eye. He was so glad she was smiling rather than crying, and even happier that she'd let him stay. "Yep," she said.

Spike couldn't help but grin. "Get some sleep, kitten." He drew the blankets up higher.

With another nod, Buffy settled. Whenever her dreams woke her up in the middle of the night, she was always aggrieved to have to go back to bed, worried that they would start again. But now there was no fear, no worry that she would wake up gasping or crying.

She dozed off quickly, and deep sleep finally came after so long of having evaded her.

Spike didn't sleep. He didn't shut his eyes or let his gaze linger from Buffy. He watched her breathe evenly, held her warm soft weight in his grasp and mentally waged war against her nightmares. When she stirred once and a little line of distress appeared between her brows, he smoothed it with his fingertip, and murmured nonsense to her until she calmed.

It was peaceful, the rest of the hours that went by. Only when Spike sensed the oncoming threat of sunrise did he force himself to separate from her. She protested weakly in her sleep as he stretched and moved away, and it nearly undid him. There was something fundamentally right about holding her, letting Buffy sleep near him. It brought focus to some feelings he wasn't yet ready to examine, and underlined the protectiveness he already felt towards her.

After he slipped on his coat, Spike bent to leave a kiss on her lips. It was light, but he felt the smallest of pressures from her, as if she'd sensed the action in her sleep, and returned it.

He inhaled her scent, listening to the comforting sound of a human heartbeat he didn't like to think of ever stopping.

Pulling away reluctantly, he whispered, "Sweet dreams, Buffy."

With a heavy heart, the vampire left, feeling bereft when the freedom to hold his girl was taken away from him.

Spike's mind wandered quietly, searchingly. His thoughts carried a sadness with them, and as he was trying to flog off the gloomy feelings, he allowed his thoughts to be weaved around the girl he'd left sleeping sound.

He missed her.

It had only been ten minutes, the sun was rising, and instead of running his arse home to prevent ashy-Spike, he was simply walking and thinking.

Remembering, really. About his first time seeing Buffy, at the store in town. That sadness in her eyes that never quite quit, the smile that shone brighter than a beacon. Tripping her at the library (not completely on accident), having glaring contests with her and then friendly hellos at different intervals. Reading, knowing she was always close, remembering when that git had come in and hit on her right in front of him. Their recent fight, learning her name-

Spike paused, mentally shaking himself. *Elizabeth.*

Buffy had first introduced herself as 'Elizabeth' to that bloke who'd returned her wallet.

Well, damn.

How could he have forgotten hearing that name? It sure as hell was a lot more normal than 'Buffy.'

But maybe that was why he'd forgotten it.

He continued walking. Elizabeth was a beautiful name, but... regular; not as unique as Buffy actually was as a person. She clearly hadn't enjoyed that wanker's advances, the one who'd called her by her proper name so long ago. And Spike now knew that giving the name to anyone was rather unimportant to her.

Perhaps it was how she kept a distance from people. And maybe, it was also a part of the reason why Spike had drawn the conclusion that it was SHE who Blake was talking about at the diner. He'd subconsciously remembered the title 'Elizabeth.'

Yet, 'Buffy' was the one she kept mostly to herself.

Spike grinned, distracted as he stumbled over a rock. He felt like a halfwit teenager with a crush. She'd told HIM her favored name, the very first time they'd actually had a conversation.

Suddenly, the vampire's forlorn thoughts were slipping away. He refused to dwell on any deeper imbedded feelings. He refused to worry at all, for right now, he was happy. It wasn't often he could let himself soak that emotion up.

So, Spike sped home to avoid the sun, with a smile gracing his smirking lips.

><

She woke up alone.

Now, as familiar as she was with waking up to a bed... with just HER in it, a missing Spike was still disconcerting.

Partially because it was so unwelcomed. She knew he'd planned on leaving before sunrise, and while it was an intelligent decision considering Grams could walk in and see him (Buffy so didn't want to have to explain that), the girl, though well rested, felt lonely for his presence.

With a subconscious pout, yet determined not to start her day off with a despondent mind, Buffy slipped out of bed and stretched. The room was quiet, looking at the clock on her nightstand she saw that it was ten o'clock. The sun shone brightly from the still open window. A breeze so gentle it felt wielded by butterfly wings drifted through to caress her shoulders.

Shivering, and deciding to brush the sweaters off of her teeth, Buffy headed to the bathroom.

She ran into Grams.

"Mornin' dear."

The girl halted, and scowled, staring into her grandmother's eyes with an unasked question on her lips.

She held up a finger to tell Grams to hold on, and went back into her room. Picking up the clock, Buffy returned to Anne's side with it and pointed at the hour hand.

"It's ten in the morning."

The old woman nodded, raising a thin eyebrow at her granddaughter. "I'm aware of that."

Buffy shook her head and rubbed her tired eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, sugar, I live here." She folded the washcloth she'd just used to dry her hands, frowning slightly over her shoulder. "Or have you forgotten?"

"You're never home in the mornings."

"Ain't true," Anne declared, hands now on hips. "I'm home often enough in the mornin', s'just that I haven't been lately."

Buffy blinked, and then shrugged. She set the little clock down on the bathroom counter and grabbed her toothbrush from its cup. She retrieved the toothpaste as well and said, "Do you remember me coming into your room last night to say goodnight?"

She saw Grams nod in the mirror.

"You were half asleep, so I wasn't sure," Buffy said.

A warm smile lit Anne's countenance. "I'm always pretty aware of things, darlin. Not much gets passed me."

Buffy spit out a mouthful of toothpaste and blushed at the look she got from her grandma. Did she know something? Had she heard Spike come in last night? Buffy hoped not.

She didn't want to think about it. Shoving both her anxieties and her toothbrush aside, she rinsed.

"So what's on your agenda for today?" Grams asked.

Buffy ran a hand through her bed head, deciding a shower would be the first thing on her to-do list. Then... "I'll have work later tonight."

Grams almost walked into the doorframe, as she had been about to go through it when Buffy dropped that tidbit of information. "You'll what now?"

Buffy smiled, trying and failing to not let self-consciousness show. "I got a job yesterday at Leonard's Place." She shrugged tightly. "He hired me on the spot, it's why I got home so late." *Along with one other reason,* Buffy silently added. Spike was distracting- to say the least -when it came to his mouth.

Grams blinked a few times, the shock evident. "You do know that I didn't mean you had to get a job immediately after I mentioned it, right darlin? Because I'll go and talk to Leo if-"

Buffy cut her off. "No, Grams. It's okay. I- I know that you didn't mean to..." She waved her hands vaguely. "It's okay. This is... good for me. Leonard's nice and-"

"He better be," Anne declared, the seriousness in her tone halting Buffy's words. "If he isn't he'll have ta deal with me, an believe it when I say he doesn't want that."

She held back a grin. Ah Grams, always protective. Buffy had no doubt that yes, Leonard would not want to deal with a pissed off Anne Summers. "Relax," she said. "He's very nice, and so is the waitress who trained me. Harriet? Do you know her?"

Anne squinted for a moment in thought, then nodded. "Oh yeah, she's a sweetheart, that one."

Buffy had to agree. "Yup. And thanks to her, I've already got a handle on waitressing again..." She chewed her bottom lip. "I think. The people are..." she searched for the right word, "chatty. But kind, and patient. I'm okay over there."

Grams eyed her for a minute, and Buffy could see the wheels turning in her head. Trying to gauge feelings, wondering if she'd need to threaten anyone to make sure her granddaughter was treated well at the diner, in town, everywhere. Then, with a little smile, "Alright," she said, "So long as you're comfortable."

Buffy bit her tongue to prevent the full truth of her feelings, about her dislike for the average talky customer, from spilling out. Instead, she nodded, and then answered in the affirmative to Grams' offer of eggs and bacon. She walked back into her room to retrieve her work blouse, scrunching her nose at the wrinkled state it was in. She never took it out of her bag last night, unfortunately.

Knowing she needed to wash it and- Oh good, the tag said dryer safe -then planning on eating breakfast before catching a shower, Buffy headed to the kitchen.

It was nice to not be so exhausted. She felt rather refreshed actually. She might have woken up to bad dreams, but only once, and then Spike was there and...

It was baffling, she thought, as she mechanically measured out detergent to start a load of laundry in the back porch off the kitchen. Her actions were focused but absentminded. Her mind trained thoroughly on what Spike had done for her; she'd never met someone like him.

He'd not only come back to check on her, but instead of waking up on the cold floor after the nightmare, she had come back to herself in his arms. He'd actually climbed through her window to hold her, and then he'd stayed.

Buffy shook her head, puzzlement on her face as she marveled over the man's actions. She shut the lid on the washer and pressed a couple of buttons before resting her hands on the flat surface. Her mind was in weird swirling patterns, thoughts mixed in with emotions. Feelings blooming and growing, a nagging ache in her heart when she tried to ignore them.

Spike was just getting so close, but Buffy didn't have it in her to shut him out anymore. She probably hadn't since their kind-of-a-date with the kissage in the attic. She wouldn't even try at this point to separate from him. Not only wouldn't he let her, but she craved his company. And she loved and wanted the comfort she felt when she was around him.

Thinking about it now, and letting loose a breath of shock with the revelation, she didn't believe she'd ever slept as soundly as she had last night. Especially not since the fire. She'd been way too tired to think much about how Spike made her feel last night; the safety and security, the rightness about it. The warmth. She wanted him to hold her again, because as much as he'd seen her vulnerability last night- something Buffy still couldn't quite think about without inwardly grimacing -he'd also given her strength.

Being the least bit dependent on anything had always made her feel like she was in an open void, exposed to danger. But Spike... He showed her it was okay. A little danger could leave you with gifts wrapped in black leather.

Buffy sighed after a shudder went through her. Her thoughts were cycling, and treading on uncomfortable ground. It was time to take a break from Spike-reflection for awhile.

Or at least try.

><

He was dreaming. Sunshine colored hair, her face, her touch. Buffy's laughter filtered through his ears, and Spike was smiling.

Holding onto her, the imprint of her body pressed up against him, while his blood felt like it was running. His heart felt like it beat.

She ran a hand gently through his hair, smiling in a way that made his useless breath catch. He could only see her face, the rest of her was immersed in sunlight; yet Spike could tell from the fabric beneath his fingertips that she was wearing that dress. Her waist expanded with every inhale beneath his hands, Buffy's heartbeat thumped reassuringly in his ears.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers and her smile grew. She leaned upwards, nuzzling his nose with her own before meeting his lips for a kiss. Sweetness burned him. His hands glided upwards over her back, where his palms caressed smooth, warm skin.

They broke apart much too soon for his liking, but his lips eagerly went to her throat. Her blood pumped steadily beneath the surface, a liquid treasure he wanted to taste. Before he had a chance to urge his demon down, he heard her voice.

"Do it."

Spike pulled back, shock painted on his face. But when he met her warm, reassuring eyes, all doubts and questions slowly dissipated. He read in her gaze the acceptance there, the love, the trust. He nodded instead of trying to speak around the tightness in his throat. His lips feathered along her neck.

She gasped softly at the touch of his tongue, and his hold tightened. Spike pulled her flush against him, his grip becoming desperate and he told himself over and over again not to hurt her. He wanted to consume her, wanted to bind her to him forever, never let her go.

She was giving him that.

His fangs descended gratefully. The demon howled, its yearning a roar in his ears. Spike's heart shot up into his throat as he pierced her skin, and the instant before her blood met his tongue, he woke up.

Or more accurately, was woken up.

With ice water.

"Bloody hell!" He scrambled back from the wave. Ace, Rex, and Blake stood at the foot of his bed, the first holding a now half empty bucket.

The rest of that bucketful was soaking Spike's bed. And Spike.

"Morning asshole," Blake announced, his gaze very unsympathetic.

Wide blue eyes blinked, and then Spike glowered at the three of them. The remnants of his dream rippled through his focusing mind, and the beginnings of a growl started in the depths of his throat.

Claiming. Somewhere, at some point in time, he had read about the ancient act. So long ago, in fact, that it might have even been before he was turned. His subconscious had finally decided to remind him of it; and now, with water soaking his sheets and his fangs itching, Spike had a thousand questions on something he knew barely anything about. Something the demon inside him apparently- innately -knew of, all too well.

He glared even harder at his friends. "What the-"

"Fuck are we doing?" Ace interjected. "Waking you up."

Blake smiled, meanly. "You snuck in after we'd already gone to bed. And personally, none of us were too pleased that you'd decided to stay gone until morning, leaving all of US with the research."

"And the cat," Rex added.

"AND the worrying," Ace contributed, his gaze scolding. "With this Flora chick, Spike, what were you thinking staying out the entire night without telling us where you were?"

"What the hell were you doing at a human's house, anyway?"

Spike turned sharply at Rex's question. The array of proclamations had all just fallen short to that last one. "How'd you know where I was?"

"Well, after we found you on the map," Blake began, "we had to go check and make sure you weren't lying under a lead weighted net, now didn't we?"

Spike's eyes turned to slits, the blue diamond hard. His irked demon was suddenly prowling within a tiny cage. "You followed me," he growled, so softly his words could have almost been called a whisper.

He noticed Blake's eyes turn swiftly wary, his empath abilities obviously picking up on the dangerous vibes coming from the vampire in bed. Rex stood stone faced, his arms crossed over a wide chest, and Ace raised an eyebrow. "We came after you when it had been a few hours, and we saw the house you stayed at. We assumed..." Black eyes narrowed. "You stay with that diner girl, Spike?"

Ace and the other two were backing up a split second later, Spike striding forward threateningly until he'd forced them to the door. His nudity went ignored, and his eyes were flashing amber as he tried to control an unfathomable territorial impulse. His demon was on the edge of a fence, ready to pounce at friend or foe as he guarded an angel behind him.

Blake stepped forward first when they'd finally met with the wall. Staring into Spike's granite face and before the vampire could speak, he said, "Reign it in, man. We were just looking for you. Once we got there and knew you were inside, we left."

He bit back another growl and his nostrils flared. Turning abruptly, Spike headed for his chest of drawers. Wondering idly, and with aggravation, why he hadn't sensed his friends last night.

It bothered him. He should have known they were there.

He was slipping into a pair of Levis when Ace spoke up. "Look, we were worried about you, which is why we did the locater spell. If you hadn't been gone so long we would've let you be."

Spike's fists clenched, and he resisted an urge to release his fangs. "And I wouldn't have woken up to a cold shower this mornin, I take it?"

"It's four in the afternoon, and no, you wouldn't have." Rex released a breath and added, "Kinda looked like you needed it for a minute there, though, with the tent in the sheets."

Ace, throwing a scolding look at the thunderbird, went to the bathroom to empty the bucket of water in his hands. Blake glanced at Spike as he passed. "He isn't tense because of the water thing," Blake said, "But m'sure it didn't help any."

Rex, raising an eyebrow at the rigid vampire who stood toweling his hair not far away, asked, "Why exactly is he tense then, oh intelligent one?"

Blake grinned, "Do you think he's always been..." the empath rolled his shoulders in faux contemplation with a sigh, "the possessive sort, Rex?"

He sniffed. "What, you're talking about this diner girl?"

Blake bit back a chuckle when he saw Spike tense further, and knew he had honed into their conversation, was listening intently to each response and word coming from their mouths. "Precisely."

Rex squinted, and Blake caught a sudden almost playful glint enter the other man's eyes. Then challenge followed the glint with a twinkle.

Humming thoughtfully, stare trained on Spike, Rex said, "She must be pretty special, huh? Wonder if I'll be meetin her anytime soon."

Blake grinned at the prod. "Maybe you will," he responded. "It is a small town, after all."

"And we know where she lives now, too. Could pay a neighborly visit-"

Rex was on the floor and struggling beneath a fully fanged, snarling vampire a heartbeat later. He and Spike wrestled, one party fighting with simple irritation, and the demon on top ready to spill blood.

"What the hell are you idiots doing?!"

"Relax." Blake waved Ace off when he came storming back into the room, before approaching the rolling pile of limbs to extract Rex easily. He shoved Spike off as the vamp went for him again, and said, "He was only joking, Spike."

"None of you go near her, is that understood." This gruff demand/not-so-much-a-question cut through the air, and even though his friends still looked both shocked and amused over his protectiveness for a random human girl, there was respect in their eyes.

Rex, smothering a laugh, straightened and nodded with something close to a smile, while Ace reaffirmed Blake's nod with a verbal agreement; and he wasn't grinning with mirth like the empath.

Deciding his point had been made, Spike tensely walked out of his bedroom and made his way downstairs. He noticed Dylan in the living room, sitting on the couch as he worked on the computer.

"Spike?"

"What?" he snapped. His mood wasn't the prettiest.

Dylan ignored his tone and held up a ball of fur over his head. Green eyes blinked, and a meow was heard. "She keeps climbing all over my keyboard, will you please take her?"

Spike smiled oh so reluctantly as he grabbed up his little pet, and rolled his eyes when she immediately started to purr. The only one he could stand in this house was a bloody feline, what did that say about his friends anyway?

Entering the kitchen, he saw Stevo and rolled his eyes again when he noticed the annoyance on the other man's face.

"Don't look at me like that."

"You couldn't even call."

"With what, my lighter?" He put the cat on the countertop and grabbed a can of food from the overhead cabinet.

Stevo grumbled something in a language Spike was sure was of mixed dialects, and flipped a page in the book he had open.

Suddenly, the memory of what he had wanted to do for Buffy and her nightmares came back full force- along with the confusing, primitive memory of his dream. His blood started to simmer, lust and longing threatened to rear their torturous heads. But Spike decided he'd try and take care of what he knew he could at the moment; and he eyed the gypsy journal his friend was scanning through.

Averting his contemplating stare, Spike asked, "Could you make a charm?"

Stevo looked up, and raised an eyebrow at the abrupt question.

The vamp sighed as he set out the kitten chow. "One for keepin away nightmares."

The man on his left turned and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he frowned at him. "Are you having bad dreams?"

"Ain't me, it's for..." he sighed, knowing what would come after he said this, "a friend."

Stevo hummed, and replied, "For the girl you stayed out with all night?"

Spike fought off a groan, and instead slanted Stevo a look of ice. "Yes, and before you start thinkin I was ditchin you lot to-"

"Oh, I already do, but I'm guessing you're about to explain HOW you weren't out last night with a woman while we worked and argued until five thirty. Not to mention, hunting you down to make sure you weren't ash, in between."

Spike grit his teeth, closing his eyes to try and regain some semblance of patience. "I need a charm for nightmares, can you make one or not?"

"For who?"

"You bloody well know who!"

"This Elizabeth girl?" Stevo raised a brow. "Funny. Thought you didn't care much about humans, William."

Spike growled low in his throat, and then took a step forward. "Look, m'not sorry I skipped out on all a you last night, I had somethin to take care of- And no," he held up a hand to halt Stevo's interruption, "I wasn't gettin shagged. Believe it or not, I was helpin out a friend. And I need a charm, now will you soddin make one or not?"

Stevo narrowed his eyes, studying Spike and the vamp's apparent sincerity without veil. He was trying to read him, which usually, since Spike was a master at trying to hide his feelings, wasn't the easiest thing to do unless you were Blake.

Stevo finally sighed, deciding to believe the frustrating Billy Idol wannabe, and nodded. "Yeah. I can make a charm. It won't take away all dreams, just ones with negative or upsetting results to the body and mind."

Obviously. Spike knew that stopping dreaming altogether was out of the question, that sent people into insanity. But bad dreams... they were something that could be knocked out. "It won't hurt the person, you can make it so there's no side effects, right?" He still had to ask.

Stevo nodded again, going to one of the cabinets and retrieving some herbs he knew they had on hand. "It will be harmless, and fortunately, I think you have everything needed."

Inwardly, Spike let out a breath of relief. "How long will it take?"

"I can have it finished by tonight."

"Good."

He moved to the refrigerator to get a bloodbag, and Stevo asked, "What do you want it on?"

He paused, his hand on the fridge door. "Think a bracelet'll do? S'just a simple chain... s'got a stone on it."

"That will work," Stevo answered, and he started setting out some empty bowls before grabbing his journal on the other side of the counter from across the stove. He put a bookmark in place between large, thin pages, and then went searching for the spells he would need towards the beginning of the book. "So," he said, "your girl has trouble sleeping, then?"

His girl. Spike liked the sound of that. And even though he didn't exactly like having to tell Stevo about Buffy's nightmares, he couldn't deny anything at this point. He needed the charm; and even if he'd lied and said it was for him or some random stranger rather than the unknown "diner girl," He knew Stevo would have figured out the truth in a heartbeat. "Yeh. She uh... she does."

Stevo caught Spike ducking his head, and the look of discomfort on his face. "It's why you stayed out last night, isn't it?" Although a question, his voice made it clear that this guess had been more of a realized fact; and they both knew it.

A sigh but nothing else was confirmation enough for the gypsy. He went back to flipping through his journal. "You try not to let yourself feel, friend; when in reality, you feel more than a lot of humans." He moved back to the herbs and was talking again before Spike could predictably protest. "I'll have the charm finished before nightfall, and I promise it will work for her. All I need is the bracelet."

Spike left the kitchen, planning to retrieve just that.

><

Later, when the bewitching hour finally drifted through, Buffy untied her apron. She'd spent the majority of the day working, and the time before that reading at home and being with Grams. As well as trying to avoid thinking about a certain man with sapphire blue eyes and a smirk that could turn knees to jelly.

She'd almost called him to say hi, but that was before she'd decided he was busy with those friends who were staying with him. And she didn't want to cling, even if she did miss him.

So, she'd focused on being Elizabeth again, as she waited tables and took orders and filled coffee cups. It hadn't been too bad, really. The people questioned her just as much, if not more, but her tips were good. Everyone, polite if not a bit nosy, was patient if she got an order wrong, and Harriet never let that smile droop.

All in all, it wasn't a horrible day, but towards nine she'd started to get very... Her mind had wandered, drifted, gone dark; she'd had to go into the washroom just once to get a hold of herself. Maybe it was because she was tired by that time, or the numerous orders and all of the running around had taken toll on her brain, but she needed a breather.

Now, with her feet sore and the rest of her body ready to hit a mattress- or maybe the spray of a hot shower -Buffy was heading to the back to grab her things and leave.

She didn't work tomorrow, thank God. She needed a break.

Switching shirts quickly, she forced her mind not to zone out. She'd been doing pretty well other than that fallout earlier in the evening, and she didn't want to ruin it. Buffy mentally calculated little things in her head, like her route home, what songs she could listen to while walking, the lure of a bed.

Picking up her bag, she left the restaurant, saying goodnight to Harriet and Leonard on the way out.

She didn't expect to run into anyone just as she was putting in her headphones.

"Spike!

He'd hugged Buffy from behind, and now he was spinning her to face him. She'd only recognized who it was from the leather encased arms which had wrapped firmly about her waist, and now she was breathing hard and trying to calm her heart rate.

"Don't do that!"

Spike chuckled. "Serves you right, Goldilocks. You were walkin home alone." He met her slanted glittering eyes and smirked.

Buffy humphed at his strangely pleased expression, deciding he liked riling her up, and then immediately realizing what he'd just said. "Well, who am I supposed to walk home with, one of the busboys?"

She didn't know what made her say it, because honestly, why would she ever ask anyone to walk her home in this little town? But Buffy took perverse pleasure in the look that came over Spike's face once the words had left her lips.

"You're supposed to let me walk you home," he declared, his brow furrowing.

Ah, more perverse pleasure, especially at the way his hold on her waist had tightened. Buffy smiled. "Well, you weren't here," she replied.

"I'm here now," and he leaned in, claiming her lips for a kiss. His touch burned in an all too much kind of way, and her nerves buzzed. Moaning inaudibly, pressing closer to his body, Buffy dropped her bag.

