AN: There's no particular plot to this story. Just a fairly long fic with a bunch of over-characterizations of the season 6 Scoobies :D

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Spike watched Buffy from the shadows, his body leaning forward as he kept low, making sure to not be seen over the headstones and tombs lining the cemetery. He'd been following her for little more than an hour, enjoying the show she was giving him as she dusted three vampires in that time frame. Each fight had been glorious. A battle to the poor sod's death, Buffy's sad little quips the last thing they heard before she introduced each of them to the business end of Mr. Pointy.

Hell, he loved to watch her. The way she danced with the other vampires. It was nothing like their dance; it wasn't perfectly matched, met step for step like their's was, but it was worth the entertainment. The way she landed punch after punch, blocking the retaliating jabs... The kicks she threw, the aimed punches she ducked. The way she used her surroundings to her advantage-- would knock the vampires against the crypt walls, or send them tumbling headfirst into headstones... she'd push them over gravemarkers until they fell forward, giving her the leverage she'd wanted while she used those moments to stake them.

And then there was the physical effects fighting had on her. Like the way she breathed out heavily after each battle, glancing around her with wide eyes like she was looking for another one. How her chest heaved up and down from the exertion, the thin layer of sweat making her tan skin glisten in the moonlight. The curve of her body in the shadows; the way she moved knowingly throughout the cemetery, like it was a path memorized in her head. Like she belonged there.

Yeah, Spike liked watching the Slayer alright. Bloody loved it.

It was obvious to him that the Slayer wasn't in the happiest of places right now, though. Pretty bloody obvious at that, what with the disgusted look she threw him when she finally spotted him from across the cemetery. He smiled inwardly at the predictability of it. It wasn't exactly a lack of stealth on his part, not when he was hoping to get caught. Besides--he'd been following her for so long, never more than a few hundred feet away, and she was just now picking up on him? Someone wasn't channeling their inner-spider senses.

Buffy's arms shot to her hips, the stake having disappeared underneath some thin layer of what fashionably passed for clothing. "Gee, platinum colored ball glowing off in the distance," she drawled sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Wonder who that could be?"

Spike smirked. He'd known he'd eventually get caught. It was only a matter of cat-and-mouse, and how long Buffy felt like toying with him. Apparently she'd grown tired of their game. "Slayer," he nodded, keeping his voice even. Well, hopefully so.

"And Spike," she countered brightly, the slightest touch of sarcasm to accompany it along. "Now that we both know who we are--what the hell do you want?"

"Nice to see you, too." He sauntered his way over to her with his thumbs hooked through his belt loops, his fingers framing his irresistible manly bits in a way he knew from first-hand experience grabbed her attention. Or kept her interested in his goods, whatever. "Just out for a scenic stroll. You know, taking in the sights and what have you," he answered casually, stopping just in front of her. His smile grew when her arms folded across her chest, the action causing him the slightest of distractions as his eyes flickered downwards, staring in an involuntary manner before shifting back upwards, undetected by her. "Completely separate from you," he added.

"Right." She rolled her eyes again, throwing her head back so that the loose strands of hair in her face jumped behind her shoulder. Well-practiced, that move. Probably perfected in front of a mirror.

"So what brings you out?" he asked in return, conversationally.

As Spike continued forward, down the path Buffy has earlier been set on taking, she turned and followed. "Aside from 'Chosen One', 'fighting the forces of darkness', 'et cetera, et cetera?"

"Aside from."

"Yeah, that was pretty much it. Slayer equals graveyard."

"My graveyard?" he pushed, eyes wide and big with the implications. There were other graveyards, other places to get her rocks off, but there she was, always in his cemetery. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was playing favorites. And he did know better, so that's what he was saying. Besides, it's not like the town was lacking in the residual resting ground for the undead. Plenty of other places to patrol, weren't there?

"What?" Buffy's face scrunched together as she came to a stop, and she snorted out dismissively. "This isn't your graveyard. Just because you have some sort of undead territorial claim on it--"

"Making it mine..."

