He watched her patrolling with her uptight Watcher as he had every night for the last week. Why was she suddenly patrolling with him again? Had the events of that night frightened her? One small part of him felt a tingle of pride at having scared the Slayer. The rest of him, however, fought the urge to run to her and wrap her safely in his embrace, assuring her that he had her back and wouldn’t let anything hurt her, ever. He crushed the cigarette he had been smoking under his boot heel and resigned himself to continue observing from a distance as she finished her patrol with someone who was not him. “Bloody wanker,” he cursed the watcher under his breath. As if the tweed clad twerp could keep his girl as safe as he could. Well the Big Bad was there regardless, and if any trouble arose he would be at her side in seconds. Just see if he wouldn’t!
 
He followed along at a safe distance, where he could easily observe without detection, assuring himself that the Slayer was in no danger. That she didn’t need rescuing from the few pathetic fledglings she encountered on her nightly rounds. He loved to watch her; she was bloody amazing. She was poetry, perfection. He thrilled at her dance, rejoiced in her power, and was held captive, enchanted by her grace.
 
A century plus of searching for something he didn’t even know he was missing and he’d found it here in the most improbable of places. In his mortal enemy; this petite form that stood for all he had raged against for the better part of 120 years.
 
He had proven himself; two of her kind had died by his hand. Tens of thousands of others had poured their lifeblood down his throat and breathed their last to the sounds of his laughter. He had locked away the vestiges of the maudlin, spineless, pathetic excuse for a man that he had been. He had remade himself; at first reluctantly under his Grandsire’s none too gentle persuasion. Then later with relish; cherishing the power, the strength, and the freedom from the humiliation of his former life that the demon within him provided.
 
Even then he had stubbornly hung on to shreds, remnants of his lost humanity. Whether for nostalgic reasons, or simply because these small demonstrations of humanity—of life—drove Angelus to fury, he didn’t even know himself.  Of course each rebellion had resulted in yet another round of thrashings, and on several occasions had very nearly brought about the younger vampire’s demise. Whatever the reason, unlike other vampires who had to remind themselves to breathe in order to pass for human, Spike, in fact, had to do the opposite; having to remind himself, when the occasion called for it, that he didn’t need to breathe. His penchant for food that his body in no way required also set him apart from others of his kind. Vampires are capable of eating, and often did in order to blend in. But that was all it ever was, a cover, a way of disguising who and what they were whilst hunting for their natural food. Spike, however, enjoyed eating. He loved the texture, the aroma, the taste; in fact he appreciated the whole sensory experience of eating.
 
All in all he had, after initial hesitations, thrown himself unreservedly into the hedonistic lifestyle his demon relished.
 
You would think, then, given his riotous existence for over a century, and given his demon’s penchant for death and destruction, in its delight and pride in his own annihilation of two slayers, that it would protest at least a little against the current turn of events. You would expect inner turmoil, revulsion, remonstration, at the very least uneasiness as the demon inside waged war against the, until recently, believed to be extinct poet inside. No such protest was forthcoming, however. His demon glowed with as much adoration for this beautiful girl as did the residue of his desperately idealistic human-self. Only an urgent disquiet at not swooping down, gathering her up into his arms and carrying her off to be his completely emanated from the fiercely rumbling demon within. It was this that Spike fought with every ounce of self control he possessed. He clamped down on his demonic nature, knowing that any such move would be foolhardy and would inevitably result in destroying any chance, however slim, he had of wooing his love and convincing her of his sincerity.
 
*****
 
Two nights later as he sought out his usual vantage point for his faithful nightly vigil, the familiar sensation tingling through his spine screamed to him that his slayer was nearby. He turned, holding his breath for the first glimpse of his girl for the night; he treasured this moment each night when she entered his domain and he would deliberately wait until his senses were filled with her before allowing his eyes to drink in the sight they had ached for all through the long and arduous hours of the day. Buffy.
 