Spike traced her lips with his tongue and clutched a little tighter when she wrapped her arms around his neck. He almost purred when he felt her nails in his hair, lightly scraping, twining. Her tongue peaked out to play, and he took it between his lips greedily. Sucking and teasing, tasting. He felt every inch of her against his body. A warm blanket, like living flame in his hands.

A shuddering breath escaped when she pulled back, as oxygen was needed, but Spike dove back in half a moment later. Buffy moaned and a whimper caught in her throat, her blood rushing.

He was losing control, carnal urges rising like waves as each second passed. He pulled her closer, higher. He wanted to be inside, he wanted to feel her beneath him. Joined and slick, meeting, their bodies sliding against and into each other. The dame was his, and he wanted to have her. Wanted to show her, touch her, take her.

Instead, Spike pulled back, gasping for unneeded air though it felt anything but. She just made him... Fuck, she made him dizzy. Like a flickering candle flame in the wind. She sent him whirling.

Spike took her hand. "You'll have to give me your work schedule," he murmured.

"Why?" Buffy swallowed as she tried to gather her wits. She broke eye contact with him and took a shaky breath, then met those beautiful pools of blue again when he answered her.

"So I can walk you home at night." Spike smirked a little, and started doing just that. He lead her away from Leonard's Place.

He'd already decided to always walk her home after sunset, and he wasn't budging on that. Of course, he might have to follow her without her knowing sometimes, or call her ahead of time just to find out where she was. He figured Buffy wouldn't be working every night, and he needed to be sure no matter where she was in town, that if it was dark, she wasn't alone.

He'd taken the time to wait and see if Flora was anywhere in sight before he'd joined her just now, and he'd be keeping his senses open to make sure the she-vamp wasn't poking her nose around at all. Once she got brave again, Flora would come back, and possibly with backup. The very last thing he needed was for Buffy to be caught in the middle.

Or God forbid, be used to hurt him.

She looked up when Spike tightened his grip around her fingers, his metal rings warming from the heat of her hand. They'd been walking in silence for a little under five minutes, and it was comfortable, so Buffy didn't break it. It was still comfortable, but she sensed some unease from him now. "You okay?"

He met her eyes and the emotions there startled her. He looked... wholly worried, but then it was gone. Spike masked whatever was there so quickly, that now she wasn't even sure she'd seen it at all.

He pulled her closer as they walked and said, "Everything's fine, lamb." Glancing at her, gaze focusing on her throat, he asked, "Um... ya like jewelry, right?"

Buffy glimpsed down at her locket. Bittersweet memories fought to enter her mind, but instead, she focused on the nice singular one of her mom. Her laughter, her hugs...

Buffy sighed through the nose as a soft smile relaxed her mouth, and she turned back to Spike. "Not particularly, but sorta, yeah."

He cleared his throat, then, awkwardly, reached into one of his duster's pockets. "I've got somethin for you."

Buffy fought back what she was sure would be a very, very wide grin. She'd never seen him look all boyish and nervous, but suddenly, the swaggering, leather wearing Brit with the bleach job was acting like a young teenager on his first date. Buffy could barely keep her "Awe" from coming out.

And then, a gasp she could not contain, was heard in the thin autumn air. He showed her a small silver bracelet. Its chain shiny in the light of a streetlamp, and a beautiful amber stone inlaid in a silver oval with tiny ornate designs. The amber was orange and filled with swirls of brown and gold throughout; the little gem gleamed.

And he was holding it out to her.

"Spike... W-What-"

He cut her off, and oh lord she actually thought she saw a blush. "It's for nightmares," he explained.

She blinked, wide-eyed, up at him. "What?"

He visibly tensed even more than he already was. "One a my friends, he um... He's a gypsy."

Buffy frowned at that. "A gypsy."

Spike shifted, not meeting her eyes. "S'what I just said, ain't it?"

"As in the crystal ball, palm reading sort of gypsy?"

He bit back a smirk and said, "Sort of."

"Okay..." Buffy started walking again, having stopped before when he'd pulled the bracelet out. She eyed it questioningly and gave Spike a dubious look. "And he... did something to this bracelet?"

Spike nodded. "Like I said, it'll keep your nightmares away."

Buffy idly wondered if Spike was just a tad on the loony side. "Uh, no offense Spike, but I'm not really into superstition." She tried to wave him off nonchalantly and continue the walk home.

He grasped her arm and made her stop to face him, the look in his eyes wasn't crazed or pleading, but patient and determined. "Well, I am. And believe it or not Buffy, if you wear the bracelet when you sleep, you'll actually be able to get some bloody rest."

She scoffed a laugh. "What, is it like spelled or something?"

He shrugged, avoiding eye contact again. "Well, yeah."

She halted her thoughts, frowning hard at Spike and his... weirdness. He looked sheepish and awkward, and was acting like he was completely and one hundred percent serious on this bracelet issue. Buffy's brow puckered and rose. "Spike, look this is really... nice, but I don't think it'll work."

He took her arm again. She let him slip the bracelet onto her wrist, and couldn't help but notice how pretty it looked on. She sighed. As much as she thought he was being strangely protective in a completely ridiculous sort of way, the look in his eyes...

He held her hand, squeezing it. "Just try it, and if it doesn't work, then you don' have ta wear it anymore."

Buffy frowned harder still. This was just majorly bizarre.

Yet there was something...

She looked back down at the amber stone.

It couldn't hurt, she supposed. Though, she was a little wigged out by what Spike's other friends were like if one was supposed to be a... gypsy.

Eyeing the bracelet, Buffy took in its beauty again, and she smiled a little. "It is gorgeous," she claimed, and with a sigh, folded. "Alright, I'll try it." She pointed at him. "But don't get disappointed when it doesn't work."

The bright smile that followed her announcement was totally worth wearing a hundred be-spelled bracelets.

><

Buffy had just finished getting ready for bed, having snacked on some cold chicken from the fridge while talking with Grams for a few minutes before deciding to hit the hay. Spike had walked her home and seen her safely inside, after, of course, a few more steamy kisses.

She shuddered. Just thinking about it got her blood going.

Which wasn't the best idea if she wanted to try and get some rest. Buffy eyed the bed. Then she eyed her wrist.

This bracelet was... well, she hadn't been lying when she'd told him it was beautiful. But a part of Buffy thought it might be prettier if Spike had given it to her out of a desire to present her with a gift, just because; rather than some nutty belief that a charmed piece of jewelry would keep nightmares away.

She could tell he wasn't pulling her leg, he meant what he'd said. Spike truly thought that she would sleep peacefully now, and as nice as the thought was- that a little bracelet could keep away all crappy subconscious tortures -it was also fanciful, unrealistic, wishful thinking. Ridiculous.

Buffy climbed into bed. If only he'd given it to her because he simply thought she would like it. Was it so bad that she kind of wanted to be thought of as a girl instead of a charity case?

Well, she supposed that wasn't fair. If Spike honestly thought this "magic bracelet" would help her, then he was being very kind, and thoughtful. He didn't want her to be in pain, and if the idea wasn't so ludicrous to her, Buffy could see herself being immensely grateful for the gift instead of questioning its relativity to... God, to what? She didn't even know why it bothered her!

"Ugh, get a grip, Buffy," she told herself, and hit her pillow a couple of times before resting her head. She took a deep breath and released it, and she stared down at the little amber stone dangling from her wrist again. The swirls and oranges and golds were easy to follow, the stone so clear and pretty that she could trace the intricacies with her eyes in only the moonlight.

She could let her mind drift, to that place where she spent time when she read mystical books, magical stories with fairies or vampires, things she ordinarily would not believe in but let herself for a little while because she entered those worlds when she read about them. If she allowed her tired mind to go there, to her own fanciful place and let an imagination many people forgot they even had, take over, she could almost believe this bracelet really was magic.

Buffy closed her heavy lids, only to lift them again at the sound of wind swishing through the tall grasses near her window. She'd left it open, and this time it wasn't just to get fresh air.

She wondered if Spike might come by. She wanted that window open for him if he did. He might not enter, but he could if she flipped off the bed again. And even though Buffy felt a little childish for wishing he could keep her company, and be there to rescue her from her own mind if the need arose, all she had to do was remember what it felt like when he was there lying next to her, and she felt nothing but both lonely and comforted at the same time. There was no shame in wanting him close, even for her.

Staring again at the bracelet, Buffy fiddled with it for a moment before her fatigue finally took over, and she drifted into sleep.

A heavy, dreamless sleep.

The loud unfamiliar sound of a telephone blared throughout the house.

The occupants awoke with six tired groans, heads throbbed and were lifted while others got buried beneath pillows to ignore the threat of wakefulness. Curses were muttered, tired protests uttered in foreign or nonexistent languages.

"Why, in the name of every-fucking-thing ever, is that phone ringing?" Blake's statement was preceded by a moan.

"I didn't even know the bastard had a telephone," Rex growled.

"First, the guy gets a cat, then a house phone. We're his only friends, who could possibly be calling him?"

"And at eleven AM." Dylan's statement raised three more groans from those surrounding him on the floor of the living room.

Ace finally lifted his mussed head, anger and retribution clear in his half open eyes as he glared in the direction of the kitchen.

"Ace..." the caution filled inquiry held a tone of tired begging, "It's too early to get that look on your face, please don't hunt down the person on the other end of that phone and give them the flu."

"Why the hell not?" Ace snapped, eyes still fixed on the kitchen entryway.

"Because I'll kill you, now shut up and go back to sleep." Spike's voice, rough and curt, shot through the room just as a blurred shape in nothing but jeans dashed by to answer the ringing device.

Blake raised one curious eyebrow, his expression bored but a little more alert as Ace's head fell back down with a humph.

"I bet you money it's the chick."

Blake glanced at Rex and then to Dylan, a question in his mocking, derisive gaze. "Why would she ever actually call him?"

Grabbing Dylan's pillow to cover his ears, Ace snarled, "Shut the hell up, all of you!"

"Better question is, why would she call at eleven?" Dylan's frustrated brown eyes landed on the thief, and he swiped back his pillow to rest his head again. "We're not normal. We're asleep at this freaking time," he grumbled.

Blake barely noticed when his own pillow was snatched, as he and Rex were both busy focusing on the single voiced conversation in the kitchen. Even when Stevo ambled tiredly down the steps from the guest bedroom, his eyes scolding as they landed on the two eavesdroppers, neither bothered to turn his way.

"What are you-"

"Shh!" they both ordered. Begrudgingly, the gypsy propped himself against the wall and closed his eyes... then opened his ears.

><

"Buffy-"

"It worked," her frantic questioning continued."Why did it work? I know enough about my sleeping habits to know that I didn't just get lucky, Spike. And when I woke up, it was glowing!"

He scratched his head. "What was glowing?"

"The stone! The amber stone on the bracelet that you gave me."

Spike winced at her tone, it was panicky and accusing at the same time. "I told you what it was... I told you it would keep nightmares away, Buffy. S'not my fault you didn' believe-"

"Spike, you told me that your friend who's a GYPSY made me a special bracelet that would keep away bad dreams."

Her reiteration confused him, and he slowly raised an eyebrow. "Yeah..."

He heard her sigh. "Nobody would believe that!"

"But now you do."

"Well- I-..." Her throat tightened up, catching on her words, and Spike could practically see her forehead wrinkling. "I don't know what the hell to believe! I just- I go to bed, have a peaceful night's sleep, and then I wake up and the freaking stone looks like it's on fire. I threw it off so quick, Spike-"

"Buffy, relax." He rubbed his forehead, inwardly cursing Stevo and his witchy ways. "Sometimes charms like the one I gave you can glow and sparkle or whatnot, but they never harm you. I promise." He sighed, trying to think calmly and clearly- Not an easy thing to do right now. "Is it still glowin?" he asked.

Silence, for a moment. Then, "No. It stopped after it hit the wall."

He frowned. "Hit the what?"

"Well... I kinda threw it INTO the wall after I woke up."

Spike shook his head quickly. "Why the bleedin hell would you-"

"I told you, it was glowing, Spike! I freaked out, and you can't really blame me because you never told me about its little trick!"

Jaw clenching, hand running through his hair, he fought not to yell. "Alright, alright, look... Is the stone broken?"

"No," she said.

"Good." Spike thought for a moment... Then, an idea- not favored, but still -popped into his head. "Look... can you come over today? You can talk to the bloke who made the bracelet... Or enchanted it, rather. And he can make sure it's still workin properly."

A beat.

"Y-You want me to... to come over?" she stuttered. "Even with your friends there?"

"Yes." He idly scratched his chest, wondering if this plan would work out at all well. "Stevo, he's the gypsy fella I told you 'bout; he's one of the friends who're stayin with me. He can explain to ya how he made the charm, and even though ya might not believe what he tells you... You can try."

Silence rested on the other end of the line for a couple of seconds before she said, "Try to believe it?"

He nodded, both to reassure himself and out of response. "Yes."

"Spike... I don't know-"

"You said you didn' have any bad dreams last night, right?"

She puffed a sigh. "Right."

"Then the bracelet did exactly what I told you it was s'posed to."

He heard silence again, and just when he was ready to tell her to believe him, to relax and to trust HIM, he didn't have to.

"Alright. When do you want me?"

Spike actually smiled a little before giving her directions to his place. "Come by within the hour if you can. If not, that's fine, too. I'll be here all day."

"Okay. I'll be there soon, then."

"Bye now, love."

"Bye Spike."

He returned the receiver to its cradle, smothering a groan as he planted his forehead against the wall. Resisting the urge to bang it.

He couldn't believe the charm had actually upset her, it was supposed to help, not make Buffy load up on questions.

She was uneasy. Why? Because surprise, surprise the bracelet had actually worked! No bad dreams. Now she was doubtful and confused. She wanted to give it back, and Spike needed her to keep wearing it. She had to.

He didn't think he could handle the thought of her thrashing around in her bed every night. He'd checked on her last evening after doing a quick patrol, and all was peaceful. But she wanted to give the thing that supplied that peace, up; her stubbornness was going to hurt her. Which most of this WAS stubbornness, a desire NOT to be helped or "pitied."

Add that to her dubiousness, and you had one alarmed girl who needed to be reassured.

So, he'd invited her over to meet the gypsy in charge of her trinket's makeup.

Consequently, that also meant meeting the rest of the crew.

"We entertaining?"

He cast a disgruntled glance at the smiling empath in the doorway, who was shadowed by a grumbling Stevo. Spike grabbed the coffeepot and muttered an affirmative to the asked question, his jaw clenching.

"Well, well... Maybe getting woken up after five hours of sleep was worth it."

Spike ignored him as the brunette strode through the room and sat at the island, followed by Stevo who, dark and disheveled, looked ready to pounce on the open container of coffee grounds and eat them raw.

A yawn from the doorway caught everyone's attention, and Rex stood there looking tired but much less irritated than Dylan, who shoved past only to plop into a lone chair. His eyes were closed, his dark blonde hair askew and his face begging for anything that would help him feel even half alive.

"Ace still asleep, I presume?" Spike asked as he turned on the stove, magic black caffeine ready to be perked.

An angry shout came from the living room. "No!"

Blake snorted, his laughing eyes no longer fogged with sleep. "That answer your question, buddy?"

Spike sighed. Stevo grumbled softly from the corner, Rex yawned again, and Dylan sniffed a silent laugh.

The man still standing in the doorway asked, "So was that your diner chick who woke all of us up?"

"Yeah," Dylan griped, "was it?"

Spike grumbled something that sounded confirming, and his friends took it as such. Rex smirked, Dylan's interest peeked and his eyes finally fully opened, Stevo remained silent but watchful. Blake grinned.

Spike ground his teeth together when he caught the look, trying hard to ignore the impulse to physically remove it from Blake's face.

"So when's she comin over?" he asked.

"Soon." Spike stared again at the coffeepot, willing it to perk. "So once this caffeine is in your systems, clean up, and when she gets here don't-"

"What?" Rex interrupted. " 'Bother' her?"

Spike turned to him, his jaw tight. "Actually I was gonna say embarrass yourselves, but yeah, don't pester her either."

Rex, and even Dylan, managed halfhearted glares at that before Blake asked, "She's human right?"

"Yes, and she's only comin over to talk with Stevo and me."

Dylan scoffed, his heavy head resting on an open palm. "Good luck with that."

"What now?" Stevo asked, distracting Spike from that last comment.

"She wants to know more about the charm."

"Charm?" Blake inquired with cheery interest.

The vampire sighed, this time the sound long and drawn out, starting from the tips of his toes. He noted that the coffee had begun doing its little gurgling before turning to the gypsy. "It worked, of course, and now she's..." he sighed again, waving vaguely with one hand. "She's skeptical and just wants ta ask you a few questions, that alright?"

Stevo studied him, considering something behind shrewd dark eyes. After a moment or two, seemingly coming to an unknown conclusion of his own, he nodded. "It's fine by me. Though," he cast a glance around the room, "the rest of them will have to keep any supernatural conversations or jokes out of her earshot, I take it?"

Avoiding eye contact, and inwardly grimacing, Spike replied, "Yes."

Suddenly, all attention was on him. Blue-green and brown and yellow eyes focused on the stiffening of his shoulders, on the clenching of his fists at his sides.

It would take a while to explain to a bunch of superbeings why they would have to hide who they were from a human who was going to be in their midst, one that didn't know a thing about the demon world.

Especially when she was kind of dating the vampire of the group.

*This should be fun,* Spike thought with a groan.

><

Buffy threw on a heavy sweater over a T-shirt, grabbed her bag and then sighed very loudly before striding through her front door. Her nerves were sizzling beneath her skin, and not in the good way.

She'd showered, dried her hair, and then applied as much makeup as fifteen minutes would allow. Her mind was blanking every other moment and her heart felt like a sledgehammer hitting drywall.

The bracelet glowed, she hadn't woken up in a cold sweat, Spike invited her over to talk to the guy who'd "enchanted" the amber stone (like this was some freaking movie), and he had a bunch of friends at his place. She was scared and she was freaking out and she was nervous, today already kind of totally sucked Buffy decided, and she couldn't catch her breath.

Pausing in her stride, placing one hand against a nearby tree, leaning forward, she focused on breathing. In and out, in and out. Slowly... There, good.

She swallowed, and allowed herself a moment of mental reprieve.

Just thirty seconds of quiet, a pause from mental whirling and worrying.

Okay... better.

Now. Everything would be fine. It was okay to be freaking out a little. She felt overwhelmed, for sure, but she needed to get herself together because Spike would never give her anything to harm her, it was just a bracelet, and his friends (no matter how strange they might turn out to be) would not try and do anything to hurt her either.

A magic bracelet was not... the craziest thing she'd ever heard of, she just didn't know if she could believe it.

And she needed to seriously open her mind, Buffy realized. Before she got to Spike's place, right away, she needed to be calm but prepared for anything.

Now.

She breathed out, slowly, evenly again... Okay. She could do this. Walking once more, this time determined and with confidence, she headed in the direction Spike had told her. Luckily he didn't live too far at all.

She stopped almost every three minutes, though, wishing for more time and gathering courage or trying to hang onto it, she wasn't sure.

Until finally, she was there.

Her feet crunched on dry leaves as she entered a clearing, the wind played delicately with the ends of her haphazard ponytail, and Buffy exhaled.

The place was white brick and two stories tall. It had healthy vines growing up on one side, their leaves still turning to reddish colors, outlining a couple of black framed windows. There were steps leading up to a maroon front door, two windows covered by thick curtains to the left of that.

As a matter of fact, all of the windows she could see were covered by dark, blackish-purple curtains. They gave the house an elegant, closed off feel. Buffy almost wished there were iron gates protecting this place. It had something about it that let an onlooker believe someone with money and power lived inside.

She shook her head. She didn't know where her brain was going, and realized yet again that pesky butterflies still fluttered around in her stomach. What she would give to make them go away.

Taking a quick breath, she approached the door and knocked. Once, twice. Then, the entryway was opened for her and there stood a familiar, cocky countenance.

"Hey, dollface."

Buffy blinked. A frown immediately appeared between her brows.

And the next thing she knew, she was being tugged inside a warm toned hallway by a dashing man wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. His chest was shiny and his eyes were so glittery she could've sworn they were turquoise gems. Blake's hair was jet black and dripping, he looked like he'd just gotten out of the shower and Buffy felt distracted because his giddy mood was infectious and she did not want to be infected.

"We've been expectin you," he said, with a still brightening grin.

"I- I-" Buffy swallowed. "Spike asked me to come over."

"Oh I know," he placed a hand at her back to guide her through the hallway. "Your phone call woke all of us up way before we were ready to leave our beds."

That was not something she wanted to hear. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't worry about it, we had some coffee, we'll be fine. Besides, you're worth a little lost sleep." He winked, and Buffy tried not to wring her hands anxiously. "And I'm pretty sure even Ace will see that once he meets you."

Her frown deepened. "Ace?"

"There are five of us livin under Willy's roof."

"Willy? Who's-"

Her question was cut off by another voice, one she hadn't before heard. It was deep, direct and sharp, but luring all at once. "So's this the waitress chick?"

Buffy had a feeling of exposure as she turned to face the man who'd just uttered that last inquiry. He was tall and large, his hair severely cut and his eyes a startling shade of... yellow? Wow.

Blake smiled wider as he looked down at her. "Elizabeth, right?"

The question, and looking at the two men focused on her, both so freaking tall, she suddenly felt very... crowded. "Um... Yes, but..." internally, she made a quick decision and said, "you can call me Bu-"

"Buffy. Yeah, we know." Rex pointed a thumb behind his shoulder. "Spike let it slip."

Her brows rose. Then, the feel of a hand at her back yet again made her shiver. She wasn't a very touchy person with people she didn't know, especially men. And all at once, Buffy's mind centered on one question: Where was Spike?

"Spike. Right," she said mostly to herself, before edging closer to the wall. "Where is he?"

Suddenly, a very loud pounding of steps was heard just before the person in question appeared as if by magic. In a doorway to the left, there he stood, and he didn't look happy.

"What the hell are you morons-"

"Well will you lookie here, Spike." Blake waved a hand at Buffy, his grin brighter than a spotlight. "I just answered the door and on the other side," he locked eyes with her, "was this cute little thing."

"Shut up, Blake," Rex announced, with a hint of boredom in his tone, casting an impatient look at the glowering Brit by his side. "You wanna piss him off anymore than you already have today?"

"Why not?" Blake didn't chuckle, but he looked like he wanted to. "It's fun."

Spike, nostrils flaring and eyes like stone, approached Buffy but kept his stare on the pillock with a smile. He reached for her and she quickly took his hand as he pulled her after him.

"Don't bloody follow," he warned the other two, something in his voice that the girl had never heard before.

Not shocked, but slightly amused, the two superbeings held up their hands and sent friendly grins to Buffy, which she indecisively returned.

Then Spike was murmuring in her ear, "I'm sorry about them. They're like children, give em someone or somethin new and they get all curious 'bout it."

He pulled her through a living room with a fireplace and comfy looking couches. She spotted an area she guessed must be where his guests' were sleeping, because a large mattress in the middle of the floor with rumpled sheets and pillows stuck out like a sore thumb in this room. "I didn't realize I was something to get curious over," she responded belatedly to his last statement, as she was finally tugged out of the living area.

He almost said "Have you looked in the mirror lately," but that would have made her nervous and knowing Buffy, she already was.

The point that Spike gave a damn about her was one thing that had his friends so interested and sniffing around like hounds on the hunt. The fact she was beautiful just added to her pull.

Instead of explaining any of that, he said, "Believe me..." His hand settled on her back, and slowly, slid to the indent of her waist as they turned a corner. "You're PLENTY to get curious over, pet."

She leaned into him. Before she could reply to what he'd said, they entered a different room; and she was assaulted by open novelty.