She shot him a dark look. "It doesn't make it yours."

"Hey, how goes it?"

The sudden sound of Xander caught Buffy and Spike offguard, both of them snapping their heads forward as Xander and Anya strolled towards them. Spike let out a loud sigh. Bloody great. Harris and his bird, out for a lovely midnight jaunt, and how typically convenient they run into them--here and now, of all sodding place and time. Do they all intentionally head to his graveyard, hoping against hope that he was around, all in the sake of annoying the unlife out of him?

Xander pointed at Spike, one stubby finger swirling around in accusation. "What's with the bleached wonder joining in on the slaying?"

"He's not... there is no joining..." Buffy sputtered, mouth a'gape, eyes going wide. It was all very eloquent.

"No need to get all splotchy, Harris. I was just passing through. Demon of the night here, remember?"

"Uh, right," Xander said, dismissing him entirely. His gaze landed back on Buffy's. "So how goes the slaying, anyway?"

"It goes," was her bland, dodgy answer. She looked around awkwardly.

Xander's head snapped back towards Spike. "And yet Spike is still here."

"How very observant of you," the vamp in question drawled in response. "Was it my actual presence that gave it away, or is this some kind of Harris intuition?"

"Hi, guys!"

The entirely too chirpy voice of Willow caught all of them offguard, faces swiveling towards the unexpected sound. Bloody hell. Again. Town really that small, these people really that pathetic, they're just randomly showing up in his cemetery now?

"Hey, Will," Xander greeted her. Spike was temporarily forgotten about as he welcomed his friend with a warm smile. Like waving something shiny in front of his face, was exactly what it was. Or maybe some kinda dog biscuit...

"Hi, Xander," Willow greeted happily back, smiling cheerfully at the group of them. "What're we doing?"

Buffy was avoid-y. "I'm slaying,"

"Just passing through--"

"Xander interrupted our impending orgasms so that he could check on Buffy," Anya admitted. With her confession, she patted Xander's arm in a sympathetic understanding. After all, it was hard on a man, being so loyal and devoted to someone who wasn't technically their long-term girlfriend even though she offered a great deal of sex.

Xander smiled in embarrassment. "Thanks, Ahn."

"Well it's true," she insisted, eager to explain. "We were having sex... uhm, missionary style... Xander was grunting rather loudly. I too was enjoying our copulating." She looked around thoughtfully, the sad part of the story coming up. "And then he got all quiet--pulled out, jumped off, got dressed--and that was the end of that."

"Descriptive," Willow noted, nodding her head towards Buffy in a conspiratory 'that was so many levels of TMI, I think she just invented a couple few new ones' sort of way.

"Painfully so," Spike muttered.

"No one asked for your input, Dead Boy," Xander snapped at him.

Spike blinked. Several times over. "Funny, 'cause I don't remember saying someone did."

"Yeah, well... there were implications," he countered, a silence settling over them as Spike merely rolled his eyes in response.

"Well, I appreciate you... stopping... to help me out," Buffy told Xander, smiling slightly at her friends embarassment. "But I'm the Slayer, guys. She alone who fights the forces of evil. Or, something depressing like that. I really don't need your help."

Willow shrank back visibly at her words, taking offense even though they weren't directed at her. It was seriously like that all the time now. "We just wanted to help, Buffy," she told her quietly.

Buffy's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Willow," she automatically apologized. Instantly. Immediately. "Of course, I appreciate your help. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she smiled in response, perking up instantly.

"Oh. Bother."

"Giles?"

They all turned towards Giles, who had suddenly joined their midnight assemblage.

"Ah. This isn't the, uh, Magic Box," he noticed, frowning as he warily looked around him.

"You don't say," Spike drawled. Well wasn't this turning out to be a laugh and a tickle?

