The English Patient

by Pipergirl

 

 

Author's Notes: This is a AU story based on an early 5th season. Joyce is
still alive, but neither Glory nor Riley ’exist’. If anything seems out
of place, I’ve probably chosen to ignore it, as I’ve pretty much chucked
canon out the window. If that bothers you, please consider yourself
warned. I’d also like to give a big, big thanks to my beta, Kit, who
gave me lots of good ideas and helpful positive feedback. Thanks
tons--couldn’t have done it without you!!

 

Preface

 

“Buffy, are you sure you don’t want to come with us? I just don’t feel right about leaving you alone.” Joyce Summers turned to the eldest of her two daughters and gave her an anxious look.

 

Buffy rolled her eyes.

 

“Mom, we’ve been through this every day for two weeks now. There’s nothing I want more than to enjoy a little solitude this weekend. Anyway, I can’t just go away--I’m the Slayer. It’s not like I can hire a temp to take my place if I want to take a break. Although that would be nice wouldn’t it? Maybe I should place an ad in the paper. What do you think: Enjoy working the night shift? Want to get in shape quick? Ready and willing to do some good deeds? Boy, have we got a job for you!”

 

Joyce smiled and shook her head as Buffy helped her take her suitcase downstairs to where her youngest daughter was waiting.

 

“I still don’t understand why she doesn’t have to come. I mean--I don’t have a choice, do I? You let her do anything just because she’s the Slayer. It’s not fair!”

 

Dawn’s whining had been going on since the first thing that morning. “If I wanted to stay home alone, you wouldn’t hear of it. Of course not, I’m not old enough, not slayer-y enough--”

 

“Dawn!” Joyce cut her short. “I don’t know why you’re being so difficult about coming on this trip--it was your idea, after all. You’ve been after me for a year now to go to LA for a weekend, and you’re finally getting your way. Your sister’s old enough to stay on her own, and if I say that she’s allowed to that’s my word and it’s final.” She gave Dawn one of those patented this-discussion-is-now-over looks, and walked to the window.

 

Buffy took this opportunity to display her maturity and stuck her tongue out at her little sister. Dawn responded by flipping her the finger. Their little exchange was interrupted by the sound of honking.

 

Joyce parted the curtain and peered outside. “Well, I guess that would be our ride.” She picked up her suitcase and signalled for Dawn to do the same.

 

Buffy had to stifle a giggle as she watched her sister try to juggle the numerous bags that, Dawn had insisted, were “essential to this trip”.

 

The young woman reminded her of those people she had seen on the Discovery Channel, who lugged rich people’s luggage up the Himalayas.

 

“Why don’t you help me instead of just staring at me?”

 

She shook out of her reverie to see her sister glaring at her. She gave in and picked up more luggage than a girl her size should be able to carry. Guess that slayer strength did have perks other than being able to beat up demons.

 

“Ok, fine. Not my fault you need three bags for all your makeup.” The last bag she picked up weighed a ton. “What, did you bring your entire wardrobe? What the heck is in here, anyway?”

 

“That’s none of your business! Stop being so nosy, and just carry it out.”

 

Buffy snorted in response, but carried the heavy bag out anyway.

 

 


The Slayer helped the driver fit the luggage into the trunk of his car. It reminded her of those puzzles Giles made her work on to develop the logical side of her slayer abilities. “Now Buffy, I want you to take these 10 shapes and work them around until they all fit inside this box.”

 

When the luggage was successfully put away, she turned to her mother. “Mom, I want you to have a wonderful time, and I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be fine. Anyway, long weekends can be a bit dead, no pun intended; I’ll sit back and enjoy some quiet time on my own.”

 

Joyce opened the door to the taxi and sat down. “I know dear, but I still can’t help but worry. Just make sure you don’t patrol alone. And make sure that you always have a spare stake, in case you lose the one you’re holding. And--” Buffy leaned in, hugged her mom, punched her sister in the arm (in a big-sisterly fashion) and closed the door.

 

“I’ll be fine,” she mouthed, one last time, as the car pulled out of the driveway.