There was no hot sunshine, only indirect light that splayed itself not three feet from the two opened windows on the right, and no further. Dark curtains were drawn back to let air in. The walls were cream colored where white paneling ended halfway up, and the molding was deep brown. A long wooden table with matching eggshell chairs rested in the middle, and the room looked so clean and fresh that Buffy never would have guessed Spike to have such a... feminine area in his home. There was a china cabinet holding empty jars and some books, and a couple of empty vases that really looked like they needed flowers, but the whole room was just welcoming. Spirited.

She liked it immensely. The only thing that didn't match were the three large strangers talking- or arguing, rather -in hushed tones, and standing over an open book with wrinkled pages.

As one of the men's attention was drawn away from the conversation long enough to let loose an eye roll, he noticed Spike and her standing in the doorway. A pointed throat clearing and a nudge to one of the other men's arms was enough to silence the room. She felt Spike squeeze her waist, and Buffy edged closer.

She let go of a silent breath she hadn't realized was in her chest, and clamped her jaw tight to have a sense of control over.. something.

God, she didn't know why she was so nervous. She shouldn't care what they thought of her at all.

If it weren't for Spike, she wouldn't.

He glanced her way. She sensed his stare on her skin, beneath it; her heart fluttered. Then he faced his friends again.

A pleasant looking brunette, his eyes black but alight with greeting, stepped forward, a hand outstretched. "So you're Buffy I assume?"

She offered her own, and nodded.

"That's right," Spike answered, his face unsettlingly tight and withdrawn as Ace took her hand. He gestured to the group of three, all obviously enraptured. "Buffy, this is Stevo, Dylan, an the one who can't seem to let go f'you is Ace."

With a friendly chuckle, his smile easy, the latter stepped back and released Buffy's appendage. He looked over his shoulder at the two men behind him and said, "It's a pleasure. Isn't it Stevo?" His gaze returned to Buffy.

A tall man with golden brown eyes and obsidian hair nodded respectfully at her. "Nice to meet you."

"Same," she said with a gentle nod of her own.

"I think you've already met Dylan here," Ace pointed to the dark blonde in the back. Buffy had recognized him the instant he'd called attention to her and Spike's presence not a minute ago, and those puppy brown eyes looked welcoming and sweet. She waved a hello. "Hey. Yeah, I remember you from the diner."

He grinned with an openness that was soothing, and approached her, passing Stevo and coming to stand beside Ace. "Same here. It's nice to see you again." He blinked a few times suddenly, long lashes flickering over eyes that glanced Spike's way, as if he wasn't sure he should mention something that was bugging him.

He took a small chance anyway, and offered Buffy an apology, awkwardly scratching his head. "I'm sorry about Blake by the way. The guy I was with at Leonard's? He can come on pretty strong sometimes."

She blinked wide, surprised, but grateful all the same. He'd found... sort of familiar ground with her, something small but significant in this situation. She smiled. "It's fine," a shrug, "He seems like he makes sport of that kinda stuff."

"Oh, believe me, he does."

Ace leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Can ya blame him in this case?"

Even before Buffy could blush, the look in Ace's black eyes lost their admiring glint. Spike strode up, grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him to the door.

"Hey, what are ya doin man?!"

"Out."

"Well, he's starting the caveman talk," Dylan spoke up as he followed the two to the doorway, fidgeting with a pair of glasses in one hand. He looked back at Buffy. "Which means it's time to leave before *I* get dragged out of here next."

"He'd be gentler with you at least!" Ace stumbled into the wall when Spike let go of him, dropping the immortal a good two inches back to the floor. Ace rubbed his neck and glared.

Buffy's eyes widened. "Spike!"

He turned to her, an innocent look on his face that actually confused her. He wasn't the least bit abashed. "What?"

"You're treating your friend like he's a ragdoll!"

He glanced at Ace, who was quickly standing up taller with his own perplexed expression starting to form.

"Relax," Stevo entered in, "Ace deserves some rough treatment from time to time."

The deep timbre drew Buffy's attention, and she suddenly felt like a mother surrounded by misbehaving children. "Well that doesn't mean-"

Abruptly cutting off her own sentence, the girl closed her eyes and counted to three. Releasing a breath, she met Spike's wondering blue eyes and said, "Don't be mean just because I'm here, alright?"

Spike, obviously just as bewildered as the others who weren't female were, blinked and said, "Buffy, m'not bein mean, I just-"

"Well then what do you call throwing him out for no reason?" Her hands went to her hips.

Spike was frowning now, wrinkles in between his brows. "You're not here to talk with him, I was just-"

"Throwing him out for no reason." She set her bag on the table and released an aggravated sigh, as she believed his friends would hold it against her for his actions. She didn't want to be a reason Spike treated them in any bad way. That would just cause major badness.

Plus, her nerves were clawing at her.

A nearby chuckle from Stevo had Spike gritting his teeth. He ignored the expressions he saw on his friend's faces, and looked at Buffy again. One risen eyebrow on that pretty face, both annoyance and expectation directed at him. She was beautiful. And he was lost. "Have you gone barmy on me?"

"No! I have not gone 'barmy' on you! I just think it's not something friends do, ya know, throwing each other into walls and stuff."

"Oh," Stevo interjected, his eyes both amused and proud for some inane reason Buffy couldn't decipher, "you'd be surprised."

She humphed.

And then, Spike was suddenly so surprised that she'd actually let her fire out at him in front of his friends, that he smiled. He smiled wide and was so close to laughing that it caused Buffy to glare even harder at him. Before she could yell, Spike gently touched her arm and her lips clamped shut. He said, "I'm sorry, alright?"

She scowled. "Shouldn't you be telling him that?" She pointed a thumb at Ace, and her eyes widened when she saw that now Rex and Blake had joined the party; they were staring at her with something close to bewilderment, mixed in with joy.

As a matter of fact... All of them were staring at her in that way... "What?" She looked at Spike, suddenly worried all over again. "What'd I say?"

"Nothin, love." Spike shook his head and ignored the mocking "you're whipped" stares he was getting from his friends. He couldn't care right at that moment, because Buffy was too damn cute for her own good and he was ready to give Ace fifty bucks if it would just make her happy.

Hopefully, though, he wouldn't have to do that. With a resigned sigh, and a chuckle, he turned to his friend and said, "I'm sorry."

Spike could not believe he'd just said that.

And apparently, neither could Ace, because he looked at him like he'd grown a second head and replied with, "What?"

Stevo clapped his hands to get everyone's attention, and they all focused on him. He wore an... oddly pleased expression. "Alright, well that's certainly something we don't see... ever. But enough, I need to talk with Buffy and Spike. The rest of you," he waved a finger at the group, "leave, please."

She glanced up at the platinum blonde in the room. "See, was that so hard? He even said PLEASE."

Spike burst out laughing at her mumble, and then so did everyone else. Buffy cracked a little reluctant smile. Dylan wasn't silent in his joy, Stevo chuckled, and the others left with a unanimously felt "I like her!" before the door was finally shut.

The tension which had until this point been invisible, lifted.

Stevo smiled at Buffy, and his tone was warm and friendly when he asked, "So, the charm then?"

The girl internally sighed, having almost forgotten. She offered a small closed lipped smile and went to her bag to retrieve the stone. She dug inside, then walked back over to Spike and handed him the bracelet. He then handed it Stevo.

The gypsy examined it, his eyes knowing and relaxed. Something about the way he looked at it told her he was neither a fake nor a liar, that the bracelet he held really was what Spike had said it was.

Magic.

"Well," the honey eyed man murmured, "there should be nothing wrong with it if it isn't broken. And it's not, but, as I understand you wanted to know more about it?"

Buffy nodded, and braced herself for either lies or truth.

Herbs, nature, and centering yourself. Believing, and the ability to focus and draw from the air what this Earth holds; a power. If you know how to do it, you've got magick.

This is what Stevo, and Spike as well, told her; though the first explained it a bit better.

It all sounded like something out of The Craft or Practical Magic, a couple of witchy movies Buffy had once seen a long time ago. She had compared what Stevo was explaining to those films, and he'd told her (with a chuckle) that it might be easier to understand if thought of in such ways, but it wasn't quite the same. However, he did say those movies had a more realistic view on magick than he had seen in many other Hollywood tales.

That wasn't saying she believed any of it, of course. Though Buffy hadn't anything to help DISprove it...

The girl looked down at the icy glass of pink lemonade in her hands. Stevo's lesson, and Spike's "wear the bracelet" preaching, had ended about twenty minutes ago. She couldn't say she'd left the discussions a believer, all ready to go out and get herself a Book of Shadows, but she was currently flipping through Stevo's gypsy journal thing.

It was both freaky and interesting. After finally conceding to keep the bracelet that glowed, and thanking Stevo for taking the time to discuss everything with her, they'd ended the whole conversation on a positive note, Buffy felt.

Both Spike and him knew she was stubborn- she wasn't sure how Stevo already had it figured out, but he had -and so the encouraging part of the conversation focused more around getting her to keep the bracelet rather than convincing her it was actually spellbound. Which was fine, and Buffy had finally relented; because if the bracelet, hypothetically, WAS magick... then it was what they'd told her: Not dangerous. Natural. Shielding.

And if it wasn't then it didn't matter that she keep it.

But- and Buffy didn't want to admit it -somehow she trusted, believed in the little amber stone.

She had a feeling she wouldn't be getting nightmares for a long while.

"Hey, lamb."

The soft hello drew her focus away from the book, and she let an aged page fall from her fingertips. The paper dropped like a feather upon the others.

Spike walked up behind her. She could've felt him even if he wasn't so close. As it was, his chest brushed her back and his eyes focused on her profile. "You still lookin through that thing, then?"

Buffy nodded. After the talking she'd staunchly asked if she could scan through the journal. It had drawn her focus in the moment Stevo first showed it to her.

Spike had gotten her the drink that she now placed on the nearby table, little beads of condensation raining down the sides. She'd been alone with the book for about ten minutes and she wasn't even making a dent in the information stored. Mostly she was simply looking at drawn pictures and reading through supposed spells. Not many of which she believed worked, but still for some reason seemed interesting to her. She wasn't done with twenty pages even yet.

"You believe any of it?"

The murmur sent chills up and down her neck, through her whole. Buffy swallowed. "Not really." Sighing, she pushed off the table the journal sat atop and turned around, Spike's arms trapping her. "I mean, it all sounds like fairytales to me... even the bracelet."

He pursed his lips as disappointment flashed behind his eyes, which made her frown.

"Thought you were comin 'round to the idea of that," he said.

"I am. It's just... I don't know, it's a cool idea but if I believe in that, then I have to believe in other stuff, too, right?"

His brows drew together. "What other stuff?"

Buffy sighed again, and picked up the book. She showed him an illustration of something with a tail and two heads, beneath a cursive written name she couldn't pronounce. "This stuff. I- I mean who's to say this thing doesn't exist if magical jewelry does?"

Spike's throat constricted, and he had to swallow past a lump in his throat. Looking down at the page she held open, he said, "What if... If it were true, things like this-" he pointed to the picture, tapping it with a fingernail, "Could you live in a world like that?"

She stared straight into his eyes when he dared make that contact again, and while she seemed to study him, Spike resisted the urge to fidget. Waiting for an answer, he knew that if his body needed oxygen, he would've passed out by now. His unbeating heart felt like it was perched at the edge of a cliff and suddenly, the overwhelming need to tell her what he was, everything he knew and the world they both lived in, was suffocating.

Buffy blinked a few times quickly, her green-hazel eyes colored with indecision and something else that looked a little bit like fear or wonder. Spike couldn't tell which.

Then she said, "Does it matter?" with a shrug. Setting the journal back down, Buffy's expression told him nothing he needed to know. Her face was wistful and her body relaxed. She had no idea...

"Buffy, I um-..." She turned to face him, a question in those beautiful eyes, and Spike locked his jaw.

This wasn't fair, to her, to him. And he couldn't take it. She was in a house with six supernatural creatures, and she'd entrusted her secrets to the evilest of that group. It was time he tell her his. Even if it scared her, Spike had to believe she'd come back to him.

He had to.

"Yeah?"

"I have somethin to tell you."

She smiled a little as she stepped closer and looked up at him. "What, you've got magick earrings to give me now?"

"Not exactly, love."

"Well then what is it?"

His lips shook as the words formed over them. He spilled a secret... then another; one, two, three... "Things like that picture DO exist, Buffy." Another weight fell on his chest, she started shaking her head, took a step back... "The bracelet... it's real. I swear to you it's real..." She denied the things he told her, called him crazy... He grabbed the book, flipped through it, showed her one picture, then another, described things that weren't written down. Spilling knowledge he shouldn't have... "There are supernatural things that exist, pet. They're everywhere." He slammed the book when she yelled at him to stop it, his jaw clenching... He grabbed her hand. "There are demons, things that aren't human..." He pressed her palm against his chest, and urged her with his eyes but didn't dare say what he thought she would be able to feel. "I'm not human, Buffy."

She pushed him back. "What in the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I'm tellin you the truth!"

"No! No, you aren't!" She ran a hand through her hair, trying to stop this feeling inside her from exploding. It seemed like shock but she couldn't quite be sure. "What are you trying to do with all of this, Spike? Throwing out random crap about creatures a-and demons- Like I'm gonna believe all that stuff." She met his eyes and took a deep breath. "And saying you're not..." a hopeless laugh escaped, she rolled her eyes, "It's insane!"

Spike ground his teeth together, holding back emotions that were beating against him with their need to be let out. His throat felt tight, his eyes burned and his temper had already been lost. He was two seconds away from exploding. "I'm not lying to you."

She felt an unnerving tingle run up her arms from the tone of his voice, the way he'd grit that sentence out. Buffy lifted her chin, her voice laden with a shrill quality as she spoke. "Okay... Okay, so you're not HUMAN?" She dropped her arms in a helpless gesture at her sides, challenge lacing her words. "What ARE you then?"

Something changed in his posture, something significant left that hard-edged face. His eyes, dazzling and blue, became sharp, determined. His footsteps as he neared resembled nothing close to his natural swagger, but became more of a stalk, and the advance made Buffy uneasy. His resolve and purpose were clear, his goal was not.

Buffy didn't break eye contact. In fact, her nerve and courage rose in the face of danger. "You say all these supernatural things exist- That you're one of them," she scoffed. "Do you turn into a werewolf on full moons? Are you immortal or something? Ooh, or maybe you can fly!" Her tone became more condescending as he came closer. "Wait, wait, no I got it. You're actually a ghost, right? Because if that's true, I gotta be honest, you fooled me! I can touch you and everything. Or are ghosts actually solid and all the movies were false-"

The slam of his palm above her head, against the wall, cut her off. The two fumed, silently staring, one's jaw tight and locked; Buffy's breath was deep, heavy... Spike's wasn't there at all.

He knew he was stopping her from looking anywhere else, as she was doing to him. Spike was caught, deadly focus reined him in, the oppressive desire to clutch her and drag her mouth up to his was demanding, unmerciful. Darkly caged, her face captivated him, even as it infuriated.

Her doubts only made him want to hold her against the wall, against him, and sate every lust and wish. Feel her respond to him in need. Her lips were pink and soft, he knew how they tasted. Her eyes glowed with daring anger, and Spike wanted to feel that anger.

But she needed to know the truth of it all.

She focused on his eyes, cutting and unmerciful. Slowly, he leaned in, and Buffy felt his cool breath on her cheek when he said, "You wanna know what I am... look closely." Then he pulled back again, his whole body under a control she could see, but didn't truthfully understand.

Buffy stiffened. And she didn't know that wretched grief was tearing Spike apart inside as his bones shifted... as yellow eyes replaced blue... and fangs descended.

Her stare widened. Her heart stopped as she looked on at the face of a demon; a REAL demon.

Blinking several times, her eyes watered as they dared her not to believe them. Buffy took in every calloused feature, every harsh line and detail. Her pulse skyrocketed, and she realized that she was alone in a house with strangers... and Spike, who she suddenly felt she didn't know at all.

She was too scared and astounded to scream, but not to run.

Spike let her go, his head falling as Buffy bolted out the door and he heard her rapid footsteps pound the floors of his home.

The sound of the front door slamming was what finally got a tear to drop.

He had to trust... hope, that she would come back.

To believe she would return to a monster.

He didn't hear the glass shatter, couldn't see it as he threw a nearby vase against the wall.

All he was aware of was his heart struggling not to break.

><

The quiet which lay over the living room was suffocating, the recent door slam having called everyone to the first floor who wasn't there already.

Dylan stooped to pick up the kitty cat by his feet, and he pat her on the head as he looked on at the others. The same disappointed, worried expressions all matched. One by one they looked in the direction to where they knew Spike still was, the little dining area with white chairs and one broken vase.

"Knew he would tell her," Blake said, his usual cheery tone not in its place.

"Idiot."

"Shut up, Rex," Ace reproached, "It probly would've gone worse if he'd waited longer anyhow."

Stevo sighed quietly, glancing around the room. "Probably. But not definitely."

"Well you wanna tell him that?" Blake countered.

"No. None of us are going to, either, but I'm simply saying..." He shook his head. "That girl wasn't ready to hear the vampires exist spiel."

"Would she ever have been?" Dylan asked. "I mean, c'mon, it's kinda a lot to swallow."

"If she cares about him she'll get over the shock, and she'll be back," Ace said.

"With LUCK, she'll be back," Rex corrected, "She definitely cares about the moron, but it doesn't mean she'll be able to deal with his undead existence."

"Well, he already bags it. No human feeding..." Dylan set the feline in his hands down on the couch when she started to fuss. "Shouldn't that make Buffy feel more inclined to... accept what he is?"

Silence permeated the air.

"Maybe," Stevo finally said, looking in the direction of where their friend had yet to emerge, to where they all knew Spike endured his own doubts in silence. "Maybe."

><

She'd left her bag.

She'd run out of there so fast, without thinking, without asking questions or screaming her lungs to scrap... she'd forgotten everything but her fear.

One thing she wished she hadn't let get to her head was THAT emotion. Now, Buffy found herself wandering. She'd been doing so for at least an hour.

First, she'd sprinted through the forest and hadn't even known where she was going until she'd ended up in town. It was from then on she'd walked around aimlessly, missing her iPod (which was still in her bag), and trying to think... or not think.

At the moment, she wasn't doing much of either. The trees were almost done changing color, the air was crisp and cool, she was thankful for her sweater, the sky was blue... Her steps faltered every time she thought back to his face...

Maybe it was a trick of light... It could've been. It couldn't be REAL, of course... A joke? Makeup? Some sort of-...

Buffy shook her head. But it was... She knew it was real. She had abso-fucking-lutely no idea how, or what was going on or what the deal was with Spike, but that face was one she could have nightmares about. That was a face that scared and played with evil. It wasn't a nice visage she'd seen, and she was completely terrified and lost.

She felt like one of those people that took interviews on the news. One of those witnesses to a terrible car crash or some bloody crime, and the news reporter is in your face with a camera and a microphone and you're still distraught but trying to answer questions. You don't know what to say and all you can think is that what you saw scared you, and you don't even know how something like it could happen.

Worst of all, beneath her confusion and the gnawing sensation of trepidation, there was shame battling her defenses better than anything. Buffy almost felt she'd be able to block out everything if it weren't for her heart pounding against her chest every moment she remembered running from Spike, of all people.

Or non-people.

What was he? She had a guess but... It was so crazy and... Admitting to that guess, even contemplating it for a moment would mean that she believed what he'd tried to explain to her. That what Spike was talking about- the demons, supernatural creatures and spells, all of it... was true.

Buffy didn't understand what on earth had happened. She'd gone over talking about a bracelet, and this had started. This down spiral of shame and worry...

God how he must be feeling. He might hate her, he might think her a coward... He might not be able to feel at all- No. What the hell was wrong with her? This was Spike, he had to... he felt. He loved, cared, got mad. Buffy had seen it.

She'd also seen that face.

The girl looked up, her eyes refocusing on her surroundings as she suddenly realized that she'd walked herself all through town only to end up down a familiar path. The MayBell library stood tall and warm looking, something bittersweet to Buffy's eyes which suddenly tried to cloud up with tears. She fought the emotions down. The last time she was here she'd wondered if Spike was going to pop in, say hello, kiss her again...

She still wanted him to kiss her again.

Buffy released a hopeless laugh.

She didn't know what or who Spike was anymore. The sheer amount of unfair in this whole situation was incredible. She wanted to weep.

Yet she realized that she wanted to understand, more.

He hadn't told her this sooner for a reason... Whatever THIS was that he'd scared her with, and she intended to do some research. Because something was tugging her in several different directions, and she wanted to run away from it all... the least.

She didn't want to escape this, or try and avoid it. She wanted Spike. She wanted explanations. She wanted details and an apology for terrifying her, and she needed to apologize for wanting one of him. She wanted proof, and to see that face again.

She wanted to know what. he. was.

*C'mon, Buffy, that isn't as hard to figure out as you're letting yourself believe it is.*

With a determined scowl fixed on her face, the girl pushed through the door of the library.

Walking straight to the main desk, nothing but one goal in mind helping her to stay focused and not freak out over all the insanity running through her own head.

She was actually starting to consider this. Starting to consider that maybe he hadn't been lying to her. That the face really was a real one; but it wasn't to be feared... not by her.

A lady with graying hair and glasses on a pearl chain looked up at her. "May I help y-"

"I need books on vampires."

The woman blinked her magnified eyes, a little frown meeting two thin brows. "Vampires?"

"Yes. Vampires, mythical creatures, demons. That sorta thing." Buffy took a breath. "Just point me in the right direction."

The vampire made her way through the tunnel, rocks crunching beneath her feet as she walked. Purpose surrounded her, confidence seeped. She had a plan, one she needed to execute now, before her target brought in any more reinforcements to fuck with what she wanted.

Spike's head on a platter.

She'd finally gained all of her strength back, and some extra magick for the road. It was going to be a fun and successful night if everything went her way.

She entered a room with lit torches and a dirt floor, where the puppies were residing, each smelly hire-out vamp a lackey she planned on using tonight. "Boys," Flora called as she strode past, heading for the weapons hanging on one of the cavern's walls. "Follow me. You're gonna help with a kill tonight."

"Can we get something to eat on the way?" One vampire asked, already making his way over to an axe that he liked.

Flora turned a stake around in her hand and stuck it in her pocket, tossing another to the minion on her left as she replied, "After the job's done."

Four more henchmen moved without hesitation, the others looked uncertain; one asked a question. "Who're we going after?"

"Am I paying you to bother asking that?"

Several more vampires stood at her impatient tone, going to pick from the axes and daggers, ready to follow their boss out to do some dirty work. The last lackey sat still, frowning in a worried way at Flora as she tossed a pair of steel knuckles around. "We're going after that Spike guy you've got a grudge against, aren't we?"

A knife suddenly flew, and the room froze. Flora stood glaring. Her hand which had just held the dagger now residing in another vampire's chest, was outstretched.

"You don't. Say. His name," she ground out, and stalked up to the vamp hissing through his teeth in pain. He at least had enough sense to realize that it was no right of his to remove the weapon himself.

Flora did it, glaring coldly when he screamed. "We're killing the bastard tonight, and he's got some reinforcements so I need help, and that is what I'm paying you idiots for."

Teeth clenching and one hand pressed against his wound, he said, "The boss won't like it."

"I'M your boss, too. And she won't give a fuck." Flora spun around. "Now get your asses moving!"

They did. And stiffly, ballsy lackey number one still managed to mutter, "She doesn't want him killed-"

"The only reason she wants him ALIVE is because of that stupid prophecy," Flore interjected, "if it even comes true."

Shoving an axe into the minion's arms, her eyes like ice, she added, "But really, she doesn't care if he dies or not." Her voice changed, grew almost taunting in an instant, when she smiled evilly and said, "If she did, she wouldn't have juiced me up."

The vampire became wary, a hard swallow going down his throat as Flora wiggled suddenly zapping, sparking fingers in front of him. Then her wicked smile changed into a sneer, and she turned away once again.

She headed for the tunnel from which she came, and shouted for the group of fanged fiends to follow her.