"No, it's not," Anya supplied helpfully, reaching across the group to pat Giles on the arm in a reassuing, 'I respect you and am not threatened by your seniority' manner. "If it were," she said, "we'd be making money. And right now we are not making money. Right now we are trying to figure out why Xander interrupted my orgas--"

"Ahn," Xander warned, smiling down at her with forced calmness. "Remember all our conversations that revolved soley around the fact that--we don't talk about our sex life in front of friends." A guttural sounding sort of grunt to his right had him hastily adding, "Or Spike."

"Fine," Anya muttered, pulling out of Xander's grip to fold her hands across her chest. "I was only saying. There's no need to get all preach-y, Harris."

"This isn't the Magic Box," Giles mentioned again, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

Willow smiled mischievously. Then she flicked her wrist to make a zap of light shoot out. "No, but it could be."

"Willow, no!" a voice interrupted her, and the impressive bolt of magic instantly dissolved in front of them in a sad, little fizzle.

"Tara?"

Tara pulled up beside her lesbian lover, staring sadly at her. "N-n-no more m-m-magic, Willow."

Willow pouted. "I was only gonna..."

"N-no," Tara cut her off. "No more magic."

"Fine," Willow huffed, twirling her hand in the air. "No more magic," she sighed disappointedly.

"Dear lord, we're in a cemetery," Giles disbelieving voice broke in to disrupt the girly flutter.

"G-man, what's with the nighttime visit?" Xander asked, ignoring the obviousness of Giles' declaration. After all, they were all long since accustomed to Giles' random outbursts. "I thought you were getting your bachelor life on, living it up England style? Don't tell me--you miss us. That's it, isn't it? I knew you would. We're a missable bunch."

Giles smiled awkwardly at Xander. How to let the boy down gently... "Yes, rather. I was... I, uh..." Oh, sod it. He turned towards Buffy. "I came back to, ah, to tell you something."

Anya perked. "You're signing the Magic Box completely over to me?"

Giles ducked his head, shaking it softly. A true gentleman's version of You are compltely out of your freaking mind, only with a touch of British humbility to it. "Uh, no. I'm afraid, ah, not."

"Why is Evil Undead still here?" Xander suddenly and quite huffily complained. "This is Slay time," he told Buffy, jerking a finger at Spike. "Slay."

Spike snorted dismissively, raising a hooked eyebrow towards Buffy expectantly. He wanted to smack Harris a good one, chip and resulting migraine be damned, but mostly he was interested in watching Buffy flounder for something to say.

"I... we're..." She averted Spike's eyes, ever the pro at avoidance, and focused instead on Giles. "What is it? Is something wrong?" she asked worriedly. Thoughts of all possible catostrophies raked through her head: There's another Apocalypse. Dawn and Janice burnt down the mall because their school jock-buddies ended up being evil demons with a severe case of arson-lust. Death number 3 has been prophecized in some dusty, weathered, war-torn book, and all without Buffy getting a friendly heads-up in advance by the Powers That Be.

"No, no--nothing's wrong. Of course not. I just came to, uh, tell you, apparently--" And this is the point where he started to frown... like the impending reason made absolutely no sense to him, in any shape or form, and the mere fact that he was about to say it was an entirely uncomprehended action. This was his general attitude a lot of the past year. "I'm heading back to England."

Buffy sucked in a deep breath, fighting back the instant rush of tears. Everyone was always leaving her. It really started to chip away at a girl's self-esteem, one viscious bite at a time. "Giles, you just got here."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that, Buffy."

"So," Xander piped up, sounding more than a little confused. Again: not something new. "Lemme get this straight. You crossed that big blue Pond separating our continent from yours, headed out here on what must've been one insanely long flight, wandered your way to this very cemetery--just to say you were leaving?"

"Ah. Yes?"

"Just checking."

"Giles, I can't do this without you," Buffy told him quietly, her eyes wide as tears threatened to spill.

"'Course you can, love," Spike offered softly, instantly in 'comfort mode'. "I'm here."

The boy blustered forward. "Again, Captain Peroxide? No one asked you."