 

She stood there, rooted in place, and kept waving until they were out of sight. As the taxi disappeared from sight, Buffy sighed and turned to the house. *A whole weekend. No Mom. No Dawn.*

 

She grinned widely. This was going to be the best long weekend ever.

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

(The previous night)

 

“Oh, please...” *punch* “...how can you say that...” *duck* “...with a straight face?” *kick*

 

Buffy and Spike had been out patrolling when they walked right into the middle of a group of vampires. They would have noticed them earlier if they hadn’t been arguing about which Hollywood actor had been the best Dracula.

 

“What do you mean ‘with a straight face’?” Spike slammed a fledgeling into the picket of a fence, and watched the vamp turn to dust. Unfazed, he pursued his point. “Christopher Lee was the closest thing Hollywood ever came up with. I should know, ‘cause I knew Dracula himself.”

 

He turned around, facing another vampire.

 

“Poncey and full of himself--that’s what he was. Never liked him at all, actually.” He grabbed his opponent by the throat and punched it in the face, only to have the vampire sneeze on him just before he twisted its head clear off.

 

“Argh! What the hell was that? Vampire with bloody allergies.”

 

Buffy roundhoused the vamp she was fighting, and jumped on top of the nerdy-looking fledgeling. She looked down at it: “What do *you* think? Who was the best movie Dracula?”

 

The young vampire shrugged and said, “I was always partial to Bela Lugosi.”

 

Buffy snorted, “Hmph! Figures...” and then staked him.

 

She stood up, dusting herself off. “I still say that Gary Oldman was the coolest Dracula ever. Anyway, we weren’t trying to figure out which one was closest to the real thing. We were talking about who the coolest one was.” She paused and looked at the blond vampire. “You knew the real Dracula? I mean, good ol’ Vlad himself?”

 

“Yeah, and I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you. Bugger owes me money.”

 

Buffy stared at him in wonder. “Does everyone owe you money? Is that the reason you’re always stealing from us?” Then she looked at his duster, and wrinkled her nose “Eww...is that snot?”

 

Spike’s eyes flew to his beloved leather coat. “Bloody Hell!” He scoured his pockets looking for a handkerchief, or a tissue, or anything to clean the mess up, but came up empty-handed.

 

“Slayer, you wouldn’t happen to have anything that I can wipe this off with, would you?” He gave her a desperate look.

 


The shorter blonde reached into a pocket on her jean jacket, and pulled out a wrinkled Kleenex. “I don’t think it’s used. Here -- you can have it.” She handed it to him, with an obviously amused look on her face. He snarled and took it from her with the tips of his fingers, then proceeded to nearly wear a hole in his coat trying to wipe the mucus off.

 

He tossed the Kleenex aside and glared at the Slayer, who was clearly having too much fun watching him. “Oh, laugh it up, Buffy, but if I get sick because of this, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

 

Buffy pointed a finger in his face: “Listen here, fang-breath: First of all, I don’t *make* you patrol with me--you do it because you’re a loser and have nothing else to do. Second, vampires do not ‘get sick’--you should know that, being a vampire. Third, if you do get sick, I will personally be your nurse and take care of you; but that won’t happen, as it is unlikely, inconceivable, and not remotely possible for a vampire to get sick from being sneezed on, of all things.” At that she turned around and walked away.

 

Spike stood there, staring at her retreating silhouette. The mental image of her in a nurse’s outfit, tending to his bedside, crept into his mind. Lighting himself a cigarette, he shook the image out of his head. *What the hell was that? That’s the Slayer you’re thinking about; you should be thinking of ripping her throat out, not shagging her...*

 

He decided against following her and made his way back to his crypt. He’d had enough abuse for the evening. His time was better spent in front of the telly, a cold beer in his hand.

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

“Giles, tell me again why I’m here instead of at home watching a good movie? I mean, this is the first evening of my holiday and you’ve got me researching fungus demons!”