They left the cavern in lead of their boss, ready for a kill.

><

It was going on eight PM.

Spike glanced at the clock on the wall, his patience nonexistent even as he told himself not to worry, that Buffy would return to him. That he wouldn't even have to bother chasing her down if she didn't, which he'd planned to do if necessary.

But she would come back.

He'd been telling himself so since she'd run out hours ago. His bullshit tolerance had lowered to a level that was causing the vampire to snap at his friends for no reason; though wisely, none of them dared mention Buffy or the recent visit. Instead, they researched.

Ace was on the phone calling witches and voodoo shops in New Orleans; an expletive was heard right after every hang up. Blake was web surfing in between arguing every ten minutes with Rex, even as Dylan read through ancient texts on his own computer. Theories were getting thrown about. Stevo was still searching through the gypsy journal, offering helpful tips here and there while scanning for info that might serve useful.

Spike was in a demon bar outside of town.

Actually, he was in a completely different town. The drive was forty-five minutes, and he'd just picked up some new bloodbags for himself at the main hospital. It was the one he always stole from, but truthfully, he wasn't all that low on his supply right now.

He had a sour feeling that Buffy would not be returning to him tonight, no matter what; and he'd also needed to get the hell out of the house lest he get into a fight with Rex or someone else.

So naturally, when Stevo had announced that it'd be a good idea to do some muscle work through the demon community and throw about some questioning, Spike had volunteered. It was logical, seeing as he was the one who best knew his way around the area, and out of it.

Of course, he was angry, too; and needed a drink.

This was the second place he'd entered tonight. The main goal was to try and find some info on Flora, or the Gem if that was possible; Spike wasn't necessarily enjoying himself asides from the alcohol.

The first place he'd gone was dead (no pun intended), and he knew it said more about the bar he'd arrived at rather than the time of night.

Demons went out early and stayed out late. They often had nothing better to do, or wanted to get their hands on the things Spike called delicacy drinks. Beverages and concoctions hard to get in this dimension unless special ordered, exotic bloods and such. There was also bagged O-neg and the rare blood types of the human variety for a vamp's lazy night.

And, of course, even demons needed to socialize.

Spike sat in a booth in the back corner of the bar. There were creatures aplenty, and he was nursing a glass of JD and scanning the crowd for someone who might look able to offer up some information. Of course, by offer, that most likely meant beat until they talked.

Spike had no problem asking nicely first. However, he really needed some violence right about now, and usually, it was necessary anyway.

Talking a swallow of his drink, his eyes lingered on a vampire couple that had just entered the bar. He was a masochist that way.

They looked touchy and in love, even if they most likely were just fuck buddies. The girl was happily placed under her boyfriend's arm as he shook hands with someone they both seemed to know. A few minutes went by of simple conversation, until Spike finally started to get irritated.

He was about to turn his gaze onto someone else when one of the drunks at the bar, a vampire Spike had deemed completely stoned from first glance, decided it'd be fun to cause some trouble.

He leaned sideways off of his stool, making cocky eye contact with a friend down the bar as he raised a hand and smacked the female beneath her boyfriend's arm on the ass. Predictably, she whirled around in shock, and so did her other half.

Before any words could be uttered, the drunk was lifted off of his seat, pausing in mid cackle as stupid shock immediately ran across his face. A scream was heard when he got thrown bodily across the room, to land sprawled and groaning on top of a pool table.

The enraged boyfriend went forward with purpose, and proceeded to pummel the idiot.

Spike scoffed, not the least bit surprised. He would've done the same thing. The girl vamp didn't seem to be surprised either; rather, she looked a little bored and very much NOT shocked.

That detail caused an internal frown. Even in the demon world, when a male got into a fight that had to do with a female, the woman either cheered on, left in a huff, or tried to get him to stop brawling. It was very similar to the human bouts of jealousy and shows of high male testosterone levels.

Never did Spike witness a dame seeming bored or unsurprised over her man's violent actions, however.

It was like she was used to it, or that the action was expected after the drunk had touched her. Which, it was, but a girl didn't usually see it that way. She seemed relaxed, arms crossed and rolling her eyes as her boyfriend delivered a last couple of punches before he picked up the pile of meat, and carried his moaning body to the door.

Spike raised a brow, studying the lady looking so calm and patient. When her boyfriend returned, he looked her over, and it was deemed from the private conversation the couple had in a narrow corner, that the chit was fine and so was her beau. The man lifted her hair away from her neck as their words seemed to become less stressed, as they both calmed, and he looked at a bite mark there on her throat. His hand caressed it with exquisite gentleness, as if to reassure himself of something... A near imperceptible shiver ran over the woman's skin.

It was something Spike had never seen before between vampires, a strange closeness. Like a deep... link.

A sudden memory flashed in his mind. Something he'd read... a very long time ago. He shook his head, blinking rapidly over the mental image. It was like a photo in his mind, the page he'd seen, the book and...

*Claiming.*

The memory disappeared. Spike closed and rubbed his eyes, the information still burned like a candle that didn't want to go out. It felt like he'd been tossed something he'd lost years before. Something which had faded or-... No, it had been taken. He'd been hurt, his mind had lost it that day... forgotten it.

Spike took a swig of his drink. The recollection felt like it had vanished, but left a strong intuition behind that-

Bloody hell.

He remembered.

><

Buffy sat in a pile of books, some open, some not; a lot were already read through, a few were barely touched. Her pink chaise worked well for a table, as well as the actual table to her left with the convenient little lamp.

Being on the third floor of the MayBell library should be messing with her emotions, but she was a little too focused on pictures and legends to be thinking about those circumstances.

It was ridiculous, she'd decided, the amount of varied opinions there were on the topic of vampires.

According to all of the different lore she was delving into, there might be several different species of them.

Sometimes sunlight burned the creatures, sometimes it did nothing; but even if it did it wouldn't matter because they were nocturnal. Stakes to the heart killed easily and thoroughly, or sometimes beheading was the only solution to ending their existence. Fire was no more or less fatal to one than it was to a human. Crosses, holy water, and garlic were often referred to as "the classic myths" (as if she wasn't reading up on freaking vampires).

Shapeshifting was either normal, rare, or impossible. They had reflections, or they didn't. Vampires could or could not fly, they were or weren't immortal, they did or didn't need an invitation to enter your home.

Buffy couldn't remember if she'd actually invited Spike inside her house or not now...

She blinked hard and shook her head, quickly refocusing her thoughts.

The only two things ALL of the books seemed to unanimously agree on were: 1) Vampires drank blood. 2) They should be killed.

She flipped another page as she finished reading something about turning to ash when they died. That was another thing that varied, their death. Sometimes they turned to stone, others to dust, sometimes they just became a normal corpse, or burst into flames.

Well, Buffy supposed that last qualified as turning to ash, too.

She was beginning to think she was crazy with this, for considering any of it; but then Spike's face would flash behind her eyes and she'd be determined to learn more all over again.

She couldn't believe the day she'd been having. Magick bracelet, vamp-faced boyfrie- err, boy.

Buffy sighed, scanning another page.

Her head ached. And she was pretty sure gossip would get around town now about her being a vampire nerd or something because she'd gotten literally every book in the library on the subject, and opened them, and begun researching. She could take a quiz on this stuff and ace it, and she sucked at quizzes.

And according to her studies, there was nothing good about the demon a vampire was. All she saw were "Vampires are pure evil" and "Should you ever meet one, pray God will forgive you for all your past sins because you're about to die."

It sure wasn't shining a positive light on Spike. And all that did was manage to make Buffy angry.

She didn't know how long he'd been alive, she didn't know a lot about his past. Hell, if he was immortal or something, he could have been around for centuries. She just didn't know.

But she wanted to. She also wanted to know if he was as bloodthirsty as these books claimed he was. Some of them mentioned vampires having no souls or emotions, but that couldn't be, because she'd seen him feel. She'd seen him take in a little stray kitten, too, so the likelihood of him being a murderous prick with a penchant for torture and blood was pretty slim in Buffy's head.

Spike was close to her, she close to him. Now that a lot of her fear had drained out (although she sure wasn't out of that emotion yet), Buffy was edging closer and closer to wanting to see him again and execute an interrogation.

She wanted answers and details, she wanted to trust him again and know him better. She wanted-

Buffy paused, her breath hitching as she stared at the new page in between her fingers. Her gaze grew huge as she had a staring contest with a pair of piercing, drawn demon eyes. It was black and white, but she knew those eyes were supposed to be amber yellow. The man's brow was crinkled, protruding. Fangs, jagged teeth... Vampire.

She exhaled, looking at the matching picture of a female vamp on the left page. Two thoroughly authentic visages... if Spike truly was what she believed, then this book's author could be proud to pieces of their work.

Buffy speedily flipped more pages, and more. She read and devoured everything she saw. Every line, every word.

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It had been years before. Before he was turned; hell, before he'd hit puberty.

Spike lit the cigarette dangling from his lips, slipping his Zippo back into his pocket when the smoke wafted up. He inhaled gratefully, memories gliding through his mind so easily now, after they'd been missing forever.

It felt like a dream. He hadn't received the information after it had happened. He'd lost it, and now, almost two centuries later it finally popped back into his head. He didn't know whether he was relieved or bothered by the recollection.

When he was still alive, around age ten, reading in his father's study like he sometimes did, Spike had stumbled upon a book. A supernatural one, about vampires and their bloodlust, their tricks and desires, even perceived personal habits.

He'd been fascinated at the time by what he'd believed to be legends. Spike knew now though that most of the stuff he'd read that day, what the random book in his house had contained, was actually very true. A lot of it factual things, and talk that sounded funny if you didn't know the reality of it.

There had been one specific chapter...

About mating. It was such a short few pages, but it had included details and information he'd not, at the time, focused too much on; now he recalled it all too vividly.

It was such a strange thing for his father to own, because most of the books in Spike's home had been tales for him and his sister, or things on either plants or law. His mum had loved gardening, his father had been a lawyer, and unlike his sis, William had been an avid reader. He read everything he could get his hands on, and usually remembered the information well.

But that day he'd found the vampire book, directly after reading it through, his uncle had come home from a night of drinking.

It was only a couple of months after Spike's dad had died of heart problems, and the family had been in mourning when his brother, Uncle Phillip, had arrived on their doorstep. They'd been forced by propriety to take him in.

The man was heartbroken over his brother's death, which made him drink more than usual (which was already too much), and he was a mean drunk. He'd already hit his nephew a couple of times while sloshed, but it wasn't on the face, so the bruises were easy to cover.

William hadn't told on his uncle, both too scared and not believing he had a right, as Phillip was an adult as well as his dad's grieving brother.

It turned out that he didn't need to mention anything, though maybe he should've.

When Phillip had found him in the study that night, awake past his bedtime as well as daring to enter his dead father's favorite room and go through his things, Phillip had beat him unconscious and nearly half to death.

Spike restrained a shiver, the wind whipping some dried leaves around his ankles as he strode back to his car. The memories were now fresh again after all these years. He'd woken up a day or so later, swollen and hurting, being nursed with a cool towel to his wounds by his mum.

Uncle Phillip had been caught by a servant during the beating, and then promptly kicked out of the house. Spike remembered now how his mum had apologized for ever letting the man come near him.

He also remembered how he hadn't recalled anything after the attack. Spike hadn't known the half of that day until now, including the vampire book, but he'd known what he'd suffered. Hell, the swelling and bruises proved it. He'd finally had his first black eye to sport.

The man sighed, starting up his car as he pulled out of a gas station. He was on the way home, and even though the memories of that day kept running through his head like they were on a treadmill, he didn't understand why they'd come back to him after so long gone.

Something about Buffy, he was sure. Because after that dream a couple nights back, and then seeing the vampire couple at the bar, and telling his darling girl about what he was... Spike wanted it. He wanted her as his mate, so badly he could taste it.

And now, he had the information back. Now, he remembered those few pages of that bloody chapter better than he could remember his own name. Now, he craved it.

Now, when Buffy had run from him.

He clenched his jaw, swerving violently onto the highway that would take him back to MayBell.

He didn't want to think of her leaving, or of the desire he had burned on his mind, the impulse.

It was like raw sandpaper filing down his nerves to nothing. A gnawing hunger. He hadn't even tried to get information on Flora out of anybody after his little epiphany. He'd gone straight to his car, and headed home. He was only five minutes away at present.

The guys would be fighting, he was sure.

He wondered if Buffy had stopped by.

The vamp shook his head, muttering what a moron he was to himself as he turned on the radio. Of course she hadn't, it was too soon. She was too freaked out to come by yet, and after everything, there was still a selfishly frightened doubt that she wouldn't. Spike was ready to go out and hunt her down if he had to, argue with her until they were both screaming and he had her back.

But he still knew... with Buffy, he knew and he believed she would return. He just wasn't sure when, and believing didn't guarantee anything.

He needed to seriously take his mind off of her before he went and drained somebody just to relieve tension.

Spike turned the radio up louder.

It wasn't until a few minutes had passed, and he was pulling up to his house, parking in a small garage a couple of yards away, he felt like something was wrong. Leaving the cooler of blood in the trunk, Spike casually but quietly got out of his Desoto... His senses alert and his mind focused, he quickly locked the car, acting relaxed while feeling the opposite.

He looked around, including up, before heading to his back door. The tension in his stomach and spine grew with each step.

Until finally, they made their move.

Within moments, seven attacked. He spun into a defense position, and swung, shouting for his mates to get their asses the hell out of the house and help. The seconds passed in blurs as Spike narrowly dived stakes and axes. He gladly threw himself into it, and even as he saw the Flora bint pacing in the distance as her minions went at him, he grinned evilly around his fangs. Each hit felt good, each bit of violence a distraction from precious unlife.

He couldn't decide if this brawl was the highpoint of his day or one more notch on the shitty-luck bedpost.

Just when he received a few hard blows and dodged a blade which got a little too close for comfort, his friends arrived like a brigade of warriors. Flora then flew into the fray as well, and it was a full out battle.

Spike realized idly, as Blake tossed him an axe he used to clash with another, that it was probably a good thing he had a fondness for weapons.

><

Buffy slammed the book closed, quickly stacking the others she had strewn about into a neat pile, and leaving them on the chaise. Usually she put things back where they belonged, but tonight one of the employees could do it. She had to get to Spike's.

She'd read that entire three hundred paged book from cover to cover, and it was time to run her interrogation; if she had to break down Spike's front door to do it.

Buffy ran down the library's steps to the first floor, almost plowing into a guy as she rushed outside and strode across the street.

She had one place in mind, but a thousand questions.

*Spike, I'm gonna make your ears bleed.*

It was eleven o'clock now, and Buffy was sure she should call her Grams to let her know she was like, alive and everything, but she didn't have her phone.

Spike did. She'd left it at his house, in her bag, and she was heading there now anyway.

The wind had definitely not been blown out of her sails on the way over. She was still ready and determined to 'face the facts' and get him to spill everything... Whatever "everything" turned out to be.

She was ready now. And she was pretty sure no matter who or what Spike was, he'd yell at her for walking alone at night. Buffy wasn't too keen on the prospect herself after spending so much quality time with loads of vampire lore, but she didn't exactly have a choice.

She moved a little faster as she came to the clearing in the wood. Spike's house stood tall and mythic looking; illuminated in moonlight, the white brick shone. She almost halted, the ethereal appearance and her topsy-turvy nerves making her unsteady even in her determination.

But Buffy plowed on. She approached the front door, idly worrying about his friends; maybe they would disapprove of her now. They certainly must know of how she ran from the house.

And there was no doubt in her mind that they knew what Spike was... And she was all but thoroughly convinced that Stevo really WAS a gypsy, too...

She gulped.

A shake of the head and Buffy gathered every ounce of giddy, in-control courage she had before knocking on Spike's front door. Her taps were hard and sure, not soft or hesitant.

Yet no one answered. Buffy frowned, checking to see if Spike might have a peep hole.

He didn't. He wasn't avoiding her was he? The thought made her frown, and internally wince.

The lights were all on. She leaned to the side, over a short metal railing, to try and get a look between the curtains of a nearby window. She couldn't see anything, but light streamed through the opening of heavy black material.

Knocking again, she heaved a sigh. When nobody came, she decided to try the doorknob.

It opened noiselessly.

Buffy eyed the entryway with trepidation, her footsteps quieter than the wind as she, after a minute of hesitation, slipped into the front hall. The air was too chilled, the atmosphere empty.

Rubbing her arms, she debated calling into the distance, but then she remembered the rule about going into a house with a front door ajar or unlocked when it shouldn't be. Instead, she continued quietly through the hall, tiptoeing, before finally turning a corner into the living room.

Buffy's eyes took in the scene in an instant, and she was on her knees and beside the couch in less time than that.

"Spike, Spike!" she screamed at his form, lying there, normally ghost white hair caked with dirt and blood. A scratch marred his cheek. His clothes were ripped, his body wounded, bruises on his arm. Buffy felt her breathing turn short, her hands shook as she picked up his cold one, and squeezed it tightly. She was calling his name but he wasn't answering.

She went into panic mode, wondering what the hell had happened to him as she put her fingers to his wrist.

Her eyes widened when she didn't feel a pulse. She checked his neck, and nothing.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes as her heart screamed out. It was like he was a thousand miles from her, and her mind forgot the latest facts it'd learned. He wasn't human, but his heart wasn't beating and he looked dead.

Buffy pressed her hands to his chest, no feeling beneath. Not even realizing she'd felt that same lack of life on him before, the absence of a heartbeat, she immediately pinched his nose and went to blow into his mouth. Her own breaths were broken.

She was an inch away from meeting his lips when Spike's eyes opened. He grabbed her shoulders.

Holding her away, Buffy saw those open eyes, full of life and light, a kind of blue she couldn't name. Familiar and bright. A stare that told her he was okay. That told her he wasn't gone.

She cleanly broke down, with the most crushing sense of relief she'd ever felt.

Collapsing, crying and hugging into his arms, she couldn't stop repeating, "You're okay! You're okay!"

Spike held her, and a familiar sensation of heat and comfort, of rightness, wrestled with concern. She was back but she was crying, so bloody upset his head was fighting not to spin. He forgot the night's events. All he could focus on was her.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" Spike disentangled her, even with as reluctant as she was to be moved. Scanning for injuries or changes, he demanded, "What's this about?" he nodded at her, indicating the tears. "Are you okay?"

"I- I thought you w-were dead," she sniffled. Her vision was blurry, his face refused to outline in her sights and she couldn't get a hold of herself. "You were lying there, a-and I checked for a pulse but you didn't have one-" A hiccup cut her off.

Spike shushed her then as understanding dawned. Keeping direct eye contact, he waited until her breathing slowed, as did the tears. Frowning and cupping her face in one palm, he said, "I'm okay, love. I'm alright." He swallowed hard, and added, "Stop cryin, yeah?"

She nodded; her eyes finally focused, spotting the blood. "Y-You're hurt." Hastily raising a hand to delicately trace his wounded cheek, she stared in a way that said she wanted to know why. Spike's gaze softened with warmth.

"I've had worse," he replied softly. Taking her hand, and holding it tightly, Spike cherished her presence along with the look of worry in her eyes. "What brought you back here-"

"What happened-"

They both halted mid-statement when they interrupted each other, smiling timidly before their eyes locked. Buffy remembered the past hours, and his vampire face flashed in her mind... As did everything she'd learned.

The sudden memory of why she'd come back tonight felt whipped at her. And she decided to be brave... he deserved that from her.

"Y-You..." Buffy stuttered, the courage which had been plenty present before completely scared out of her now. Still, she looked down, and marched on. "You don't have a heartbeat... do you?"

It was the best she could come up with really, in that moment; her mind was focusing on the latest scare-factor. No heartbeat, no life. It was a direct and all together crazy question in general, but not in this instance.

His hold tightened on her hand before he stiffly replied, "No. I don't."

Buffy nodded, raising her head to meet his scared and guarded eyes with questioning ones of her own. "That's why... When I felt for a pulse just now-" Her words stopped, and then she looked down.

The seconds slowly passed, neither moving. Spike stared at her, saw her bowed head as questions and worries ran through his brain like horses on a track. She'd come back here for a reason, one he couldn't think to believe until he heard more.

But her lips hadn't stopped quirking nervously, as she switched between biting and pursing them. Her hair was a messy bun at the nape of her neck hanging by its last will against gravity. And she looked hyper in a purely bodily sense; nerves virtually danced beneath her skin.

He'd been passed out, and presumably dead; the discovery had shaken her, her reaction had shaken him.

A leftover tear slipped past her lashes.

Spike brushed the droplet aside and she looked up at him again. He steeled himself, then said what they both already knew, but she needed to hear straight out. "I'm not alive, Buffy. I haven't been for a long bloody time."

It was a moment or two before Buffy gave a jerky nod. She secretly berated herself for her earlier reaction, to the visage he'd shown her... It was hard for Spike to talk to her now, his voice was matter-of-fact and hard, and she didn't like it.

If she hadn't run away, maybe he'd be less afraid of her reaction and her views. Instead, she'd abandoned him when he'd tried to entrust her with who he was.

Buffy exhaled steadily. "I know. And I'm sorry." Meeting his surprised eyes, she continued, "I'm sorry I left you alone when you told me-... I'm sorry I ran."

Spike's bafflement at the apology showed clearly on his face. Hope threatened to grow strong inside him, and offered the cliff from which he'd be falling if it got too high. But as his brows slowly met in the middle, she was busy wading in self disappointment.

"You've taken all of my crap, and I just-..." Buffy paused, swallowing down her tight throat before a self depreciating laugh slipped through her lips. "I didn't even give you a chance to-" Shaking her head, she glanced up again.

The look on Spike's face made her gasp.

He was staring at her, in such wonder, such warmth and care, that suddenly all of the fear she'd had before, when he'd shown her his fangs, was childish and pointless. Like an icicle falling with the season thaw, Buffy's heart relaxed, breathed. She knew Spike, and she knew he would never hurt her. She was safest when with him, whatever or whoever he was; he cared about her.

And damn all if she didn't trust him implicitly.

As if the fright of earlier today had never come, her doubts dissipated in the space of one wispy second.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, needing him to understand. Needing to make it clear that she realized she was wrong. Even if maybe, he should have told her everything sooner... Though she might not have come back if he had.

Spike stared at her. Then hesitantly leaned forward. His crystal blue eyes flickered over her cheeks, and oh so softly, he fastened his mouth to hers. The first touch forged their familiar connection like blinding sparks, and they went from still and cautious to no borders, no barriers or fears, in a flash.

He grabbed her tight when she threw her arms around his neck. Spike kissed hard, and Buffy returned it for all she was worth. Desperation rushed in.

Tongues touched, heated and inciting. They were chest to chest before a heartbeat could pound. It was consuming and heady; a feeling of being connected after one threat of abandonment, and one threat of death, had their bodies clinging like raindrops to a window.

Before she knew it, Buffy was lifted off her knees, onto the couch and wrapped around him. Her legs straddled his thighs, he kept her torso firmly against his, and she felt his chest solid and still while she squirmed in his arms.

Her nerves tingled, all along her skin Buffy could feel warmth spreading too fast, too right. Her place on his lap felt so fitted, completely fortifying and steadying while her wits spun away from her in a whirlwind of heat. He was controlled, strong and fiercely grabbing and gripping. Securing her and keeping her in his arms because that's where she belonged, where she needed to be.

She couldn't stop herself from breaking away to breathe, and loving the kisses he hurriedly dotted along her jaw in reaction. He'd already wrestled her ponytail from her hair, and now his fingers ran through the strands worshipfully, possessively. She almost purred.

The coolness of skin gave her chills, her fingertips traced and dug into his shoulders while he kissed her like a man starved, bent on marking her. The lovely sensations he evoked in her, the feelings stampeding, were as stabilizing as they were dizzying. His tongue glided, dancing over her throat, cool and shiver inducing and she remembered it. She remembered the feel of him, the reassuring familiarity of his touch. Nothing had changed, he was still Spike, throwing her off-kilter with just a look and a loving touch.