"Oi, will you shut your bloody yap? What's it to you?"

"Buffy's my friend," Xander responded oh-so-chivalrously. "I don't like my friend being stalked by you."

"I don't stalk," Spike defended himself. "I follow at a close behind--it's a whole other thing."

"Point is, you're a demon. Demons are bad. If someone's gonna stalk the Buffster, I'd like him to at least have a heartbeat."

"Xander?" Anya turned towards him, upset with his choice of words. "What's wrong with demons?"

Xander's eyes widened with the realization that he had unconsciously offended Anya while insulting the Annoying Undead. It was a thing he kept doing, yet still hadn't managed to stop himself of. "Ohh, no. No, Ahn--you're different!"

"Different how? That doesn't exactly sound apologetic, Xander."

"Well... I like you. And we have sex, and you don't annoy me." He smiled, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down her arms. It was a clever source of distraction, as... paired up with the fancy words and mention of sex... Anya was seemingly placated. For the time being.

"So," Spike inserted, drawing out the word in careful consideration. He eyed Harris pointedly. "What you're saying is... if me and you took up a weekly shag or two... you'd be okay with me and the Slayer?"

Xander's face was one of mild panic. "What?! No!--"

"--There is no you and me!" Buffy yelled, and punched Spike square in the nose. Point clear.

"Bloody hell, what was that for?!" Spike cried, grabbing his nose to stop the bleeding (though he was secretly enjoying the contact her fists had made.) He glared at Buffy, put off by her sudden mood swing. Was like menopause for the Clueless crowd. Not pretty.

"Hey, she doesn't have to justify hitting you, Bleached Undead Guy!" Xander shouted, sticking up for his Bestest Friend Buffy. "She's the Slayer, you're a vampire. Slayer go stake-y, vampire go dust-y."

"I'm not done with you, Alexander Lavelle Harris." Anya grabbed him by his arm, tugging him back towards her. "What's wrong with demons?"

"I told you, Anya. Nothing." His gaze flashed to Spike, disgust twisting his features. "Unless you're Bleach Boy."

"I don't see what the big deal is," she continued primly. "We're no different than the rest of you."

"You are the rest of us, Ahn. You're an ex-demon, he's not. You have a soul, he doesn't. You don't kill people, he does."

"He doesn't kill people," Buffy retorted, then quickly back-stepped when everyones gaze jumped to her at her defense.

Spike's instaneous smile, the one that formed at Buffy's words of encouragment--ones that were practically a bloody declaration of her love for him, just as quickly faded when he'd realized what the Doughboy was implying. "Hey, I could kill," he huffed out defensively, chest all puffed up in a manly manner.

"You have a chip, Oh-Impotent-One," Xander pointed out.

"So?"

"So, chip equals no-kill-for-you. As disappointing as that may be."

"Why do you always do that, Xander?"

"Do what?" Xander groaned, his head swiveling back in Anya's direction.

"Get judgemental, just because Spike is a vampire."

"Because it's Spike!"

"So, do you say that to people when I'm not around? 'It's Anya!', as some sort of explanation?"

"That's crazy talk, Ahn, and... what people? Everyone I ever talk to is standing right here."

"So," she said, lifting her head defiantly, "you talk about me, then?"

"For Anya and Xander, this I char," Willow started chanting, closing her eyes as her fingers wrapped around a glowing crystal in her hand. "Let Lethe's Bramble do it's chore. Purge their minds of memories grim--"

"Hey!" Anya cried out, pointing wildly at Willow. "Heeeey! She's doing magic on us!"

"W-w-willow? I thought you said you were..." Tara trailed off sadly.

"No! No, sweetie!" Willow pocketed the crystal, chagrined. "I was just... I was helping. Anya and Xander..."

"Hey! You were trying to make us forget again!" Anya called out, her head whipping back towards her boyfriend. She never did like that cheeky Willow Rosenberg, with her witchy magic and her shady history with Xander. Speaking of... "Xander, she was gonna make us forget again!"