Tonight, for the first time since that fateful night, she was alone. His mind reeled, she was alone! This was something that although longed for, he wasn’t ready to deal with. What to do? Every instinct in him was screaming for him to run to her side. Caution was urging him to stop, to calm down and evaluate. Desperation found him pacing backwards and forwards across the mausoleum roof, his hands automatically reaching for a cigarette and lighting it as he inhaled the calming smoke deep into his lungs. After a while his pacing took on a less frenzied measure, he drew deep calming lungsfull of air. Cursing himself for the stupid sod that he was, his eyes sought out and found the reason for his current distress. He located her halfway across the graveyard.
 
“Right now mate, you can do this. Just calm down you useless wanker, before you go an’ make a right prat of yourself,” Spike admonished himself before dropping effortlessly to the ground and making his way silently through the tombstones towards the girl in question. Drawing one last fortifying breath he stepped out onto the path.
 
“Quiet night, Slayer?” He enquired. He watched as she started before forcibly relaxing into a casual fighting stance, stake lowered but ready, waiting to see what he would do next. “Didn’t mean to startle you, love. Sorry bout that.” He kept his actions slow and unthreatening, last thing he wanted was a stake through the heart.
 
“You didn’t, I mean, um….what’s going on here, Spike?  First you try for months to kill me, and then all of a sudden you save my life. Then nothing, I don’t see hide or hair of you for nearly two weeks. Now suddenly you’re here like you and I having conversation is a normal daily event. What is this, a new ‘confuse the slayer to death’ approach to things?” Buffy’s voice was harsh with frustration and no small amount of chagrin that he had been able to step out only paces from where she was with no warning; no spidey tingle, nothing to say hey ‘VAMPIRE’ here. She had been working so hard and getting nowhere fast. And Spike was one hell of a dangerous vampire to have sneaking up on you like this.
 
To Buffy’s dismay a low chuckle escaped from the platinum-haired vampire as he shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “Missed me did you, pet?” He looked up at her, his head tilted to one side and a cheeky smile spread across his face. “Figured you wouldn’t want Big Bad interfering with your watcher time; so I let you be. An’, no, love, not tryin’ to confuse you to death. Not tryin’ to kill you in any way. Don’t ask me why, I don’t soddin know, ok.  Just don’t wanna see you get yourself killed is all. Ok? So let’s just leave it at that,” he growled the last out, embarrassment stealing the previous gentleness from his voice.
 
Cursing himself for his loss of control he forcibly calmed his tone, “So, how come you didn’t notice me sooner, love? Thought you were gonna work on that!”
 
Buffy’s head shot up. Was he rubbing it in? Had he seen her and Giles trying to master the illusive skill? Was it amusing to him that she was failing miserably in something that should be an inherent part of the slayer package? She looked at his face, anticipating his usual sarcastic leer, what she encountered however, disarmed her. Open, honest, genuine concern was etched across his handsome features. Oh God, what was with her? Spike handsome? She looked at him again, well, if she was being brutally honest with herself then, yeah—way handsome!  When his face wasn’t twisted with malice or sneering viciously it was unquestionably striking, especially with those eyes. With an effort she brought her mind back to the conversation at hand.
 
“I’ve been trying. Giles and I have been working on it every night, but it’s no use, I just don’t get it.” She pouted and huffed in frustration.
 
God she’s gorgeous, Spike thought for the thousandth time. He forced his mind away from that beautiful, soft bottom lip that he was just aching to taste. He fought the urge to reach out, to stroke her face and whisper reassurances to her while feathering her lips with adoring kisses. Drawing on all his strength and willpower he dragged his imagination away from the utopia of his dreams and made himself concentrate on the problem that was obviously not only endangering his beloved’s life, but was also causing her great distress.
 
“Don’t understand, love. What do you mean you don’t get it?”
 
“Just that! I try, I concentrate the way Giles has taught me, reach out and sometimes I get a tingle, a little one, but not until way after the vamp is in sight and by then its staking time and no more vamp. It useless, a waste of time and one more night of trying and I don’t know if Giles was gonna kill me or I was gonna kill him; either way it was gonna be messy!” She was miserable and her voice reflected it.
 
“Maybe I can help you there, Slayer,” he offered.
 
“You? How?” Buffy was mystified.
 
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Vampire, pet. Or had you forgotten?” He couldn’t help but laugh at her as she visibly started. Obviously for a few moments she had actually forgotten just that. “You can practice on me, love. But without the staking or the deals off.  I’ll disappear and you can locate me. I’ll stay fairly close to start with and you can just point to where I am. When you get better at it I’ll move out a bit further. How’s that sound?”
 