Then Buffy found herself ground down, into him, hips jerking as Spike's hands grabbed them to direct the first motion. Soon he was fully guiding her, and her breath shattered while their hips rocked together. She grabbed his upper arm for support, fingers digging into a ripped T-shirt sleeve while her other went for the nape of his neck.

Her eyelids flickered open. The glanced sight of red tingeing white rekindled her memory, and Buffy abruptly stopped moving- Well, as best she could with one aroused man grinding against her and holding her hips.

"S-Spike, stop- ah!"

His ears soaked up that lovely gasp she let out when his thumb brushed her nipple, guarded by cloth he wanted to shred. He couldn't think why she wanted to stop, his brain wasn't in control right now, and all he could do was mumble against her throat in a way that vaguely sounded like a question.

Buffy sighed as she felt his hand shape around her breast, to cup and caress; her body arched gently into him. Then his fingers slid to her back, where he pressed her roughly forward. They locked together, each bare inch of muscle and skin touching. She felt every part of him, from his chest to the hardness at the apex of her thighs.

The knowledge that he was hurt, there was blood drying on the back of his head, was information Buffy was desperately trying to hang onto as she softly moaned. The sound only made Spike more ravenous, and soon he had her lips pressed beneath his again.

Evidently, his injury was of little importance.

*To HIM!*

With that internal shout of concern related to Spike's priorities, Buffy steeled herself to pause this... little kiss.

Well, okay it might not be little but she could stop it!

He nibbled her bottom lip, sucked on her tongue... She kissed harder by temptation, an inaudible whimper escaping... Her hips rocked... *Shoot!*

She finally broke free. "Spike, you're hurt-!"

"S'just a scratch," he claimed, his eyes unfocused. She felt his hand reach into her hair again, tilting her forehead to meet his as his fist clenched in the soft locks and there breathing mingled.

Her lungs tried to calm. "Your head- Let me see it-"

"M'fine, Buffy. Sittin up an everythin, now c'mere." He drew her lips back to his, and she didn't notice her acquiescence, but she knew after it happened.

Damn the man, smooching her like he wasn't hurt. He'd been passed out, and something had obviously happened to cause that. She still didn't even know what!

Finally, Buffy had had enough. She needed to figure out what the hell had hurt him, and also, FIX him. Spike may feel okay, he might be... not alive? She still wasn't one hundred percent clear. But he was hurt and that was not okay.

Running her hands over his hard shoulders, his neck, to cradle his jaw and slow down the kiss, she very stealthily moved her tongue and lips against his in a way to calm and yet also incite. She felt his fingers loosen on her hips and hair, she slowed to a stop even as her body protested and Buffy had to mentally grit her teeth. Separating, sharing broken sensual kisses, brought them both to a perfunctory point of content temptation.

She breathed in deep, quickly. Her eyes flickered over Spike's face before she leaned in once more to trace his lips with her tongue.

The move had him claiming her mouth once again for a deep, erotic kiss which she found it hard to stop. But when she did, Buffy took his hands and removed them from her body, ignoring his questioning frown. Swiftly standing, gripping his fingers tight when he went to reach for her, determined hazel eyes met puzzled blue.

Buffy's lips firmed before she stated, "You're hurt. And there is going to be no more..." She left the words unsaid. "Until I get a look at your head, AND you tell me what happened."

Studying her face, that determined unwavering expression of intent, Spike realized that she was ready to tie his thumbs together if she had to. The dame was worried, about him. Her eyes were large and unblinking, her whole expression firm. A small line rested between two delicate brows.

Unbending, she was; wanting to get a look see at his damages and make sure he was alright.

The concept of being fret over had a sudden appeal. As long as it was Buffy doing the fretting.

She resisted scowling at the strange smile Spike gave her, blushing a little at the warm look that accompanied said smile. It couldn't be helped that her lips quirked upward at their ends. She finally released his hands, pretending a chill hadn't run down her arms when the contact was lost.

Buffy rounded the couch to finally get full view of his head, and Spike sat accordingly. "Does it hurt more than-" her voice broke off when she saw the gash amidst his hair.

Spike answered the presumed question, "I've got a few bruises to go with it. I reckon there's a scratch that burns like a bitch on my cheek. Otherwise, my head's the worst off."

Buffy gently laid a hand above the gash, eyeing it with a wrinkled forehead. She hadn't expected it to be so bad; maybe a bump, but this... "Spike, this is deep."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "I bet. S'hard for-" he paused, gathering the right words... "S'not easy for someone like me to pass out."

Buffy didn't seem to hear him, though she did. No reaction occurred, because she was too busy staring at his head, and debating how best to mend it. "I think you'll need stitches."

Spike snorted and bit back a full out laugh. He could feel Buffy's frown before she even asked, "What's so funny?"

"I won't need stitches, pet. I heal... very quickly. The blood's probly stopped oozin by now, yeah?" When she said nothing, and all he felt was her stiff, worried presence behind him, Spike exhaled. "Buffy, it smarts; but I promise it'll be mostly healed up by tomorrow."

Dubiously, and worriedly, she frowned still. Rounding about him, Buffy came to stand right before Spike's resigned face. She could tell he'd somehow accepted that she wouldn't understand what he was saying, this tale about super healing... But she didn't doubt it. She was only scared and presumed that it had something to do with... what he was. Which was still very new information.

How a supposed dead guy could heal was beyond her, but Buffy just sighed and asked, "Where's your first aid kit?"

His eyes crinkled slightly, and he pointed to the doorway. "There're some bandages in the kitchen. Cupboard above the stove."

Buffy turned to go and search, then halted, turning back she said, "You don't have a regular first aid kit, do you?"

Spike shook his head.

She sighed, and mumbled to herself as she walked out something about idiot men all being the same, dead or alive.

Spike swore he'd heard wrong.

When Buffy returned, a wet washcloth in one hand and a wad of gauze in the other, Spike briefly thought about what she'd look like in a nurse's costume.

Unfortunately, he was forced to shake the thought aside when she got closer, because the moment she placed the towel to his head to clean the wound, pain laced through his skull.

She paused when he winced. "I'm sorry, I-I just... don't know how to get around it."

He grit his teeth. "S'alright... but you don't need to bother cleanin it, love."

She scowled. "That's ridiculous. There's dirt caked all around it, Spike. You could get an infect..."

Her voice died away, and Spike rolled his eyes.

He waited...

"You CAN'T get infections, can you?"

There it was. "Not unless there's some sorta poison involved, pet. An there wasn't."

She swallowed, her pride taking a small hit. She felt like a moron all of a sudden. "Fine. What should I do then?" She set the washcloth down on an end table.

He frowned at her tone. "Just a bandage will do. Rest is what'll really help mend it." He refrained from mentioning food.

She nodded rigidly, sighing as she reached for the gauze again. She looked at the roll, then to the wound, her nose wrinkling. "Okay I'll need tape to do this... and-"

He heard her sigh again, this time roughly. "Spike, can I just clean it? It's hard to think that it's taken care of when I see almost as much dirt as I do blood."

Clenching his jaw, and pursing his lips... he relented. He told her where some medical tape was, and when she returned with one extra towel and a small bowl of soapy water, too, the vampire believed he'd prepared himself enough for a little agony. If only to make Buffy feel at ease.

She dipped the smaller towel in the warm water, and as gently as possible, started wiping away the mud.

He grit his teeth, trying to withstand the ache in his head. The closer to the wound she went, the worse it felt. Kissing and grinding was one thing. Her hands had somehow, wisely, never touched the back of his head. Now, she was deliberately trying to fix what didn't need fixing- OR touching.

His head had hurt before, now it bloody throbbed.

He could hear her dipping the cloth in water, and each time the sound got more irritating along with the pain. Finally, by the seventh dip in the water bowl, his jaw was aching just from trying to keep quiet. She dunked the cloth once more, then dabbed the gash directly-

Spike shouted, jerking away.

Buffy winced. "Sorry!"

"Okay, we're done." He took the towel from her and threw it onto the mattress at his feet.

"I said I was sorry, you don't have to be a jerk about it."

He met her eyes, astounded. "A jerk?! It bloody hurts, Buffy! I understand you're just tryna help but-"

"How does me cleaning it hurt, when five minutes ago you were the one trying to convince me that it was 'just a scratch?' "

His face hardened. "Cuz five minutes ago I had you squirmin on my lap, and NOT examinin my soddin head."

Buffy looked away, fighting down a blush and clenching her jaw at the same time. She crossed her arms and then, seeing the tape on the table, deftly tossed it to him. "Fine. Hold this."

She grabbed the gauze again and then quickly, without so much as brushing the wound with her fingertips, managed to fold an appropriately sized square with the material, over the gash. She handed the roll to Spike. "Rip it here," she ordered, pointing to the spot she wanted it cut.

He did so, and then the gauze was taken away from him. He felt her set it, then the tape was torn from his hands and Buffy quickly set the bandage in place. He only felt a few small jolts of pain during the application, but she did it so quickly, that he didn't have a chance to even wince.

"All done."

She was suddenly walking away, all of her medical materials, including the water bowl, in her arms as she headed back to the kitchen.

Spike was left... confused. It wasn't often that things seemed to just happen in the blink of an eye. Unless he was fighting.

He waited for her to return. When she didn't, he rose, mentally kicking himself for snapping at her. He'd just gotten her back after potentially losing everything, he'd finally told her what he was, and he dared to take the chance at pissing her off?

He quickly strode to the kitchen, releasing a breath when he found her turning the faucet on to wash the bowl.

Spike came up behind her.

She'd felt him, seen him in her peripheral, but she hadn't wanted to acknowledge him. Now, directly behind her, placing a hand on the edge of the counter to halfway trap her in, she couldn't ignore him.

"You don't have to do that, kitten."

The words ran down her spine as Buffy shut off the water. "I know. But it's better than talking to you when you're all... grouchy."

She spoke in a tone that was nearly petulant, except she didn't sound stubborn, but almost evasive.

Spike exhaled, then gently took her wrist and turned her around. Facing him, she looked up and raised her brows, her expectancy clear. Spike let his apology show on his face, he leaned in, and brushed a soft kiss against her temple. "M'sorry."

Buffy sighed. The sound was begrudging, but forgiving; she leaned into him. Her hands came up to finger the ripped material of his shirt, and frowning, she asked, "What the hell happened tonight, Spike?"

Oh what a question. He needed to answer her, he knew that, but the answer would turn into a full out discussion. He wasn't looking forward to it... but she had a right to know everything.

He needed her to know everything.

Tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear, Spike sighed. His stare met hers, the colors of her eyes were lined with concern. "My friends and I- Well, I s'pose I was the main target, but... We were attacked."

Buffy's face turned into a direct, very hard frown. "Attacked?" she repeated, disbelief clear in her tone. "Who the hell-"

"You been around for as long as I have, pidge, and you make a few enemies."

Buffy shook her head, looking truly stunned. "ENEMIES? You have enemies? Why would you have enemies?"

Spike scoffed, leaving her side to sit at a stool by the island. He rested his elbows on the flat surface. "THAT is an issue with a long story attached to it."

Buffy stood still, in silence, before approaching his side. She could see the control he had reigned, the tight stiffness suddenly in his shoulders. She rested a hand over his bunched muscles, and leaned in close to him. Softly in his ear, she said, "Spike... you can tell me."

A tense quiet engulfed the room after her plea. It was a message, in her throat in the air, that she wanted to know and be told what he had to explain. All which he could.

In a short moment, their eyes met again, and Spike pulled her down to sit in a stool opposite him. She almost gasped at the quick arrangement he made of her limbs. Then he wouldn't let go. Her arms were held by his hands, and she inwardly frowned because he looked ready to keep his grip, as if she would leave again.

She wouldn't.

"M'not..." he started, his voice intent, deep, even as it was hesitant. "M'not human... You know that now. And... bleedin hell Buffy there's just so much to explain about that." Spike stood up, scoffing with ridicule at himself. He scratched the back of his neck as he tried to work out a way to explain... everything.





Buffy chewed her lip, eyeing him; his back was turned to her.





Tired. Tired and hurt. He was jumpy, too; his clothing was bloody and his body was marred. She was aware of who, what, he was. And she knew things she hadn't known before because of that book- If it was as accurate as its pictures.





Of course, she knew she didn't know all, but that's what he needed to tell her. Teach her.





Spike looked up when she grasped his hand. Buffy smiled at him, softly, understandingly. She tugged and he came closer. "Here, why don't you clean up and then I can listen to everything you have to say."





He nodded after a moment. Then she pulled him behind her as she headed for-





"Uh, Spike?"





He smirked softly. "Through the livin room. Bedroom's up the stairs, down the hall, second door on yer left."





She nodded, then pulled him all the way up to his bedroom.





Buffy's first reaction to his directions was a nervous tickle along her spine, knowing exactly to where they were headed... just the two of them.





But then her brain kicked in and she remembered that he was hurt, they were going to have a DISCUSSION- and nothing more. Plus, his clothes were undoubtedly in his room, and he needed to change into something not covered with dirt and blood.





When they reached the door, she looked back at him as his hand stretched out from behind her to open it. She preceded him in, and heard a click when the entryway closed. Butterflies would have begun dancing in her stomach- As a matter of fact, they were JUST starting the steps to the mambo when, all of a sudden, a tiny little head of fur poked out from under the bed and mewed.





Her eyes widened, and really, she should have been prepared because she'd seen Spike adopt the kitten, but she hadn't been ready apparently. Because the first thing she did was smile like a loon and go straight for it, grasping the little thing in her hands. "Spike, you didn't tell me you had a kitten."





If he detected any deceptiveness in her tone, he didn't show it. And Buffy didn't need to look at him to know he was embarrassed.





He glanced at her with the feline, his cheeks almost turning pink despite his undead makeup, and Spike had to admit, that as long as she didn't tease him, the sight of her rubbing noses with a now purring kitty cat made him smile. It was a very begrudging smile, of course, because he was a demon... not supposed to have fuzzy feelings like that.





But Buffy wasn't going to bust his balls about anything. All she seemed to care about was the little animal and how cute it was.





She sat on the bed with her, rubbing the feline's belly as Spike went to his chest of drawers and retrieved some fresh clothes. Then he turned to face them, a smile still present.





Cat belly-up, and Buffy scratching her fur while a contented purr could be heard, was a nice sight. Spike glanced down as his grin grew, then he looked up again and tried to diminish it, with no luck. "I'll hop in the shower real quick, just to get this muck off."





"Okay," she replied. Her eyes hadn't left the kitty. "We'll be fine out here."





Spike had no doubt.





He shook his head in amusement, then entered the connecting bathroom and shut the door behind him.


***




Buffy's brain was on two things while she was alone. One, the furry little thing in her lap purring louder than a truck engine; and two, how this forthcoming conversation was going to go.






She wasn't sure if she should start out with questions, or just let Spike start off where he wanted to; but how would he know where to begin if she didn't ask him stuff? Would she be asking the right questions?






How could she? She was thinking in circles.






She shook her head softly. The book had left her with knowledge. Hopefully, accurate knowledge. Now all she needed was to pinpoint her main inquiries.






Which left her with... everything.






Letting out a sigh that started from the tips of her toes, Buffy inwardly silenced herself. She needed to relax. This was no doubt much harder for Spike than it was for her. HE would be explaining himself, HE would be telling his... life story? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she had to be patient...






And not let him get away with keeping crap from her.






She wanted to understand him. All of everything she could know, she wanted to.






God, that word was getting italicized way too much in her brain. EVERYTHING was a whole lot to take in and tell, how much could she learn in one night? How much could he explain?






She looked up when the sound of the shower stopped. It had been the background music to her over-thinking and inner pep talk for five minutes now.






Well, one thing was for sure, she sucked at pep talks.






Chewing on her bottom lip, Buffy gave herself one rule. The ONLY one she could get herself to adhere to right now that made any sense.






*Stay calm, and no matter what, don't freak out.*






Suddenly, the bathroom door opened, and there stood a blue-eyed, bare-chested... God.






Buffy's eyes rounded. She took in the sight of a shirtless, hair tousled, water running down ripped abs Spike. Her mouth ran dry.






Arms lined with corded muscle, chest and abdomen chiseled like stone, his skin was clean and his hair no longer tinged with dirt or blood. The few battle wounds she saw did nothing to steal from his beauty. A scratch here, a bruise there, he stood tall and mouthwatering. Powerful.






The glimpse that was caught when she had lifted his shirt to inspect some bruised ribs not long ago was nothing like the full effect. She'd barely registered his body then in the middle of her concern, but now... He looked like you could throw a bolder at him, and it would bounce off. Handsome, strong, and leaving her speechless.






While she ogled, Spike gently toweled his face and neck. Apparently he'd removed and reset the bandage on his head, because Buffy noticed it when he turned around to toss the towel back into the bathroom.






Her gaze was then pinned to his back. She hadn't known a back could be beautiful, but his was. Lined with muscle, sinewy yet strong looking, smooth alabaster skin...






He turned around.






Evidently, her jaw had dropped open at some point. "You're catchin flies there, love."






Eyes shooting up to his grinning face, her mouth snapped shut. Buffy fought down the heat in her cheeks with every ounce of control she had over such things, and then looked down at the kitten in her hands as a distraction.






Spike was smirking now, a very pleased expression on his gorgeous face. She could feel it like she felt his stare on her body. "What's her name?" Buffy asked.






The smirk got wider, though she didn't dare look at him to confirm.






"She doesn't have one." He debated forgetting about putting on a shirt, wanting to forget it now. Buffy's blush was just lovely.






She looked at him, and he could see the switch in her eyes when she turned from skittish to resolute. She stared right at him and asked, "You didn't name her?"






Spike shook his head, smiling into her unwavering eyes. "Nope. Blake likes to call her 'Princess,' though. I personally think it's too..."






"Girly," she finished.






"Yeh." He went for that shirt. "You can name her if ya like, sweets. I've just been callin her 'furball' mostly."






Buffy scoffed with amusement, inwardly grateful and yet disappointed too when he threw a T-shirt on over his head. "How original," she said.






The air became quiet then. With only one set of calm, even breaths and one heartbeat to sound. No more words or small talk came to mind or could be said. Buffy's gaze slowly, silently, lifted, to meet shyly with his.






Spike didn't notice when he stepped closer, to sit beside her on the large soft bed, breathing in her scent as he took an unnecessary breath to calm himself. The aroma she emitted had him wanting to inhale deeper, even as the hair on the back of his arms and neck stood up, his nerves tingled.






She brought out the calm and jittery, the stability and the animal inside. Spike broke eye contact as he heard her breathing speed up, her pulse skitter and jump. Best not to think about her being so close... so trusting and near, he decided, because then he wouldn't be able to stop himself from touching her.






Her voice, tentative and quiet, broke the silence. "I went to the library."






He looked at her in question, and she continued. "After I left I-I... went to the library and I grabbed all of the books on vampires I could find."






He didn't have a chance to laugh or balk, which was probably good considering he didn't know which he would've done. Only his gaze changed, widening, before she spoke again. "I learned a lot of what I'm sure is... well, crap. And also some things that I think are... real. But I just... I've got a lot of questions but I don't really know how to ask them and I'm sure some of them will sound really dumb so I think it's best if you just-"






Spike cut her off. Not with words, not with a hush, but by brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was halting and tender. Then she finally noticed the way he was staring at her, not so guarded or bewildered as a moment before, but warmer. Just warm.






She sucked in a tiny breath, one that sounded louder to her than it actually as and felt like a deep gasp in her throat. He was sitting so close and looking at her like she was someone to be understood, someone that he already GOT. He stared as if she was the sun and he wanted to go blind. And Buffy was a second away from locking up into stone or shooting into his arms.






Then Spike nodded as he said, "Alright. I'll start, yeah? And you can slip a question in any time you want."






She swallowed down the desire to touch and be touched by that unnamed emotion in his eyes, and caught her breath. "Okay," she murmured






And then it began.






***





The history lesson started, the facts. Like a list of tragedies or fairytales no one would believe. No one would understand and actually judge as true.



Who could look at Spike, and actually trust him when he explained that he was born in the late seventeen hundreds, died in eighteen-twenty, and was therefore, over a century old. Over TWO centuries old if you included his human years, which Buffy did.



"H-How were you turned?"



She didn't make inquiries very much, mostly let him explain things so she could understand it all clearly. He was slow, deep speaking and straight forward. But she did ask a few things, all in all. The first was that last question.



And he told her, of how he'd been... heartbroken, and then changed into a creature of the night.



Someone named Cecily, a woman who had brushed him off when he'd laid himself out for her to either skewer or hold. She'd gone for the knife.



And Spike- or William, the man he explained he'd once been before becoming a vampire -had felt crushed that night. He'd run into the streets a broken man, and in doing so, he'd died at the fangs of a vampire named Drusilla.



Dru, as he first referred to her, had apparently been- in Spike's words -his salvation. At least, he amended, that's what he'd thought her to be at the time.



Buffy quickly brushed aside the nasty emotion that welled up in her stomach as he began talking about this woman, his lover who had been his everything. She who held his making in her blood. Spike began with explaining all that she was, her mental instability and visions, her talking to the stars; and what she had become to him. How she'd taught him things, been his beloved partner and his cherished love to care for.



He spoke of her like she'd once been the moon and the stars. And to him, Spike explained, she had been.



But she wasn't anymore. He clarified that severely, smoothing over a painful thing inside Buffy that had begun growing and kept up its pace with every word uttered about Drusilla.



To possibly change the topic, or maybe just to continue with the explanation of who he was and what, Spike went back to the night of his turning.



Evidently, he'd had a sister and a mother. His father had passed on when he was younger. And the night he'd died, something had become very clear to Spike.



"Most vamps, when they first wake up, go after their families." He told her about how, as he was sure many of her books had already explained, vampires were cruel and generally evil. They were soulless and bloodthirsty, and one of the first things they want after waking up undead, is to cut off all ties from their former life.



But Spike couldn't do that.



"Not only did I not want them dead, but I couldn't even fathom turnin em," he said. Saying why, at Drusilla's urging as well as his 'against nature' feelings, he'd fled his home. There was no need to stay, his mum and Dawn were just fine without him, they had people to look after them and help from many friends, if needed.



And he believed he could no longer be a part of their lives following his death.



After which he'd stayed with his maker, his beloved sire, and about fifty other vamps. It was a nest, a sort of a family, Spike explained. Buffy was a little wigged about that last point.



But then her mind rewound, and she focused onto something she knew Spike was going to get to, but Buffy couldn't help from asking about herself. "Most vampires are soulless? That means, no conscience right?"



Spike shook his head in the negative.



Buffy frowned before he could utter a word, and added, "They're cruel and bloodthirsty, you said it yourself."



Spike look down at his clasped hands, then looked up again to meet her confused sweet eyes filled with trust. He swallowed. "They are. But not MOST of em, love. ALL."



A beat. A moment of pure silence, the air heavy and Buffy's face uncomprehending.



Slowly, her eyes blinked to reveal them newly aware, her fingers clenched into fists and Spike heard her pulse skip over itself several times.



Then, "Oh."



It was from then that the conversation changed. It went from simple- as easy as the basic facts of how he'd become what he was could be told -to something darker. Weightier and not so simple, not so nice.



"I didn't hurt my family, but I hurt a lot of other people. And even now, I don't regret a single kill."



Her voice shook. Her lips trembled over the word: "Kill?"



Spike averted his eyes, not being able to stand the judgment he saw in hers. He'd seen it a thousand times before in other people's, in the stares of hateful enemies and weak victims he'd torn apart. The only difference was, he hadn't cared until now.



She asked him, her voice soft and grainy, "You're a killer?"



Spike's only answer was in his gaze, the truth, and hidden beneath the blue was the preparation for her reaction.