"Willow, not liking the obsessed-with-magicks you," Xander blinked, pulling off the Lethe's Bramble she'd slipped onto their clothes when they weren't looking. He'd give her points for stealth, at least.

"I just thought it'd be helpful," Willow pouted, clearly not pleased that people weren't appreciating her attempt to make things better. It's not like they could do any better. Because, hello, pulled a Slayer out of Heaven. We're talking deep, dark stuff here.

"Helpful? As in 'Memories-be-gone'?" Xander shot back. "'Cause that's not helpful, Will... Unless the memory you're zapping is that one of Larry, telling me he was... Never mind."

"Willow, you said--"

"Xander, make her stop! Last time she did that I ended up--" Anya's voice dropped to a low, scandalized whisper, "--kissing Giles."

"Oh, dear lord," Giles sputtered. That memory was still one that played out from time to time. Particularly on those long, lonely nights...

"See, love." Spike's quiet, rumbly voice snaked its way around Buffy. He pulled up behind her, careless to the conversation taking place around them. With that simple move and that self-imposed closeness, the cemetery seemingly constricted to just the two of them. "Your friends don't get it," he continued, pressing himself up behind her in ways that crossed very, very many lines of decency. The contact forced Buffy to close her eyes from the pure pleasure of it. He drew a line down her arms, pulling her farther into him and away from her friends. His voice was intentionally low and seductive, his cold breath prickling her neck with his whispered words. "You don't belong with them... You belong with me."

"Spike," she whispered, leaning into him, causing him to let out a low groan as their bodies molded into each other. The goosebumps were an afterthought, the shiver that danced its way down her back immediate. "Stop," she pleaded softly, her eyes opening at the rememberance of where they were and who they were surrounded by hit her. The voices of her friends were far away, filtering in and out like they were getting caught in the wind, but it was a reminder that they weren't alone.

Spike's fingers stopped their tease and he took a step back, dropping his hands away from her obligingly.

"Spike?" Buffy's hand shot backwards, grabbing onto his wrist before he could fully step away. "Where're you going?" she asked quietly, her eyes flickering to the group of oblivious Scoobies in front of them.

"You said to stop," he purred, his hands going to her waist as he snuggled up against her again, satisfied and happy at the fact that she reached out for him, wanting him to stay.

"I-I know. I didn't mean it."

"Knew you wanted it." He smiled against the back of her head, inhaling sharply as he breathed in her scent. Vanilla, because that's what Buffy smelt like. Always vanilla. Soft and sweet to counter the stale smell of him--alcohol, cigarettes, and leather. Plus, you know, that one earthy smell. Probably on account of the fact that he slept on a slab of concrete that housed some rotted out carcass. His fingers slid under the hem of her shirt, splaying across her stomach. He couldn't help the possessive growl that seemed to overtake him when she arched into his touch. And, pleased with that response, his left hand took a tempting trail upwards, his calloused fingers sliding against the softness of her skin at a slow, maddening pace.

"Stop," she moaned again, only more breathless this time, with her backside pressing into him in a particularly pleasant way.

"Make me," he growled. He knew this game; knew that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. It was this endless loop that they were stuck on.

Buffy stiffened against him. Before he could register the implications of that action, or the dip in temperature when it came to her body heat, she threw her elbow behind her and connected all too typically with his ribs. That quickly maneuvered move coincided with her grabbing his wrist, and she twisted it hard, pulling it out from under her shirt. The counter-attack was made complete as she tossed the aforementioned limb away from her in disgust.

"Bloody hell." Spike pushed back, releasing his grip on her to clutch his now quite painfully bruised ribs. "What in the great hell was that for, you stupid bint?"

"I told you to stop!" she cried, aware now that all the Scoobies had turned in their direction to gawk and stare.