“Wow, I never thought of that.  This could work, Spike!” She tilted her head to one side in a gesture reminiscent of the vampire’s earlier action. “Why though, Spike? I don’t get it. Why are you helping me?”
 
“Told you, love, don’t rightly know. Jjust know that I don’t want to see any harm coming to you, is all. Don’t tell me it doesn’t make any sense, I bloody well know that. But it doesn’t matter, Buffy, I’ll be here. You need help? I’m here. You need someone to watch your back? Well, I’m your someone. Right now this is somethin’ I can help you with. So how bout we stop yakkin’ and get on with it? Cause at this rate the bloody sun’s gonna be up before we get anythin’ done.” Turning he disappeared into the shadows, melting away as only a true creature of the night could.
 
Buffy drew a deep breath, trying to absorb the tirade Spike had just thrown her way. Nothing about the situation was even close to being within the realms of comprehension, as such she came to the conclusion it was far simpler to not try to comprehend and just do as the vampire had suggested and get on with it. Closing her eyes she quieted her mind the way Giles had taught her; reaching out she searched. After what seemed like forever; when she was almost at the point of giving up and resorting to another much warranted bout of sulking, she felt a slight tingle at the edge of her senses. Concentrating harder she felt it grow steadier, more definite. Slowly she raised her hand and pointed in what she was reasonably sure was the direction the vampire was in.
 
“Well done, love.” Spike stepped into sight grinning approvingly at her. “Want to try that again?”
 
At her enthusiastic nod he melted into the night again and found a new hiding place. They continued in this vein for the next couple of hours; each success coming faster than the one before. Every beaming smile and enthusiastic word of encouragement from him boosting her confidence and lifting the enormous ball of self doubt that had settled in her gut over the last few weeks of failure.
 
By the end of the night they had completed the patrol, Spike watching appreciatively as she performed her chosen duty; dusting the few vampires they came across with ease and a slight flicker of impatience as they interrupted the lesson she was finding, to her amazement, that she was thoroughly enjoying. Her improvement over the course of the night was infinitely satisfying to both student and teacher and the delight in her eyes was more reward than Spike could ever have hoped for. When they parted as she turned for home, it was on his promise to see her again the next night for patrol.
 
Over the ensuing weeks Spike would appear at her side for patrol whenever she patrolled alone. On the occasions she had company; her friends, her watcher or sometimes, much to his utter disgust, his hated Grandsire, he would watch over her from a distance.  Sometimes keeping enough distance that he knew she couldn’t sense him, other times allowing her to know that he was there watching her back as he had told her he would. He would see her smile to herself and look in his direction, letting him know that she knew he was there. They never spoke about the times he watched over her, neither of them caring to question the friendship that was growing so easily between them.
 
When they patrolled together they would talk about all manner of things then slip into quiet, comfortable silences as they walked side by side through Sunnydale’s numerous graveyards. At his suggestion they varied the patrol, no longer sticking to Buffy’s predictable routine after he quietly pointed out the dangers of the habit to her. Spike was true to his word, covering Buffy’s back when she needed it; always there to make sure no harm befell her. However in most cases his assistance was not required and he loved to lean back against a gravestone and watch her, she was bloody beautiful when she fought; a sight he could never get enough of.
 
Eventually, as trust grew between them, they began to spar some nights. Those nights were his favourites. If watching Buffy fight was amazing, fighting against her was heaven. They both loved it, Buffy loved the experience of not having to hold back; sparring with Spike was fun! She could be herself in a way she couldn’t with her watcher, not unless she wanted to break him, and she couldn’t with Angel because he insisted on practicing higher forms of the art. The slow precise movements he insisted she learn were designed to improve balance and concentration, and as far as Buffy was concerned they were boring and tedious. and When she had once dared to voice her opinion he had sat her down and explained to her in length the importance of learning this skill, and the reason why common sparring was beneath her dignity as a warrior. Well it may be beneath her, but god it was fun. And Spike taught her a few things that… well she couldn’t imagine either her watcher or her boyfriend would ever teach her such dirty tactics.