But nothing could have steadied him enough when she jumped off the bed and turned her back on him, staring at the wall; more questions came.



How many did he kill, was he like the books had said, was he a torturer and a bloodthirsty animal who enjoyed seeing people in pain. Did he kill people by sucking their blood as she'd learned, or did he just feed for fun? What was the worst thing he'd ever done, did he steal things off his victims? Did he kill them in front of their families?



He'd cut off her angry rambling of questions, explaining that he'd done just about everything you could deem sick, and cruel, and evil, in only twenty years time.



He'd gotten nicknames. There were books written about him and Drusilla, the things they'd done. He was notorious for torturing, had been called 'Spike' after only three years of being a vampire, because one of his most favored torture methods involved railroad spikes.



Buffy's face had looked angry and closed off at this point. Her mouth was compressed and her eyes fire lit.



He rose, trying to keep the self disgust from his own face. He was still a demon, he didn't give a shit about the people he'd hurt, the only thing which managed to make him feel like dirt was the look on Buffy's face and knowing it was well deserved. "You'd get sick from seein just a glimpse of what I used to do to girls your age."



She visibly flinched. Deprivation was the only thing he could feel, guilt that he wasn't used to scalded him like hot oil inside. She wouldn't look at him, and all he could seem to do was keep her looking away because a butterfly does not deserve to be put in a jar. And Spike didn't even deserve to see her fly, unless it was away from him.



Buffy raised her head when he came closer, her eyes green shards. What she was hearing and what her mind knew of him did not compute.



If he was a cruel monster who liked to kill and torture, bring pain to people and watch with a smile, then why was he the way he was now? If he didn't care about anybody, then why had he cared at all about her? Why did he have friends, why didn't he kill his mother and sister all those years ago?



If he was as evil as he said, then why the fuck-



"Why do you have a cat named Princess?"



The question was beyond random. Spike actually blinked in confusion, his body only a foot away from hers, and frozen. He was almost too thrown to ask, "What?"



Her lips thinned and a scowl pinched her forehead. Buffy stepped closer, her arms crossed and her eyes daring. "I said, 'Why do you have a cat named Princess?'"



Buffy could see the plain puzzlement on his face and decided that was good. It meant he wouldn't talk as much. "You're so soulless and without a conscience, right?"



He nodded, still looking lost.



She smiled, mockingly. "Right. Then why did you take in a stray kitten? I saw you that night, Spike, outside the library. I knew very well you picked up that cat and took it home."



His bafflement was clear, but Buffy decided to fuck up his thought process a little more. Because she wasn't buying the past "William the Bloody" tale. It may be true, but "used to" were the key words in every single thing he told her; and therefore, every sin and murder and gory pursuit.



"And why, if you don't give a damn about people, do you have friends? You seem to be close with them, I thought soulless demons would be a more solitary animal. No?"



His silence was yet again, her answer. Buffy continued. "Hmm. Interesting. And if what I read about soulless demons not being able to love is true, then what about your sire, Drusilla?" Buffy swallowed hard before she went on, the name of the other lady leaving a burning emotion behind she didn't have time to consult. "Did you really love her, or was it all just lust? Because you sound pretty sure that you did love her, and care about her. I thought vampires weren't supposed to be able to do that."



"And then we've got one more thing. Why the FUCK would you treat me the way you have?" Her voice rose, her temper coming out to play with the betrayal she felt. She was horrified, she was guilty of caring about a man who'd been a heartless monster; but that wasn't the whole story either. He wasn't the same. "Why would you let me cry on your shoulder? Why would you argue with me in the rain like some scene out of a cheesy romcom, and save me from bad dreams? Why would you bother listening when I told you everything about my mom and grandfather? Why the hell would you treat me like you care?"



Her tirade left him effectively fish mouthed. She stepped close to him, her chin high and her eyes flaring. "Was it all just crap, Spike? Was it all a cruel game?! Because if it was you sure fooled me!"



His jaw closed, clenching tight. And he knew she could see the emotions inside him as clearly as possible without spelling them out. He let her, and she read his eyes, wondering just how long it had been since he'd last killed a person. Buffy snapped one more time. "When was the last time you killed a human being? Or tortured someone? Fed?"



He was quiet, his useless lungs working hard as his nostrils flared.



They stared in silence, until finally, Buffy backed off with a scoff. It was an airy sound filled with triumph and disbelief, her heart danced in her chest and her mind cleared just a little bit. "You're not quite the same vampire you were before, are you Spike?"



His teeth ground together and he glared down at her. The things she was saying... "You're deluding yourself, pet."



The growl with which he spoke should have scared her.



It didn't. "How long?"



"For a long soddin time, alright?!"



"Why?"



Spike swallowed hard, his eyes left hers for a second. He needed to breathe but he didn't, and his heart wasn't beating but his chest felt tight. He had sworn to tell her everything... "Because I made a promise... to my sister."



The answer wasn't as much of a shock as it might have been to someone else. Buffy knew Spike. He wasn't your typical soulless vamp, as she'd pretty much just proven, and the fact that he'd made some sort of vow not to kill because of family was a very solid explanation.



She urged him to continue, still standing even as he sat back down. Slowly, he spilled it. Each word sounded like it was pulled from him against his will, but slowly, it became easier to tell her about the family he'd lost forever ago.



His mother's name was Anna, and Buffy could tell from the way Spike talked about her that he'd loved her very much. It was a hard guess that he would have been a momma's boy, but evidently, he was.



He was also a big brother at heart. He described Dawn fondly, and it was easy to picture the beautiful brunette with a bright smile.



Spike quickly, like ripping off a band-aid, got to the part about how he had left them for twenty years before finally returning home.



"I used to... I used to get letters, from a bloke I paid to keep an eye on them. He was a young kid, only 'bout sixteen when I found him, and he didn't even know what I looked like. I just gave him suitable locations to leave or send the letters."



These notes and updates kept Spike away, but still watchful over his loved ones. He'd never heard of a problem, and so had stayed gone for years until finally, something went wrong.



At the time, his relationship with Drusilla had been dwindling, he explained. Things had been going rough and Spike still knew that he would have stayed with her and been her lap dog forever if she'd let him; but then his mum got sick.



She'd never been weak, or frail, and the news had shocked him. He hadn't been afraid of much after being turned, but when the report had gotten to him, he'd headed straight back home with fear in his undead heart.



He'd left Drusilla, he'd gladly left that bloody vamp nest, and he'd set out to find his mother and turn her before it was too late.



He'd rather have her forever and cold, than gone and in the ground.



His homecoming didn't go quite like he'd planned, however.



Dawn had ripped him a new one when he'd gotten back. In the middle of the night, she'd made his ears bleed before even letting him in. She hadn't yelled so much as cried and called him names.



Because when Dawn was hurt, evidently, it was heard. Spike explained to Buffy how his little sister had both hit and hugged him all in one "welcome home" hurrah. And she'd demanded an explanation as to why he'd left, where he'd been, and why he was suddenly back after twenty years.



And why he hadn't aged a day.



"Did she freak after you told her what you were?" Buffy asked halfway into his story, worrying about what Dawn's receiving had turned into after she'd learned how he'd changed.



Spike's eyes got distant, and Buffy saw his throat muscles move, a reflective look appearing on his expressive face. "No," he said. "She didn't. She... she hugged me."



Dawn, loving person that she was, had apparently taken her big brother back in with the hope and understanding of someone who just wanted their family back. Her mother was dying, and she'd missed William every second he'd been gone. The un-detailed note he'd left upon his leaving didn't explain very much other than that he had somehow changed, and could no longer stay in their lives.



And when he returned, fangs and all, all Dawn could do was trust him against what intelligence told her, and accept who he had become.



Even with the bloodshed and the torture and the killing. Dawn wasn't happy about it, she was crying the entire time Spike explained what being a vampire was for him, what these past twenty years had become, and how he'd only paused in the violence when hearing about their mother's ailing health.



It was then that Spike told his sister of what he wanted to do.



"She wouldn't let me turn her. And now that I think about it, I'm glad she didn't."



Dawn had put her foot down, exclaiming that she wouldn't curse her mother to such an existence. Away from light, forced to drink blood, fighting a demon's impulses. Even if she were to turn out like her brother had, still able to love despite the evil inside, there was a chance that everything would go wrong, and Anna would become NOTHING but a monster.



And then, she swore Spike to a change. She made him promise her, from then on, no matter what happened, that he would not leave again.



A teary eyed face, pleading and command in her voice. She'd made him swear to change. It was obvious, Dawn had said, that he wasn't the same as other vampires were, that he still had a heart somewhere inside. Maybe not for strangers, but for those he cared about. And she knew he cared about her, and their mother; so she had asked for a promise.



That was when everything reversed itself. He stopped torturing, maiming and killing for the fun of it. He broke off from his demon contacts and holed up back in London, near home, and his malicious days of being "William the Bloody" and "Slayer or Slayers" had come to an end.



Well, mostly. He still had to feed, and Dawn had actually come up with a solution to that dilemma.



Criminals and thieves. Those who did no good to society and only hurt other people. They could be his food source, she'd decided, but advised him to try not to kill them. It still didn't sit right with her, as Dawn was as good as they come, and so Spike had vowed to start playing catch and release.



The few times he did slip up and drained a man completely, became times Spike actually felt disappointed, because he knew Dawn would be hurt. But when he told her about it, especially at the beginning- when he was still adjusting -she'd understood. She told him how she knew it was difficult, and she didn't expect perfect, which is why he was feeding off of the humans who could give a demon or two a run for their money when it came to cruelty.



Spike realized, while telling Buffy his story, that it still managed to surprise him, what Dawn had done about his vampire nature. She'd not denied it, or him, but instead had worked around it. She'd brought back some light into his nocturnal existence, and though talking about her and his mum hurt like a bitch, doing so after all these years actually felt... like a sort of release.



Of course, the fact that it was Buffy listening, and she'd moved back onto the bed, closer to him, made things easier, too.



"So," she said softly, resting a hand over his and succeeding in striking that spark between them to life, "Did you tell your mom about being a vampire?"



Spike's eyes turned sad. He looked at her, and Buffy swallowed hard. Trying to stay strong, gathering herself together, she exhaled steadily. The pain in his voice and eyes had been cutting her down since he'd started talking, and she didn't know how she could feel suddenly so protective of him and no longer worried about who he used to be.



Knowing he'd quit being a horrible, torturing evil vampire because his sister had asked him to... It went along with the things Buffy knew about him- The things which contrasted directly with who he'd apparently once been, the pain he'd once caused people for his own pleasure.



She knew he was telling her the truth on his sins, on his demonic play which had lasted twenty years and landed him in history books. She also knew he was being honest when he told her that he'd never told his mother what he was. She died two days after he got home, and he'd held her hand while Dawn had held the other.



Buffy resisted the urge to hug him close as a lone tear slowly slipped down his cheek. Anna had smiled to see him home, and she'd either been too weak or too relieved to notice that he didn't look twenty years older.



She left the world smiling at her children, each clasping one hand as she drifted off to sleep. Painless and quiet.



The loss was still acute, though. Buffy could see it in his eyes, in the way Spike's lips pressed into a hard line. She reached up to wipe away the teardrop on his face, and he glanced at her too quickly for her to say anything he would hear. He was in another place.



Then he went on. And he told her about how the coming years with Dawn had actually been the best he'd known, even better than the bloodshed and his time with Dru. Forty years of being with his sister- if not in public -and having a part of his true family back, and being loved in return, had been better than any violence.



It wasn't long before his sister was married, she'd had a suitor looking out for her for some time, and it had turned out to be a love match. The man died first, many years later, and Dawn had never born children, but she lived a long and happy life. Spike was a secret to the rest of society, as he couldn't be recognized as her brother anymore with the whole immortality thing, but that never stopped them from being close.



When Dawn got much older, Spike had started to feel her leaving him. Death was getting closer every day, as she was no longer growing, but aging. And he missed her still, like his mum, as he always would.



Spike had known, even as he sat by her side the night of her death, that she wouldn't want to be turned. He'd known it much sooner actually, and if he'd thought she might consider it, he might have offered to do it years before. He didn't want to live without his little sister. It wasn't supposed to be the older sibling watching the younger pass on. The big brother was always supposed to protect.



But the idea of her being a vampire did not sit well. He didn't want to see her grinning with blood around her mouth, and he loved her too much to curse her to that.



So he'd stayed, holding her hand like they'd both done with their mother, until the moon rose and she took her last few breaths.



It wasn't when he'd heard her heartbeat fade away that Spike had crumbled. No. She'd left him a letter, and instructed him to read it, but he hadn't wanted to take his eyes from her. He'd waited until she was gone.



It was a list of things she loved about him, even as a vampire, and the things she knew their mother loved about him, too. She wrote to stay strong after she was gone, and to please also, stay good. To live for her and try and enjoy the immortality. It was a gift, if not with some consequences, but a gift all the same. He was a special man who would one day find what he most wanted, but only if he kept plowing on even in the hardest times. And she would always be with him, in his heart, at his side, and their mother would be right there with her. No matter what.



Spike explained to Buffy that he'd basically broke down after that. For a whole month he'd been on a drinking binge, which was a couple of weeks longer than the one he'd been on after his mum had died.



He'd had no one. Spike moved out of the neighborhood he'd grown up in, but stayed in London, and he'd watched Dawn's funeral from a far, in the shadows hidden from sunlight.



It didn't take Buffy long to grab him, around the neck, and haul him close. She didn't know if he wanted this kind of comfort and she knew he didn't need her tears.



But she had to feel him in her arms. His pain was clawing at her and she couldn't stand it. When he seized her tight, and murmured her name reverently in what sounded like relief, she swallowed down her emotions. He needed her strength right now. He'd done this for her before, now it was her turn.



"How you can stand this, I don't..."



He seemed to be talking to himself, the words a whisper; Buffy heard anyway. She asked, "Stand what?"



"Just bein in the same room with me, now that you know everythin I've... Now that-"



He cut himself off, holding her tighter as if he was afraid he'd brought attention to a fact she'd missed, and now she would leave him. Buffy pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. "Everything you've done is in the past, Spike. And you stopped it because you made a promise to your sister."



He looked at her with piercing eyes, awe and something else like disbelief wading in the blue of his eyes. Then he clenched his jaw in strain. "Buffy, m'not a changed man. M'still a demon, I don't regret what I've done and I could do it all again if it weren't for-"



"Your promise," she strongly broke in. "And you might not have a conscience, but it's what you DO that matters, Spike."



When he was silent, staring at her like she was something that had fallen from the heavens, Buffy felt a blush cover her cheeks. She'd been appalled... she still didn't like the facts of his past. But it didn't matter now. He no longer hurt people, he was no longer a man without a heart.



She didn't think he ever had been. "At least," she added, "it's what matters to me."



Spike stared, in shock in wonder, and she looked at him like a saint forgiving a sinner. She leaned in and hugged him again, and he gripped her back. Holding, cherishing, wanting- All at once.



It took him a minute to realize that she was trying to pull back. When he did he immediately released her and then worried about the questioning look in her eyes. She met his, and asked, "What'd you do with the letter?"



Ah. The letter.



Of course she'd be curious. He knew she wasn't trying to get a glimpse of it, she'd never request something so personal. But he understood why she was asking about it. Her mother and grandfather had died suddenly, in a fire, and not much was left behind after; except for the necklace Buffy wore even now, and a pocket watch of her grandfather's. She kept both and cherished them, and she wanted to know if Spike had felt the same about his letter, or if it was too painful a memory to keep.



The message Dawn had written moved with Spike over the years, wherever he went he had it somewhere safe. And at some point, he'd stuck it in a book, a very old one which he coveted; that way both hiding the letter from his own eyes, and keeping it safe.



He remembered the last time he'd read it, back at the MayBell library, a little over a month ago.

"Yes, a friend's... I'm sorry I forgot to call, Grams. Next time I won't be so scatterbrained... I know I already said it but-... Well, still... Okay... Yeah, I'll be home late, but home... I shouldn't wake you up when I get in, right? I want you to get your rest... Okay. Night, Grams... I love you, too."

Buffy ended the call with an exhale, but sat staring at the device in her hands for a couple of seconds before she dropped it into the main pocket of her bag. She looked up at the cream white ceiling. "What a night."

*And it's not even over yet.*

A sigh rolled off her shoulders. She sat in the warm, summery room she'd run from only hours before. It looked different now. Still comforting, still welcoming and similar to something you might see in a House & Garden magazine, but different. No window was open, the curtains were all drawn, and the only person in the room was her.

Not long before, Buffy and Spike had decided, somehow, to take a break from all of the revelations and recollections that were brought to light in his bedroom. It was a kind of quiet agreement, brought to their attention when Buffy remembered that she'd left her bag here, and it had her phone in it, and it was a little past midnight.

She'd freaked, knowing she needed to call Grams, and Spike instantly told her to go and phone. Her bag was still in the room he'd shown her not far off the living room, and he would wait in the kitchen for her. They'd each been silently craving a change of scenery, though neither would say it, or even dare to think about why.

Sitting on his bed, even injured, was a test of patience for Spike; Buffy had been able to see it in his eyes. Which didn't help, of course, with her nerves or the tingling in her belly which had made itself very known at some point not too long ago.

Add that to the fact the bedroom had become weighted down with the stories which had shocked her, and the walls felt like they were just a little too dizzying to look at anymore, it was either let their physical urges take over or get a change of venue.

Buffy still honestly wasn't sure which choice she would have preferred.

But here she was, downstairs again and reunited with her bag, which held her most important things. The girl stood, dropping the shoulder strap where it belonged and heading out of the comfortable room, a deep breath not far behind her.

She didn't let it out until reaching the front hallway's doorway to the kitchen. There, she halted, meeting the sight of... domesticity and masculinity combined.

Well, a masculine man, with a tiny kitten next to him drinking out of a dish set on the counter, while he stood making a sandwich.

Buffy just blinked, then shook her head, and idly wondered why seeing Spike doing this was actually a little more surprising than his... fangy status.

She cleared her throat.

Spike didn't flinch, just glanced at her, and gave a tiny smirk that she didn't understand. "I heard ya, love."

"What are you doing?"

"Makin you somethin to eat." He topped off the tomato and turkey with another slice of bread. "Figured you might be hungry."

She continued to stare at him, her eyes questioning. Spike pressed his lips together and glanced back at the plate between him and the kitten. "It's just a sandwich, but..."

Buffy slowly nodded. "Thanks."

He smiled gently at her, then handed the plate over when she moved to sit at the island. Buffy selected a stool and grinned a little peculiarly when he handed her a napkin.

It wasn't strange for him to be sweet like this, or gentle... but he'd made her a sandwich. It was so couple-y that Buffy was afraid to let herself enjoy it. Did he realize that the simple gesture wasn't just weird, but even more than that, incredibly kind?

And, as her stomach decided to attest to the fact right then, she was hungry. But she hadn't realized until food was set out right in front of her.

Spike heard the little grumble from Buffy's body, and smiled endearingly. "I hope this'll be enough. Can't let you starve."

Buffy offered a half smile and demonstrated her approval by taking a large bite out of the treat on the table.

Spike watched her chew and swallow, then said, "Is it okay?" he asked a little hesitantly. "I don't usually have much... normal stuff in the house, but since the guys are stayin with me I had to do a bit of shoppin. One of the few things they hadn't managed to eat yet was bread, turkey, and the condiments."

Buffy smiled around another mouthful, her lips closed but her eyes bright. She swallowed. "It's good. I remember when I made the same thing for you not long ago."

Spike blinked, then titled his head. "Yeh. Ya did, didn't you?"

She nodded, and took another bite. "Mhm."

Spike watched her for a moment, his eyes warm as memories flitted back to him. Her barefoot, with legs crossed on the couch as they fought over sweets like a couple of kids. Her hair down, her eyes laughing, their first kiss. That night had turned into a whirlwind of emotions he had never wanted to deal with. Something he never wanted to get involved in, not with a human girl, not with anybody. But he had, and that night, Spike had known something that he hadn't quite fully accepted until recently.

He wasn't ever moving on from this girl.

Taking a step back, Spike cleared his throat and went to get her a glass of water. He didn't have much else, except for sparkling lemon flavored stuff that Blake and Stevo liked, which he new Buffy would hate. She didn't like sparkling water.

"So. What'd your Grams say?" Spike asked when filling up a glass from the tap. He'd listened in on the conversation from the kitchen. He hadn't been able to make out every word, but he'd gathered that Anne Summers wasn't mad at Buffy or overly worried, so all should be okay. He just wanted to check with his girl on that to make sure.

Buffy swallowed another bite. "She wasn't mad, but she was glad I called. I think if I'd left it another hour or two, she would've started to worry." She shoved the last bit of her meal into her mouth, satisfied and nodding in silent thanks when Spike handed her a glass of ice water to wash it down.

He said, "Good," in response to what he'd already figured due to vampire hearing. Then, a frown crossed his face. "Did you tell her you were spendin the night here?"

Buffy almost spit out her drink. Luckily, the glass was still at her mouth and any water ended up back where it had come from when Spike asked that question. She sputtered ineloquently and shook her head. "W-What?"

He could tell she was more shocked than scared, more caught off guard then put off at the idea that had undoubtedly just crossed her mind. It was good for his ego, but Spike didn't exactly care about that at the moment. "Does she think you're stayin here til the sun rises, or that you're gettin a ride home?"

Buffy blinked, and her breath froze in her throat. *Oh.*

He hadn't meant... Her cheeks reddened. Releasing the massive breath from her lungs, her mind cleared itself clumsily, then she answered, "W-We didn't really... I mean, she didn't ask. I think she knows I was just gonna walk back on my own-"

Spike growled in agitation and turned from her, Buffy stopped mid sentence. She grimaced when she realized what she'd just said. The whole walking alone thing really bothered him.

She couldn't understand why. It was such a safe little town, everyone knew each other here and there were always people out late, on their front porches, walking home from a neighbor's gathering or something. MayBell was perfectly safe at basically all hours. And she'd told Grams that she wasn't far from home.

Before she could explain this to him, even though it probably wouldn't have done much other than validate her habit of walking everywhere, alone or not, he suddenly turned on her.

"Did you walk here tonight? After you left the library?"

Buffy sighed and spoke in a 'duh' tone of voice. "Well, yeah."

He growled again, and she really should not have thought it was sexy. It was animal like, quiet but easily heard, and sounding like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. Not your regular human show of aggravation. "You can't walk alone at night!"

She frowned at him. "Spike, I'm fine. I'm here," she waved in a 'hello' gesture. "Walking around in this little town is like walking through a Thomas Kinkade painting. Nothing bad will happen just because I'm-"

"You don't bloody get it, do you?" He came forward, in a split second he was an inch from her, and his face was seemingly closest. Her eyes widened, and he started to speak. "You know what I am, all I've told you t'night?" At her barely there nod and the harder frown now on her face, he continued. "Humans are one thing, pet, they're danger enough. You think it's safe in this town, like somethin out of a fifties sitcom. An compared to a lot a places it is that, but even with the bastards of humanity loose, things like me are the ones that can hurt you the worst."

"Ya wanna be spotted by somethin hungry and deadly?" He squinted in a way that dared her to interrupt, to say how she could take care of herself. Of course she could, in many aspects she was stronger than he, but she was a human. And he wasn't going to let anything harm her. "In less than five seconds you could be spotted by a demon- a VAMPIRE -and drained on the spot. Least the sunlight protects you for a few hours. Otherwise, you're fresh pickins, sweets."

He'd said the last with enough insult, compliment, and provocative double meaning to make her so frustrated she wanted to walk home waving around bloodbags just to spite him. Buffy scowled, swallowing down a retort. At least she knew why now he was always so adamant about her not being alone at night.

And as much as it bugged her pride, after all she'd learned tonight, she wasn't going to be stupid. Buffy sighed, staring up at him with anger and acceptance. "Fine," she grit out, "You're walking me everywhere, since you're the only person I know in town asides from Grams, and just at night. Got it?"