Xander clicked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head as he looked Spike up and down. Giles took off his glasses, cleaning them in a precise manner before placing them back on the bridge of his nose, careful not to make eye contact with his Slayer. Willow and Tara quieted, Willow looking happy that Tara's attention was off of her for the time being.

Anya frowned, oblivious to the awkward silence around her. "What's with all the yelling, Buffy?"

"Is he-who-wants-to-be-staked messing with you?" Xander stepped forward threateningly, straightening to his full height. Which, come to think of it, wasn't so threatening.

"Oh please," Spike drawled, amused more than anything at the puffy Xander doing his best impression of a man. "Don't get your delicates all in a twist--me and the Slayer were just having ourselves a chat."

"Is that right?" Xander asked, unconvinced. "Buffy?"

Buffy looked over at Spike, and he hooked a brow in response. "It's Spike," she answered evasively.

Harris seemed pleased with that, and he chuckled in understanding. "Of course. You'd have to be one sick, perverse freak to let that touch you." He shook his head, completely oblivious to the way Buffy flinched at his words. "I mean, you'd seriously have to be under a spell or something to want that thing near you."

"Shut it, Harris," Spike growled, completely unaffected by Xander's words, but not wanting his Slayer to be bothered by what he was saying.

"It's like, 'gee, lemme think of who's been there before. Drusilla and Harmony'--"

"Xander--"

"I mean, I know you enjoy a bit of cold with your comfort, Buff--caught that show with our not-so-favorite currently-souled vampired, but Spike? Nah. There is no way, no how there would ever be anything between you two."

Spike scoffed. Well now he was all offended. "And why the hell not?" he asked back roughly.

"Aside from everything I just said?"

"Yeah," Spike nodded, with complete seriousness.

"Evil, disgusting--"

"Sing us a new one, cause God knows I memorized that bit years ago."

"Buffy wouldn't ever--"

"Leave her out of this," Spike growled.

"Oh, or what? You'll oh-so-pathetically threaten to kill me? Yeah, and there was a point about, oh say... the day you stopped being scary and started being useless where that threat stopped working entirely."

"--When the fire goes out, when the crystal turns black--"

"Willow!" Tara cried out sadly, interrupting the spell the Witch had started up again.

"Sorry!" Willow immediately apologized, though her tone was lacking any sign that she actually was. More like a run through lines--part of a script, if you will, thought not entirely convincing. "I just thought that this time they really could use it," she muttered.

Spike pulled off the Lethe's Bramble from his duster, scowling as he did. "This jacket is a bloody second skin."

"Yes, well..." Giles spoke up for the first time in a while. Oh, no. It's okay--he was used to just standing on the sidelines, watching the chaos play out in front of him before he decided to throw in any sort of input. "And with that, I believe I shall be on my way, then."

"Giles, you can't." Buffy's hazel eyes were wide again, tears pooling at the bottom of them. "I need you here."

"Buffy, you're a grown woman who, having just recently died, was pulled out of heaven and is almost quite literaly drowning in finances. You don't need me here. Rather, you need to learn independence, fairly soon, and far be it for me to help you."

"I can't do this without you," she insisted quietly, reeling from the overwhelming feeling of abandonment. Her dad. Angel. Now Giles? Seriously, did she just drive men away? COULD SHE KEEP NO ONE?!

"You can, Buffy," he insisted, speaking with the knowledge that this was what was best for her. "You must."

"Why does everyone think this is easy for me?" Buffy snapped, backing away from the group. "Why does everyone leave me?"

Spike took a small step forward, his hand instinctively reaching for hers. "I'm not going anywhere, Buffy."

"Okay, that's it!" Xander lunged forward, pulling Spike by the back of his duster far and away from Buffy.

"Hey!" Spike shouted, prying himself out of Harris' grip. He instinctively smoothed his duster out, wincing at the damage that was being done to it. Do they not understand the significance of the sodding leather?! Royal testament of his entire bleeding Bad Ass-ness, the thing was.

Xander's eyes sparkled with disgust, a sudden stake fitted in his hand. "Ladies and Giles," he announced calmly, staring hard at Spike. "Sit back and enjoy the show."

Spike had the blink of an eye to register Xander's words and the stake in his fist before the giant block of uselessness was falling forwards into him, eyes wild and arm raised. The stake came down fast and painful.

"Bloody hell--"

"Spike!"

"Oh, dear lord."

"Hey, wait." Spike straightened, his attention dropping down to the held stake protruding from his chest. His gaze jumped back up towards Xander's, a slow smirk playing across his face at the realization that he wasn't dust.

Xander mirrored Spike's smirk. "Plastic-wood grain. It was a farewell present from our favorite soldier guy Riley." He pulled the stake out, admiring in the process the slickness in which it eased out of Spike's chest. He backed towards the group, pocketing the bloody stake without hesitation, then gave everyone a bright smile. "I've been wanting to do that for a while now."

Spike clutched his chest. His limbs felt like they were on fire with the adrenaline of almost being staked running through him. "Well, isn't that nice," he still managed to say, the sarcasm laced throughout his words a worthwhile effort, "you and Cornfed sharing each other's pointy things."

"Oh yeah," Xander readily, and obliviously, agreed. "It was all 'don't ask, don't tell' there for a whilte. He showed me his, I showed him mine--" He trailed off suddenly and glanced back at Anya. "We're not talking weaponry, are we?"

"No," she smiled helpfully. "Spike was implying you and Riley had sexual relations." Her smile faded just as quick as it'd come. "You didn't, did you?"

"What?!" Xander sputtered, eyeing his friends nervously. There was some awkward chuckling. "No! Definitely no, Ahn. The Xan-man, 110% straight manliness!" At that, he whipped around towards Willow and Tara. "Uh, not that there's anything wrong with the gayness," he added. "You know, especially if you're you guys."

"And on that rather interesting note," Giles spoke up, "I do believe my plane is scheduled to leave soon."

Xander rolled along with the change in conversation. "Uh, G-man? It's midnight."

"And oddly enough the planes still manage to land and take off."

"So that's it?" Buffy said. "You're just leaving?"

"I have to," he told her, as soothingly as possible.

"Uh, we should probably go too," Xander said, his arm hooking around Anya's.

His words caught up with her, and she turned towards the rest of her friends. "Yes, we have sex to resume!"

"W-we should probably go, t-t-too." Tara looked at Willow sadly.

When there was no effort to actually leave, Spike rolled his eyes. "And yet you're all still standing here."

Xander started to pull loose from Anya. "Some of my stakes are wooden, you know."

The smirk plastered across Spike's face had him slinking back into her embrace. "Is that so? That because of the Soldier Boy, too?"

"Okay, going now." Xander retreated, a mock-bow to the group. "Giles, Willow, Tara." He nodded at them before turning to Buffy. "There will only be tears of happiness on my part if you end up slaying the Big Not-So-Bad here, Buff."

"Oh, she'll slay me alright," Spike drawled. Of course that innuendo flew over everyone's head.

With one last lingering look of disgust, Xander and Anya took off.

"Bye, Buffy," Willow smiled. "Giles." She turned around and left.

"B-b-bye," Tara nodded sadly as she followed Willow out of the graveyard.

"I'll call you when I settle in," Giles assured Buffy, though he was reluctant to offer even that. "I, uh... I have to go now." He smiled apologetically before turning around, only stopping to stare briefly at Spike before heading off, once more leaving slayer and vampire alone.

"And then there were two," Spike couldn't help but say, staring at Buffy pointedly with arguably his most sexy grin. He gave her his best bedroom eyes, lifting his eyebrows while his tongue took the time to dart a teasing path along the outside of his teeth.

"Go home," she muttered.

"Cemetery, love. Do believe this is where I hang my hat. So to say."

"So just leave me alone, then." She pushed past him, walking in the opposite direction all her friends had taken off in.