Spike held back a satisfied smirk. "I got it before you did, pidge."

Buffy ground her teeth together, trying to ignore the way his eyes flitted over her face like he was memorizing it. Like he was studying her under a microscope and he never wanted to stop. She fought the lure she felt when their chests almost brushed; her lips firmed to prevent making a lunge for his. She turned away and breathed.

Buffy sat on her stool again, and swallowed down a sip of water. Then she said, in a voice ever so calm, "And if you ever forget or can't walk me somewhere, since you're so adamant on me not being alone at night, I'll ask that John guy to do it."

The dig was so unexpected, so out of left field that Spike was just as unprepared for the comment as he was for the rush of possessiveness that swept him and basically poked his demon with a giant pointy stick. He couldn't stop it, the emotion, the instinct, and he had Buffy in his arms before either one of them could blink.

She really hadn't meant what she'd said, she'd only brought up the other guy to bother him. She wasn't expecting Spike to haul her up from her seat and set her, facing him, onto the island amidst papers and a computer she'd been very careful to avoid with her food and water.

Wide eyed, an indignant reaction ready to roll off her lips, she was not prepared for his claiming of them. Wasn't ready for the iron band of his arm around her waist and the collision of their bodies. He pulled her in close and she let out a broken gasp which sounded more like a whimper. Their mouths were touching, and she responded immediately.

It was rough, untamed, and sent her head spinning. She kissed him back with equal measure, her hands going to his shoulders and then running down the length of his arms. His scaled up her back to meet at her nape, to grip until his fingers decided to travel into her hair. She felt completely consumed and trapped. Her legs spread open, body pressed hard into his, she could feel every ripple of movement he made as he kept her held against him. A hand was fisted in her hair, Spike's grip was strong. It didn't hurt but she knew it would if she pulled away.

That was the last thing she wanted to do. Not a second ago she'd been frustrated and ready to yell, instead of doing such, she'd slipped in a little nonchalant comment which had obviously managed to bring his blood to a boil.

Hers wasn't exactly cold right now either. And even as she ran her fingers delicately over his skin, trying to calm him, reassure him by bringing her kisses from urgent to slow, hungry to sensual, in absolute contradiction to his, Buffy still felt like she was on fire.

He wouldn't stop kissing her like a man dying, and if he kissed her hard enough she would save his life. Buffy still tried to slow him down, calm him, because she knew exactly what unease her comment had caused. And somehow, she felt the best way to put the issue to rest was to be gentle, submissive. But with every soft slide of tongue he growled and held her tighter, forced her closer. Buffy kept up the pace she'd chosen.

Having enough, he pulled back and latched onto her throat, tugging on her hair to expose her neck to him. She gasped, a moan, and then her eyes closed in bliss as she felt his lips and teeth play over her skin.

She couldn't do anything but sit and heat beneath his touch. The feeling of his mouth, his body pressed intimately to hers, not a single inch of space between them. Buffy ran her hands soothingly over his arms, lightly massaging, and keeping herself reigned in as much as possible. She couldn't help the sounds she was making, but she tried to stay quiet. Spike was no doubt leaving a hickey, marking her, and she wouldn't have it any other way. But he needed to understand. She already hated the idea of touching anyone else, Spike was too deep her heart, he was...

"S-Spike..."

The sound brought his face up from her throat. He saw her, eyes closed and head back with a pulse rapidly beating beneath the place where his mouth had just left. He savored the sight, running his tongue over one elongated fang.

Buffy's eyes opened, and she realized she was staring at a different... No not different. Another part of him. She couldn't contain her gasp, as short and as quiet as it was, but all the same he'd heard it. He'd seen the shock enter her gaze when she lifted her head to meet the face of his demon.

She swallowed, and studied.

Spike didn't hide, didn't turn away from her in a last ditch effort to pretend he wasn't a monster in history and in flesh. He'd pulled up after he'd realized his change, and now he stood displaying game face, fangs and all. He wasn't going to keep his identity hidden any longer. For one, it wasn't fair to her. And two, if she wanted him, then she got all of him.

Buffy realized that. As she took in the ridges of his brow, the half open mouth showcasing jagged teeth, the amber eyes that almost glowed- she realized that this was Spike. This was another side of him she'd have to accept.

She almost reached up to touch him, when he spoke.

His voice was dark, not smooth, but rough, and the words slipped through his lips like a risky dare he didn't think she'd take. "Late at night..." He ducked closer, bringing a quiet, rumbling growl close to her throat. "Just the two of us... S'it frighten you, pet? Would you wanna let someone else walk you home, so you could avoid bein alone with me?

He was pushing her, talking and threatening like he would ever harm her. The real question was, could she still trust him? Would she throw her faith away for fear of him, for fear of getting hurt?

"No, Spike," she answered, "I wouldn't."

The growling stopped, he paused, and then amber eyes met green and the look she saw on his face made her want to pull him in close. He seemed SURPRISED, for one moment of awe crossed, and then he said her name with such reverence and want that Buffy trembled. She followed her instincts, and latched onto him, meeting his mouth with hers.

Spike's eyes widened for a mere second before he recollected himself, realizing she was kissing him. He returned it, his passion locked. Her tongue was thrusting in between razor sharp fangs, gently tasting him like this, with his face that of a demon. She delicately licked and touched, and Spike's fingers were leaving bruises on her arms from where he held himself steady.

She kissed him like she always did, her heat and sensuality his for the taking, but there was a tentativeness to her lips. A probing gentility that spoke of her learning him, learning the way he was like this. It was acceptance.

And when she pulled back for air, she was lightheaded. Their chests were touching again, and Spike spoke in between desperate, heavy breaths. "I want you." He laid a hand on her chest, over the place where her heart beat. "All to myself. No one else, no other tossers kissin you or tryin to." He met her eyes then. "I'm a selfish bugger, Buffy, but I can't be anythin else when it comes to you."

Buffy nodded before her brain could manage to overthink, and in between gulps of air, she managed to hoist her bravery just high enough to ask, "Do you walk any other girls home at night, Spike?"

He frowned. "Wouldn't take the time on anyone else. 'Cept maybe yer Grams, but that'd be focused on makin sure you din't get hurt from losin her. And she's usually smart 'nough to be home by evenin anyhow."

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him, but smiled with the warmth that was spreading through her at what he'd just told her. She put one arm around his neck and very slowly raised a hand to his crinkled forehead. "I'm yours if you're mine, Spike." She slowly traced her fingertips over the ridges, feeling the unevenness, the roughness. "Even with the bumpies, I'm yours."

The vampire smiled, and gladly sealed his fate with a kiss.

Fifteen minutes passed by, and the couple had yet to move. Buffy still sat atop the kitchen island, and Spike stood watching her study him. His vamp face was present, and something very strange drew Buffy to it. An urge to examine and recognize it in a way that did not inspire fear.

"Can I see?" she asked quietly.

Spike slowly opened his mouth wide to give her a better view of his teeth. They were jagged and sharp, and Buffy knew that it would be easy to prick herself on any one of the fangs if she so much as touched the right place. Instead, she framed his bottom lip with two fingers and then gently probed the front base of a bottom tooth. It was smooth and wider than his human ones, but then again, some of the fangs were smaller, too. But all were made for a predator.

She met his inquisitive eyes, and smiled with embarrassment. Curious and attentive about learning the demon in him, she hoped Spike wouldn't think her weird for being so by touching a tooth. "Sorry," she said, a blush coming up. "You um... You use them to drink-..."

A few seconds passed. Then, Spike supplied, "Blood?"

"Yeah," Buffy nodded. "Blood. With those?"

"They help." He smirked, and then gave a half eye roll. "Well, they did. Mostly jus' for show now."

"They are?"

"S'not very hard to rip open a bloodbag."

"Oh." Buffy glanced down. "You-... That's what you- Your food supply?"

"Has been since they came out," he said. "Tastes better than pig's blood, and they're microwaveable."

Buffy's lips actually curled up at the ends when he said the last, even as her nose wrinkled in distaste. After a moment of silence she asked, "So. Vampires do drink blood. Are you allergic to garlic, too?"

Spike smirked. "I actually love the stuff, adds a bit of flavor ta the bland things. But I've heard some vamps hate it."

Buffy's expression changed from curious to accepting, and she nodded. Her mouth opened on another question. "Do you-"

Spike's face shifting back to human cut her off. "Alright, let's get some things sorted, yeah?" He tilted her chin upward to see straight into her eyes. He started listing off of his fingers. "I can't fly. Holy water burns like a bitch- Don't like crosses or sunlight much either. A stake to the heart would do me in and end my unlife right quick, as would a good beheadin- And it doesn' gotta be with a silver blade to turn me into a pile of ash."

Her eyes were wide and unblinking. Buffy took a short, quick breath... then, "Mirrors?"

"You can see vamps in photograph, but a reflection is somethin we don't have."

"What about shapeshifting?"

He scoffed. "Only tossers wanna turn into a bleedin bat. Easy as cake with the right magicks, too."

"Nocturnal by choice, or by nature?"

"Both. I can be up durin the day but m'not exactly built for it."

She nodded, mentally sifting through the information she'd read earlier at the library. Most of her questions had been answered tonight, surprisingly. She couldn't be anything but grateful for that.

Still, she asked one more thing, to be clear about all she could remember to be clear on; the rest would come with time. "And you're definitely... immortal?"

Spike paused. His answer did not come readily, quick and to the point. His eyes were frozen until a streak of unease shined in them. Buffy's brow furrowed. He swallowed, and she watched as a nerve twitched in his tightening jaw. Then he replied. "Yes."

It was just that one word, and she was left to wonder why the question she'd just asked had caused such alarm. He knew she already knew- Hell, he had told her himself. But now he was shy on the subject? "Spike, is there something..." He locked gazes with her; Buffy's was searching, Spike's was sharp. "Is there something you want to tell me? Something ELSE?"

She didn't have to wait long. He sighed, then a nostril flare, and he said, "I'm gonna live forever, Buffy. S'a lot longer than your estimated lifespan."

A very quick, brimming emotional wave just hit her, like a smack in the face. So unexpected the blow, so unprepared she was for the insecurity and the feeling of inadequacy, Buffy couldn't hide her reaction. She couldn't pretend she hadn't felt the flicker of pain show on her face either, the pinching of her features. Spike saw it, too.

She jumped off the counter, prepared to leave the comfort of his arms to gain distance, but he grabbed her when her feet hit the floor. Buffy met his eyes, a color of imploring blue.

"M'not the leavin sort, you understand?" He held her arm but loosened his grip- against his better judgment -after she turned to face him fully. "I'd sooner put a chair leg through my heart than try an run from this. But you're human, and sooner or later-"

"Sooner or later what?" She snapped. "You think you're the one who has the most to lose here?"

When he said nothing, she scoffed. "Spike, I was afraid of moving here, I was afraid of knowing you. I'm afraid of losing people I care about, and that includes you. The idea of you getting hurt and passing out again doesn't really rank high on my 'Gee, that was fun, let's do it again!' list. I'm in this thing as deep as you are, for as long as-..." She paused, and lowered her voice, stepping along a thin wire of courage, "as long as you want it."

His eyes widened before being narrowed by astonishment. Then he opened his mouth to speak, but Buffy beat him to it. "The idea of living forever... It's a lot to take in, I'll admit. The whole concept is like a novelty to me. But at the same time, it doesn't make me wanna run for the hills." She took a hesitant step closer, and looked up at him, her heart poorly hidden. "I'm not going to run from you, okay?" she said, her voice tightening. "You're either gonna have to kick me out of your UNlife... or something's gonna take me out of it because I'm here, Spike. I'm here and I'm in this- Whatever it is."

He kissed her. It seemed to be all they were doing tonight. His lips locking onto hers and a sweet reaffirming, solidifying emotion running through the both of them. Spike's fangs itched while his mouth tasted and drank deep, while she gave back all that she got, and his head spun. There was a way to have this forever, a possibility he hadn't known was within reach until today. He could keep her. She could be with him, they could be together for eternity.

The concept was like a drugging dream. He wanted to be selfish, he wanted to be hers and her only. He wanted to have her in his bed, at his side like a shadow. He would never not need Buffy. His girl, the one who owned him body and heart. He loved her.

*Oh balls.*

The revelation wasn't as shocking as it might have been a few weeks ago. He'd sensed the feelings growing, and then he'd felt them solid and secure in his chest every time he laid eyes on her. Buffy was literally the life in his nonexisting one, someone more than special. Someone who'd been half broken by fate and then had risen up again, was still rising. Someone who was smart and witty and called to the passion, and the demon, as well as the poet-writing ponce inside of him. Someone who could walk with him, kneel before anyone and still never be an inch shorter. A woman who could fit into his way of life, and possibly enjoy it.

She wasn't going to ever have a house in the burbs with two and a half kids and a minivan. She never would push herself into that mold. Not after losing something she'd so loved would she adhere to the world's norms. It wasn't in her blood.

She was too strong for mere mortals, too everlasting and great to become something she didn't want to be. She'd never chose something for herself that wasn't absolutely what her heart desired.

So he would ask her. He would tell her the ability they had to make a forever of it. He would let her choose, and he wouldn't ask her of it now. He'd never pressure her at all. But he'd tell her.

And that was something.

Their mouths fell apart. Her breaths clashed into his and Spike realized he'd gotten hold of both of her arms again. Their chests were touching and her lips were swollen a rosy pink.

The vampire caught his courage, waiting for the fog in her gorgeous eyes to clear once more before he-

The front door opened, voices invaded, and a wall dropped down. He was cut off.

The moment of opportunity slipped away.

"I'm not sure the PTB didn't send us here just to catch this Flora bitch, she can climb trees like a freaking spider monkey." Blake's groan reached the couple's ears, and Buffy pulled back, looking to where several sets of heavy footsteps approached.

Spike's teeth were grinding.

"She's fast, too. Runs quicker than you do, Ace," Dylan said.

"Or maybe she just has a better sense of direction."

"Can it! You went the wrong way before I did, Blake, I was just following-"

"Like an idiot, I might add."

"Well why didn't you let Rex go after her then? He always has to fly south for the winter, he's like a compass with wings-"

"Fuck off-"

"Will you all stop bickering-"

The five hulking, tired, covered in blood-and-who-knows-what-else men all halted as they entered the kitchen. Weapons dangled from hands and looks of question came over their faces. Everybody blinked, staring at the two blondes by the island.

Stevo glanced behind him, fleetingly meeting his friends' eyes, before turning around again. "You came back," he said, and approached Spike and Buffy, grabbing a stool and sliding it away from the counter to sit down heavily.

The others slowly ambled in, Spike's expression of annoyance went unnoticed, and Buffy's eyes grew wider and rounder. "Y-Yes. I came back." She wanted to point out that he'd sounded surprised, but if they knew the story of what had happened, she couldn't exactly blame any of them for being so. Even Blake had lost his cocky air of amusement, all that was left was uncertainty.

The men slowly spread out, with Rex and Ace leaning against the counter tiredly as Blake grabbed another stool. Dylan went for his chair and said, "We weren't sure you would."

Buffy glanced at Spike, then back to his friends. "I wasn't- Um, exactly planning on... staying away-"

"Don't need to explain yourself, love." The vamp interrupted, squeezing her waist gently where he held her, in reassurance. "You're here." *You're here now and you're mine.*

The unspoken words echoed clearly in both their minds. Spike thought it, Buffy heard it, and the overwhelming feeling of belonging swept over the both of them.

Ace shrugged from where he stood, distracting their focus again. "Hey, we're just glad you decided to come back." He addressed Buffy, then looked at Rex with a grin. "You owe me twenty bucks."

Rolling his eyes, Rex dipped into his back pocket and retrieved a crumpled twenty dollar bill. He handed it over with a grimace and Ace beamed.

Buffy gaped, but didn't have time to even register her shock, or determine whether or not Spike was shocked. He probably wasn't anyhow, he knew these guys, but she didn't- yet -and she'd like to know whether she was being made into a joke or not.

"Hey! Since when was there a bet?! I wasn't told about this," Blake interjected, his expression affronted.

Rex only offered an unconvinced frown to his friend's grievance. "What side would you have chosen?"

"That is beside the point!"

Ace stuck his new bill in his pocket. "Next time we'll let you in."

"Yeah, sure ya will." Blake faced the other two who were sitting down. "Did you guys know about this?"

Stevo shook his head, unsurprised; Dylan nodded and straightened the glasses that sat crooked on the bridge of his nose. "They asked me if I wanted in, but I said no."

"Why the hell would you say no?"

"Maybe because he's not a git like you three halfwits," Spike chimed in. His tone was irritated, his expression worse. Buffy glanced up and saw; worry clambered up her nerves. She didn't want to be a problem between him and his friends, and she knew Spike wasn't getting defensive because they'd hurt HIS precious feelings.

Even if the betting thing was a bit insensitive, she couldn't take it personally, and she didn't want to start off on the wrong foot here- AGAIN. She didn't want Spike angry with them if it involved her.

If anything, his friends should be giving her dirty looks instead of betting on her, and bantering with each other over money, for the way she ran out of here earlier. Buffy wasn't going to be the girl who couldn't take a joke, and she had a suspicion that if she was going to be with Spike, she would need to hold her own with this group.

Which was just fine with her.

*The perks of being a girlfriend.*

She rested a hand over Spike's chest, mentally wriggling into the role she had accepted to play. If this was what being a... girlfriend meant, then she could do it. His friends hadn't decided to shun her or make her feel ashamed. They'd given her another chance, even if not in so many words.

Or not the expected words.

"Spike," she started, "relax. It's not a big deal." Buffy looked at Ace and Rex, giving a little half smile. "If you wanna bet on whether or not I'm here to stay, be sure to let me in on that one. I could use a little extra cash."

They blinked, caught off guard. Buffy heard Blake snicker, and she smiled. Shooting a glance at Spike, she saw him staring at her, his eyes surprised but warm.

She felt comfortable. For an instant, it was like being there before his friends wasn't worrisome, or making her feel anxious, and she wasn't on display. She just felt like she belonged. Simply a little. And it was nice.

Stevo smiled, his eyes holding a pleased glint in them as he looked at Ace and Rex's unsure-of-how-to-respond faces. He met Buffy's gaze, and said in an all too knowing tone of voice, "I don't think they'll be making that bet, honey."

She smiled at the endearment and looked down, not noticing Spike's frown.

"I would," Blake said. At the pointed reprimanding looks from all except Buffy, he quickly amended, "I would take the good side! She's staying-" He flicked her a glance. "You're staying, right?"

She nodded with a closed lip smile. "That's the plan, Blake."

"See? Now, who owes me twenty bucks?"

The guys all groaned. Ace put his forehead in a scabbed up hand and said, "Who wants to make some coffee?"

"I'll do it," Dylan offered. He stood up slowly, gritting his teeth in pain before finally sitting back down with a scowl on his features. "Okay, my ankle definitely got messed up back there."

No one reacted with much concern, Stevo simply patted his shoulder and then stood up. "I'll put a pot on."

Suddenly, everyone seemed to droop.

The faces in the room showed wear, every vibrant eye dimmed. Blake rubbed the back of his neck, Ace slid down to the ground and leaned his head gingerly against the cabinets while closing his eyes, and Rex moaned as he massaged his noticeably bruising shoulder. It was like the exhaustion had set in, and every bit of grime and dirt and blood was highlighted on the men's bodies.

They looked like a band of tired warriors.

Buffy realized she was frowning, and then quickly came to a decision. She looked up at her guy. "Do you have more towels? And maybe some healing salve?"

Spike raised a brow, and sent a fleeting glance to his friends before staring at Buffy again. "Yeah, in the bathroom. An there's some stuff that Stevo brought with him I think." Spike looked at the man in question. "Ya said you packed a bit a that herb shite right?"

He nodded. "It's in the bag I brought."

"Do- Do you mind if we use it?" Buffy asked.

The brunette turned around and raised his brows at her, but replied, "Go ahead."

Buffy stared at Spike again. "Will you go get it, and some more towels, please?" She cast a look around the room, at those surrounding her- At the questioning glances they were exchanging with each other. "I think your friends need some cleaning up."

Silence for a moment. Then, "Alright. I'll be right back."

She knew, as Spike left the room with a backward glance, that he assumed she'd been only showing concern for his friends. He wouldn't expect her to walk over to Dylan's side when the man grunted in pain, and smile when big brown eyes looked up at her in surprise.

Buffy bent to her knees and asked, "What's the worst? The ankle?"

He straightened the glasses on his nose again, and said a little hesitantly, "I bruised a few ribs... It's not a big deal."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "What is it with you guys and bruised ribs?" she asked, rising to walk over to the sink and retrieve a large bowl from the cabinet above- And thanking God that it was in fact the right cabinet.

She filled it with hot water, and returned to Dylan's side just as Spike returned with five bath towels. She grabbed one from him before he could ask why she was on the floor, and why she was asking Dylan if she could see his glasses.

He handed them over without question, and Buffy examined. They were clearly broken.

"I have another pair," he said at her look of concern. Buffy nodded, and then handed him the towel she'd taken from Spike as she set the specs down on the table. "You've got dirt and blood all over you," she explained, then looked to the rest of the group. "You all do. And if we're bandaging wounds, they've gotta be clean."

Silence greeted the statement, and Spike wasn't... completely shocked, because of all she'd made him do simply over his head, but he was confused. As were the rest of the guys, for they all stared at her like she'd grown a second head.

These blokes were not used to being taken care of, weren't used to any real concern unless their lives were in serious danger. Wounds and scars came with the territory of what they all were, but Buffy was acting like a sister or aunt or mother or something, as if they needed band aids and coddling.

It was kind, honestly, the whole effort was that of a caregiver. And Spike was sure the guys did want to wipe off the muck leftover from the fight, but he wasn't sure that they'd adhere to Buffy's-

"Thanks." Dylan obediently dipped the towel into the large bowl of hot water and started cleaning his neck, then face.

A sure-what-the-hell- expression crossed Blake's features, and he followed by example. "Why not," he said, and stood up slowly, groaning at the muscle pull in his back. Buffy handed him a damp towel and directed him to sit back down. She asked, "You messed up your back didn't you?"

"The monkey bitch body slammed him from a tree," Rex answered, a little smirk on his face as he added, "Then you body slammed the ground."

Blake gave him a dirty look. "And how's that shoulder? Vampire Barbie leave a fang in you?"

Rex's eyes clouded with irritation. "Oh screw you-"

"Did you get bit?" Buffy asked suddenly, facing the man with a dark appearance, very dark brown hair, and a reddish-tan skin tone. He had a formidable look about him, but she wasn't afraid, because her gut was telling her that he was much more of a threat if he didn't like you.

She didn't plan on letting that happen. With all the blinding nerve she already had flowing obstinately though her veins, she wasn't going to leave until she was done with them. Forcing herself to become more comfortable around these guys by doing something extreme like playing nurse... she would take it.

Rex seemed caged while staring at her in clear surprise, as if he hadn't expected Buffy to pay him any mind. It took him a couple of seconds to answer her question. "Um... It's not horrible," he gestured to the shoulder where she could see purple and blue discoloring from beneath a wet T-shirt sleeve. "The bitch just sunk her fangs in deep."

Buffy approached him, and in a way that was not really a demand but somehow managed to sound like she was insisting, she said, "Let me see."

Rex looked around at his buddies, for help, for advice- he didn't know. But then he met Buffy's expectant eyes, and sighed before rolling up his sleeve.

Shock showed on her face. She grabbed a towel from the table by Dylan and dipped it in the water before returning to Rex's side. Not two seconds passed. "There's blood everywhere, how can you say it isn't horrible?" She immediately started cleaning the wound, Rex flinched a couple of times, not from pain but from discomfort. He looked like he was almost afraid of her. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning it," she said, opening her eyes at him like he was stupid. She noticed him casting desperate glances behind her, presumably asking for help again, but then gradually, she felt him relax. Her grip on his elbow eased as she wiped away the blood and dirt, and Rex didn't protest again.