"That was interesting," Spike continued, unaffected, ignoring her attempt to push him away as he turned and followed her. "The way they all sort of appeared out of nowhere, inserting their unwanted two cents 'til the whole lot of 'em buggered off again."

"Will you just stop talking for once? Do you ever listen?" Buffy barked at him, sighing out in frustration as she came to a stop. Seeing the wounded look in his eyes, her hardened features softened as she slowly lowered the emotional walls she built around herself. Ever since Angel left... And then Riley, and now Giles-- again, Giles. "Why are you always here?" she him asked quietly.

"Told you," Spike said, stepping into her. "Never gonna leave you, Buffy."

She offered a smiled at that, and it was all the permission he needed before he caught her jaw in his hand, tilting her head upwards while he swooped down, kissing her softly and with little urgency as the two stood, bathed in moonlight. The slight opening of her lips had his tongue slipping through, his hand forgetting its hold on her face as it snaked down and under her arm, pulling her farther up into him.

"Stop," she whispered into his mouth, her warm breath slipping past her lips and sliding into his own cool mouth. Despite her words, she pulled him closer against her. Her hands were underneath his leather duster, clasped together tightly behind his back like she didn't want to let go.

He pulled away, only a little, his lips lightly brushing up against hers. Couldn't stop bloody kissing her if his unlife depended on it. "You keep saying that, and one of these days I will," he whispered, the rumbling of his words thick with passion.

"Never," she moaned, pulling him back in for another taste.

"Never," he promised, meeting her half-way.

Her hands unwrapped from behind him, dragging forward until they rested lazily at his sides. And then they trailed upwards, her fingers moving against his black t-shirt. The fabric wrinkling between her fingers went unnoticed by both as she inched her palm up his upperbody, stopping at the broad part of his chest. She spread her hands out then, feeling the tight muscles beneath them. Her hand loomed over the hole in his shirt where Xander's fake stake had pierced; over his heart. His cold, unbeating heart.

And like a shockwave it hit her. The rememberance that he was a vampire and she was the slayer, and that this was wrong. All of it. The kissing, the groping, the eventual sex-- wrong. Two worlds and a tiny continent of wrong. Buffy pulled back then, pushing against him to pry his body off of hers.

"What is it now?" he asked, a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

"We're stopping."

"Thought you said 'never'?" he playfully reminded her.

She dodged his hands as they sought to grab her again. "I'm sorry," she told him softly, backing away.

He grabbed her by the arm before she could go too far, his dark eyes searching hers desperately. "What brought this on?"

"I can't do this anymore, Spike... Giles is right. I need to stop doing this. I need to start living on my own."

"That doesn't mean this has to end."

"It never really even started," she told him quietly.

He growled, yanking her into him. Thrust his hips against her for good measure. "This never started?" he ground out, his blue eyes blazing. "This started long before you and I had any say in it, love."

She swallowed hard. "We.. we can't."

"We already are," he countered, dropping his head to suck gently at her neck.

Her hands making contact with his body elicited a small groan from his throat before he realized that she was pushing him away instead of pulling him close. Just as he'd glanced up to protest some more, her fist shot out and connected with his bottom lip.

Spike willingly backed away from her at that. He reflexively licked the blood away, tasting the remnants of their kisses in doing so. "Bloody hell! Are you completely incapable of expressing your opinion through things other than violence?"

Buffy looked at him another second or two, disgusted with herself more than anything, before turning on her heels. She held her head high as she walked away from him, following the path her friends had went. "Goodbye, Spike," she called out over her shoulder without the slightest trace of emotion.

Spike sighed, wiping the last remaining bit of blood off of his lip before he shoved his hands in his pocket. He wrapped his duster more tightly around him as he turned and walked in the opposite direction Her Bitchiness had taken, back towards his crypt. At least Passions would be on, and that'd never leave him. Not that it could, what with it being a taped show from his telly and all... but emotionally speaking, he'd always have that-- sod all else.

At least until Buffy showed up at his crypt again, in any case.