Of course, it wasn't long before she moved on to Stevo, who when trying to pour himself some coffee, almost dropped the pot. On his good hand he had a deep gash larger than Spike's. And Ace had a lump from some sort of battle weapon he said, on the back of his head.

Buffy helped Rex wrap his arm in gauze after retrieving a damp cloth and the healing salve for Stevo, then she went to Ace. Blake had a couple of slashes on his side, which she helped him tape bandages over. And Dylan's ankle needed icing.

"Spike told me earlier that you guys got attacked. I guess I should've expected this kind of damage after I saw his head." She finished pouring Stevo the cup of coffee which he hadn't been able to get himself, and nodded when he thanked her. "Where did all of you go exactly after you carried him inside?"

They told her a little bit more about Flora, and how she had a desire for revenge- Which was why she'd gotten some help and gone after Spike. Buffy tried not to think about the worry plaguing her mind when they explained that, and focused on Ace's explanatory voice instead of the danger. Yet it was hard to drag her eyes away from the vampire in the room, who had stood silently watching her for a while now.

Apparently, the men had tried to chase Flora down after most of her lackeys were killed, and since Spike was passed out they'd had to leave him on the couch. They knew he would be fine, vampire and all.

Such information was quickly becoming more and more normal - welcomed -to Buffy. None of Spike's friends even seemed to give a second thought to her awareness now that she was back. Which is perhaps why, when she asked, "Do you guys do this a lot?" Buffy received some chuckles.

"You could say that," Ace replied, taking a sip from his coffee mug. He winced, and gently cupped his cheek as he swallowed. "Though I don't think I've ever lost a tooth before."

"Yeah ya did-" Blake snapped his fingers, trying to recollect, "Back in... Crap, when did we take down that weird cult and their triple eyed leader with the tentacles?"

Buffy rose an eyebrow. She closed the freezer door and walked over to the sink, wrapping the ice cubes she'd just gotten into a hand towel and wetting it. She handed it to Ace, who smiled at her in surprised thanks. Spike was looking petulant in the corner, tight lipped and eyes ever focused on his girl.

"It was in... 1915," Dylan supplied.

"Right," Blake agreed. "Ace AND you lost some teeth, if I recall."

"And YOUR wing was skewered," Stevo pointed out, nodding at Rex.

Buffy finally had to speak up. "Wait... WING?" she questioned the room.

"Rex is a thunderbird," Blake said casually, taking a sip of his coffee.

Buffy looked at the man... or bird? "You're..." Rex shrugged. Then, she turned to Stevo. "And so you're really...?" The honey-eyed man smiled. Buffy blinked, and with a helpless frown, turned around, meeting each face.... and wondering. "None of you guys are just plain... human, are you?"

And from there, their background stories came.

Rex was indeed, a thunderbird. Which explained his yellow eyes- "And his pissy mood all the time," Blake added. "It's in his blood to be a-" Ace smacked him in the head, cutting him off.

Stevo got out his gypsy journal to show Buffy a sketch of the winged monster. "He'll change for you if you want," he offered, to which Rex didn't protest. "He likes showing off anyhow."

Buffy shook her head. "That's okay." She traced the picture on the page with a fingertip, eyeing the talons and feathers. "This looks like something I saw in a book about Indian legends."

Rex rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's me."

"Except he loves to point out the flaws in his history, if you'll let him," Ace said.

"He's touchy about accuracy," Blake added.

*Well now I get that window joke,* Buffy thought, suddenly recalling the comment she'd heard at the diner, when she'd first met Dylan and Blake. She chewed on her lip, and looked at Rex again. "So... your wing. I assume it healed?" What else could she ask?

He nodded to the man standing by her side. "Stev here patched me up with some magick stuff of his. It did the trick, I was flying again within a week."

Buffy looked into the wise face of the gypsy, standing taller than her and looking down with warm expectancy in his eyes. The girl blew out a breath. "So that bracelet's real afterall, huh?"

He smirked, looking like a happy devil as he said, "Not so hard to believe now, is it?"

She shook her head. It definitely wasn't.

"Oh yeah, I heard about that," Blake started, looking at Buffy from where he sat with one hand kneading his sore back. He didn't really pay attention when she went to the sink to wet another towel. "Didn't believe in Romani magick, huh dollface?"

Spike stiffened, Buffy felt it as if she was standing right beside him. She caught his eye and tried to smile softly, reassuringly; she relaxed when he did. She had been feeling the watchfulness, the possessive heat, since she'd started helping clean wounds and bandage them. It was strange that it felt comforting.

She opened the microwave, breaking eye contact to toss a wet towel inside.

"No I didn't- Wait, Romani?" she asked aloud, still aware of Spike's gaze. Every time one of the guys called her an endearment, every time she got close to touch them, when Blake had removed his shirt to reveal the slashes on his side- Spike got tense, his spine went rigid, and Buffy could sense it.

She knew it was jealousy, but obviously the trust he had for his friends kept him from trying to bring an end to her helping and socializing. Buffy was grateful for that. She was learning about his family, and he wasn't going to discourage it.

Stevo answered her question when she faced him. "What you would know as 'gypsy.' That term is actually offensive to many people, however- Or the Romani people to be more accurate."

Buffy frowned. "Oh, I didn't-... How come?"

"Often mostly because it has a negative connotation attached to it. People who don't know the culture automatically think of... crystal balls and tricksters, thieves and untrustworthy people wearing gold hoop earrings." Stevo smiled gently all of a sudden. "Inaccurate and... nasty untruths. The Roma were often wrongfully persecuted in the past."

Buffy's brows met. The microwave beeped and she retrieved the now heated, moist towel with a dry one. She looked at Stevo as she walked towards Blake. "Should... I um-" She told Blake to lean forward, and placed the hot towel on his sore back, letting him readjust it on his own so she could face the man with bronze eyes again. "Should I not call you-... Does the term bother-"

Stevo's smirk cut her off. A combination of pride and wryness entered his eyes. "I don't mind the term like some. I actually fit the stereotype quite well, so much so that it's no longer a stereotype but fact. And my... family, and I, weren't as easily harmed by those who mistrusted us," His eyes glinted something quickly, almost wicked, before he said, "but that had to do with magick. And you may call me whatever it is you like. I don't offend easily." He encompassed the room with a glance. "I can't afford it with this group, honey."

"So... Romani, aren't all with the crystal ball reading Hollywood depiction?" Her brows rose.

He smiled. "I'm sure there've been other exceptions asides from just my little clan, but honestly, most are in the movies."

Buffy's lips made an "O" shape, and she suddenly wanted to check out some books on the subject. Her mind was brought back to the moment though, when Blake spoke up. "Stev's pretty chill, unlike Rex. You start asking him if he can change the weather, and he JUST might rip your head off."

Buffy frowned. "You can't?" she addressed the thunderbird.

His eyes darkened as they landed on Blake. "Okay Cupid, do YOU wanna explain it to her? Since you know so much about my history?"

"Eros, first of all, idiot," Blake's agitated voice caught Buffy off guard, considering she'd never heard him sound anything but blithe; she stared at him as he continued. "Second of all, he was a relative, I'm not HIM."

"Seems like I'm not the only one particular about details, then."

"Whoa, wait a minute..." Buffy cut in. "You're related to... Eros? The Greek God?"

"Of love, to be precise," Dylan added.

"Oh whatever, sex and desire go hand in hand there."

"Blake has empath abilities, he can sense people's emotions," Stevo supplied.

Buffy blinked, her eyes meeting Spike's in shocked question. He nodded, and she met the turquoise gaze of the now re-amused empath in the room. "Don't get so nervous, I usually keep what I know to myself." He leaned back in his chair, smiling.

"Sometimes," Ace corrected, and looked at Buffy. "He's not only stronger than a human, AND can sense people's feelings, but he's a real pain in the ass about it, too."

"I'm also immortal, don't forget that."

Buffy grunted in disbelief. It was hard to understand... "I didn't even think..." She shook her head. "Eros exists?"

"Existed," Blake amended. "He's still... around, but he's no longer... Dylan, what's the word?"

"Corporeal."

"Thank you! Corporeal. He's more of a 'read and believe in me' sorta guy at this stage in his existence. Not too many temples of his standing around anymore."

Buffy's wide eyes blinked, and blinked again. She turned to Stevo... and noticed a welt was starting to show on his jaw. Happily, she distracted herself  by going to Spike's freezer, retrieving a bag of peas, and handing them to the gypsy. "Is he telling the truth?"

Stevo nodded in thanks, holding the icy bag up to his face. "Every word."

Buffy shook her head again, and looked at Blake. "So you can really... sense emotions?" Honestly, that was the thing wigging her out the most. The Greek mythology-reality was shocking, but kind of cool once the idea settled. She wasn't sure how she felt about someone else being able to read her... feelings, though.

Not good was the probable answer.

"Yep," Blake replied, his expression almost smug. "As for example, Spike over there gets all tense and primitive every time I call you 'dollface.'" He gestured to the vampire with a wave of his hand, smiling when a noticeable stiffening occurred in his shoulders.

Buffy caught Spike's gaze, blushing when he just rose an eyebrow at her. She fought off a smile, and knew what he was probably thinking. *You haven't seen primitive.*

Swallowing, she exhaled shortly, and was able to grin in amusement when Ace said, "See what I mean? Pain in the ass."

"Yeah," Blake replied, "that's another thing we have in common, isn't it buddy?"

"Another thing?"

"He's talking about our Greek history."

"That pun was so intended," Blake said.

Buffy laughed a little, and then looked to Ace as he continued. "I'm part demon, my mother was human, and I'm also immortal."

"He's part Aerico," Rex explained. "A disease demon."

Ace rolled his eyes. "I can cause sickness, yadda yadda yadda, but I don't. The Aerico demon is of Greek origin."

"Oh." Buffy's eyes, yet again, took the shapes of two large saucers. "Are you... Do you have superior strength, too?" Her curious side prodded her to ask.

The man grinned. "That I do, dear. That I do."

She nodded. "Cool." A plain statement, something to describe her very near speechlessness. She was distracted though when she noticed Dylan gently touching his side, and wincing a second later.

She went over to him. "Do you want ice on those?" she asked, referring to the ribs they both knew were swollen and bruised. She smiled when he nodded. Quickly getting ice and putting it in a towel, Buffy returned to his side. A sense of relief she hadn't known she'd needed went through her when she heard the guys conversing behind her. At first, each time she helped one of them, the room fell silent as if what she was doing was wondrous and for show. Now, it seemed, they had finally grown used to it.

Dylan lifted his shirt and took the ice from her. "Thank you."

"No problem." She watched as he pressed the towel gently onto the injury. "First Spike falls down the stairs and bruises his ribs, and then you do it in a fight. You guys just love getting all beat up, don't you?"

Stevo frowned, turning to face the vampire in the room. "When did you fall down the stairs?"

Spike waved him off, eyes refocusing on Buffy. She went to pour another cup of coffee for Ace, already having realized what a caffeine junky he was, and seeing that his mug was now empty. Spike figured it was the waitress coming out.

But she did it with a genuine smile. It seemed Buffy liked being helpful in this arena, something like a mother hen. It was both unsettling and strangely pleasing. He couldn't decide how he felt about it. However, he did know exactly how he felt about her popularity with his friends.

It was so obvious they enjoyed her, and not just because she'd helped to mend their wounds tonight. Rex was actually courteous, and he talked in more than just one-syllable words. Stevo looked at her with warmth and approval. Blake flirted a bit too much for Spike's liking (which didn't have to be much at all) but was also respectful. Ace joked happily and was displaying too many friendly smiles to count. Dylan was clearly comfortable around her, and his eyes crinkled at the edges every time she came near. It was like a drug, they were all a little doped up on Buffy.

They loved explaining their pasts to her, loved telling her about themselves and each other.

Her attention was focused on them, too. She was all ears to take in what they told her, and Buffy's attentiveness to not only their injuries, but also their stories, gained her approval and affection. Spike was happy that it seemed he wouldn't have to worry about her fitting in with the group, or worry about whether or not they'd welcome her at all.

He was happy that they seemed to genuinely like her.

But another part of him wanted to steal her away every time she landed bright, curious eyes onto any one of them.

It wasn't really jealousy...

Well, okay it was, but he trusted his friends- Even Blake wouldn't seriously try to get anywhere with her now. It was just... They were fawning over her, and their eyes were glued as she took in their words and listened to all they said, gave her own. Buffy's thoughts were out and open, she was indulging in the information of his friends' lives, and soaking up a feeling of getting to know them. Spike was watching.

He wanted her all to himself, though, and he realized how childish the desire was, but he honestly couldn't really care about maturity when his girl was busy stealing the focus of several other men. Even Stevo indulged in her questions and growing comfort around them. The more time they all spent in the kitchen together and the more she learned, the more she opened up.

Spike loved seeing her enjoying herself, and every time she did offer one of those bright smiles, he felt a little lightheaded. But, like he'd said, he wanted her all to himself.

But he wouldn't ruin this for her. She was happy.

And brave enough to ask them to spill the history of how everyone in the group had met.

It was a seriously nosy question. Or one could just call it curiosity on steroids. Either way, Buffy quickly got her wish, and discovered that it was Drusilla's getting of a soul which had really started everything.

"You would think that gaining one would have only caused her worse mental instability, but it didn't. The guilt somehow managed to stabilize her, and some of the damage she'd suffered, healed- Over a period of years, of course." Stevo explained to her, and also told Buffy the relation of Drusilla to him. She'd been a cousin to people in his clan, and once a spell was put together, and the timing was fit, they'd cursed her with a soul.

"Bringing her back to us led me to Spike," he said. "Dru still received visions, and one made her want to see him again."

Stevo had gone on a search for the vampire in question, and found him saving a little girl from a demon in an alleyway one night. This information had Spike averting eye contact from Buffy when it came up, and she knew it wasn't because Stevo was telling an untruth. Spike was both embarrassed and did not feel he deserved the praise. So he ignored it.

She didn't.

She also didn't ignore the following stories, or how Dru's visions came few and far between now, but managed to bring the group together to save the world repeatedly.

"Dylan," Ace said, pointing at him, "was the last to arrive in 1910."

Buffy looked at the man still holding ice against his ribs. "Are you immortal, too?"

"Uh, well... not exactly." He scratched his head, shifting in his seat. "I'm half Brachen demon. They live quite a long time."

"You may as well be immortal," Rex said.

Dylan shrugged, looking up at Buffy. The girl bit her bottom lip, thinking... "Spike's all fangy... Ace can make people sick... Stevo is all with the magicks, Blake is an empath, and Rex can fly. What's your special something, Dylan?" she asked curiously, kindly.

He blinked his large puppy eyes at her, and then made a funny face. "Superior strength to humans, but that's most effective when I'm in demon form. And then heightened senses, speed, a few other things."

"Like you're basically a human encyclopedia," Ace declared, "Especially about supernatural stuff."

One side of Dylan's mouth lifted. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Buffy tilted her head, curiosity yet again poking at her. The urges to ask and receive answers had been growing all night, every minute and hour she became braver. And now she wanted to know something else, see something. "Dylan... Could you-..." She nervously chewed her lip again. He stared at her expectantly, and Buffy sighed quickly before blurting out: "Could I see your demon form?"

The stunned expression that arose at her request would have been funny if she weren't so nervous about seeming nosy. She was interested in seeing another demon form other than Spike with his fangs. She wanted to get used to this world he lived in and know that others were unique in his way, as well as in completely different ways.

Dylan still hadn't answered her question. When he finally started to stutter out a reply, his cheeks turning red, Blake cut in with: "C'mon man, show her. It'll be neat watching her shriek."

Dylan's blush got darker, and before Buffy could object to Blake's comment, Spike was stepping up beside her. She looked into his eyes, and frowned at the strange unease she saw there. He hooked a finger through one of her belt loops, touching but not touching her, and tugged her close. "Are you sure you want to do this, love?" he asked, worry in his voice. "It's not as big a deal as you think. S'nothin real special, anyhow."

Buffy's frown deepened. He seemed very anxious, and she wasn't sure why-

Oh. Her face relaxed, the line between her brows smoothed out, and she got it. Spike was worried about her getting scared again.

Well, she'd show him.

As long as Dylan didn't mind, of course.

She turned to him. "Would you mind, Dylan?" She looked pointedly at Blake. "I promise I won't scream."

The half demon, with his glasses broken and once again in his hand, started to rapidly tap his foot. He hesitated for a minute or two. Then the guys, all at once- excluding Spike and Stevo -urged him to reveal his other face.

Finally, Dylan sighed, and with a quick hop to his feet and a wince at the pain it caused, he changed.

Instantly, the sweet brown eyes of the dirty blonde before her, shifted, changed to red. His skin turned green like a plant leaf and blue spikes decorated the visible areas of his body. The transformation was so unexpected- even though she'd ASKED for it -that Buffy took a step back. And of course, her eyes were huge.

He just stood there, until Ace threw in a barb. "Looks like a pin cushion doesn't he?"

Spike was still standing next to her, protective for a reason she wasn't sure whether or not was attributed to his worry over her possibly freaking out like before, or a new mistrust he'd developed for Dylan.

Which was insanity. Maybe he thought she'd faint.

That notion brought Buffy back to herself. Stuttering- c'mon, give her a break -she spoke, "Wow. Y-You're..." She stepped closer with her eyes glued to him. "Spike and Rex aren't the only ones with weird eyes."

Ace, Stevo, and Blake were laughing loudly in response to her innocent, seemingly truthful observation. Buffy looked down when their cackles invaded her curious staring, realizing what she'd blurted out. In a way it had been true, but she also knew that her temporary loss of focus had made her brave enough to say it for Dylan's sake.

The half-Brachen demon smiled, his pointy spikes didn't look so threatening right then. "You didn't scream... That's not what I'm used to."

Buffy frowned, her eyes still not leaving his face. "What do you mean?"

"Dylan has a little trouble every time a lady gets a look at what he is," Ace answered.

"Two girls I dated were... a little scared after they saw my demon side," he casually explained.

"The problem? One of those girls was a plain human, like yourself. The other was a needle phobe."

Buffy turned to Blake briefly when he'd finished, then back to Dylan. "You don't look that scary." It was the truth. Spike was much more frightening at first.

Dylan shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I've had other girlfriends." He looked over her head to his friends. "These guys just like messin with me." He stared at Spike then, with an expression that seemed to say: *See? You're in the clear.*

Buffy smiled with her lips compressed. She could see now why Dylan had been antsy to show himself. Not so much because he was insecure about who he was, but because he hadn't wanted her to get frightened; she was Spike's girl. She was important to a friend. And she'd most likely be around often now.

She looked between the vampire and the... *Broke Demon?* No, that can't be right. What had he said again?

"Um..." Buffy bit her lip, staring at Dylan as she thought hard. "What did you say you were?"

"Brachen demon."

"You can just call him the cactus if you like," Ace joked.

"I'll tell ya one thing," Rex broke in, "he may look like a cactus, but he fights like the devil when he's in this form."

Buffy was going to ask what that meant, when suddenly, she remembered Dylan's ankle. Her eyebrows shot up. "Your ankle! It's- It's..." Dylan didn't move, didn't abruptly fall into his chair groaning in pain as if he'd been enduring standing so long on an injury and had finally reached his limit. No, he stood there and offered a dimply smile.

"My ankle doesn't hurt as bad right now. I'm stronger when I'm like this. And I heal a little faster, too. Not much, but a little."

Buffy blinked and shook her head, throwing her hands up in the air- nearly hitting Spike's nose -to accompany a loud scoff. "I'm shocked!" she shouted, the sarcasm almost tangible.

This made Dylan, and the others behind her, all smirk a bit. The red-eyed man sat down, and changed back to human form.

Blake then protested, "No, stay that way! We never get to see you while you look like a porcupine."

"Except when we're fighting," Dylan said dryly.

"Which is basically every time we're together," Stevo added.

Blake rolled his aqua colored eyes and replied, "Fine. Be a bore. You both know it's always too hectic to appreciate our friend's spikes during a brawl."

The wheels in Buffy's mind started turning, and as the voices behind her joked and bantered, and she heard Spike join in with a comment or two, she realized she hadn't learned something about this Flora person.

"Spike?"

He met her eyes immediately, and the room slowly rolled into easy silence. "Why exactly does this Flora woman... vampire," she corrected herself, "want revenge on you?"

Until she said that.

The air stood still, but the tension seemed confined to a little bubble just around her and Spike. Buffy heard Ace pour himself another cup of coffee and offer one to the others. Blake declined said offer and Rex opened the refrigerator to search for food. They were all unaffected by the strain between the couple's eyes.

Spike gave her a look which she read easily enough: *I'll explain more later.*

She wasn't sure how she felt about that answer. She accepted it, only because obviously explaining the situation wasn't as simple as 'she wants to kill the Slayer of Slayers' or 'she lost a poker game to me,' which Spike had said were accurate reasons in the past for other demons coming after him. Whatever the reason for Flora being an issue, it must be personal or-

"Eh, Spike staked her brother."

It was clear, from the way her boyfriend's eyes shifted, that Spike could have gladly strangled Ace right then. But the sapphire blue gaze soon met wide hazel again, and the reality of what had just been said hit her.

Well, it didn't really hit all too hard, to be honest. Because Buffy rapidly figured out that Spike liked to hunt other vampires. She'd known he'd done so, but she hadn't known he STILL liked finding and fighting them... for sport.

He quickly rambled on about how it had to do with violence, something he enjoyed because he was a demon, he needed bloodshed and that sort of thing. Buffy's mind went over things he'd told her tonight, how vampires were soulless and evil, all of them. Yet Spike was an exception, though he did not dare admit it.

Buffy had only read the bad on vampires back in the books at the library- ALL of them, and she hadn't found one good word on the creatures of the night. And she couldn't find much wrong with Spike dusting those of his kind either. They weren't nice, they killed and enjoyed being evil, and they WERE soulless. She had no doubt the main majority deserved to be killed. And no bad feeling over what he was doing surfaced.

But Spike obviously thought she would somehow think him a villain, because he was sweating and stuttering over explanations. He was saying things she'd already mentally established in her brain. Didn't he remember telling her a while ago, in his bedroom, that no vampire was good or to be trusted? They were hunters and had no consciences, but a taste for blood and murder instead.

They could love each other sometimes, but not many of them, not many of them at all.

And they still killed no matter what. The others weren't like Spike. If they were, her guy might be a little more accepting of the kindness and heart that lurked inside himself.

So Buffy said, "Spike," in a soft voice, calming him. He quit talking, complete attention refocused; he didn't seem to notice the raised eyebrows from his friends. Buffy continued, "I just wanted to know why this vampire was after you. And... You staked her brother, who was also a vamp..." she nodded, her voice becoming almost matter-of-fact, "and she wants revenge."

The statement ended there. The reiteration stopped, and Buffy stared back at Spike as emotions finally made themselves known. She'd been avoiding it until now.

Someone actually wanted hurt him. This other vampire wanted to kill Spike, harm him in a serious way. It wasn't a prank, and this wasn't a movie, vampires existed and so did Greek Gods and amber eyes and fangs were attributes for people you thought were just people. Magick was real and red-eyed demons walked about in the world. Nothing was funny anymore, nothing carefree, because in this world there were those who wanted to take away the person who meant more to you than you'd ever thought someone could mean. Especially if you hadn't planned on letting that person in, but somehow, he'd managed it anyway.

Buffy's stomach clenched in pain. She swallowed around a suddenly tight throat, and then let her next words ring with the determination and hostility of someone who'd just had a grenade aimed at their world again.

No one would take him away from her.

Not him. "If Flora wants revenge, I'll be helping stop her from getting it."

Oh boy, that might've been the wrong thing to say.