 

Buffy was sitting back in a chair balanced on its back legs with her feet propped on the round table. On her lap was a large tome that looked like it was held together by dust and good fortune. She didn’t usually mind these little research sessions at the Magic Box but tonight was a little different, as she was the only Scooby in attendance; Willow and Tara were off on a Wiccan retreat, to find their ‘inner witch’; Anya and Xander had booked a cottage for the weekend (Buffy had blocked out anything Anya had said after the mention of “many orgasms”); and Spike hadn’t been seen since the ‘snot patrol’ incident.

 

Strangely enough, Buffy had come to accept the bleached vampire as one of the Scoobies--actually, they’d all accepted it much easier than he himself had. Even Xander no longer flinched at the involvement of ‘Deadboy Junior’ in Scooby plans.

 

Buffy shook out of her thoughts and noticed that Giles had been speaking to her.

 

“Well?” He looked at her expectantly.

 

She blinked at him. “Well what?”

 

“Buffy, did you hear a word of what I just said?”

 

She let out a little laugh that she hoped would mean ‘Of course, I did’, but he just kept staring at her with a look of skepticism. Under his gaze, her face fell and she offered him a pout.

 

“Sorry, Giles--I was in my own little world--you know, the one where I don’t know about the existence of fungus demons...” She was interrupted by a slamming door followed by a string of curses “... or annoying blonde vampires.”

 

Spike stormed into the store, duster swirling behind him; he glared at Buffy and Giles.

 

“Where are the witches? What did you get them to do to me?”

 

Giles took a step back and Buffy took her feet off the table, setting her chair down so all four legs were firmly on the ground. They hadn’t seen Spike this angry since he’d been chipped.

 

“Um.” Giles cleared his throat. “Spike, I’m sure we’ve no idea as to what you mean. Now, if you can calm down...”

 

Buffy didn’t even see the vampire move until he had her watcher by the throat.

 

“I. Will. Not. Calm. Down. You will tell me what’s wrong with me, and you’ll undo whatever spell Red and Glinda cursed me with. Or I will kill you.”

 

That was the last straw. Buffy forcibly pulled the vamp off Giles and threw him into a chair.

 

“Ok, I’m kinda getting sick of this.” She leaned in and looked him in the eye. “Sit down and tell us what’s going on, or I will personally make sure you get to see your next sunrise real soon.”

 

It was at that moment that Buffy noticed just how bad the vampire looked. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days: his skin was even more gaunt than what was natural for a vampire, he had dark circles under his eyes and he was in a cold sweat.

 

She brought her hand to the vampire’s forehead and felt that it was...warm? She furrowed her brow and just stared at him.

 

Spike shifted uncomfortably under the feel of her hand, not used to having her touch him softly.

 

Buffy noticed his unease and pulled her hand back as if burned. What was she doing? Why was she touching him? She sounded out of breath. “You’re... all clammy.”

 

Spike sneered. “Yeah, Slayer, and that’s not all. This little trick of yours has got me runnin’ hot and cold, and worse yet I haven’t been able to keep any food down.”

 

He began to sound nervous, “How am I supposed to be the Big Bad if I keep passing out every time I get myself worked up?” At this, the vampire fell into a sneezing fit.

 

“Argh!!” He roared in frustration and swept his arm over the table, sending books flying in every direction.

 

Ever so helpful, even towards the vampire that just moments ago had threatened his life, Giles offered Spike a tissue. It was this act that jogged the slayer’s memory. As recognition dawned, she began to laugh.

 

Spike stared at her dumbfounded. “Bloody hell! I’m happy you can see the humour in my misery! Care to share what you find funny with this?”

 

Buffy took her seat, grinning, and looked at Spike.

 

“Remember when we were out patrolling a few nights ago, when you had to borrow a tissue off me? Do you think that has anything to do with your...condition?”

 

Then it hit him. The source of the past few days’ pain and misery was one stupid fledgeling who dared sneeze on him, just before bursting into a cloud of dust. Spike groaned and slid further onto his chair, throwing his arm over his eyes in a move worthy of an Oscar nomination.

 

Giles could no longer contain his curiosity. “Would someone be good enough to explain to me what this is all about? Buffy, did something happen the other night when you and Spike were patrolling--something that you should have mentioned before now?”

 

Buffy gave him a pleading look.

 

“Honestly, Giles--I really didn’t think it was important.” Spike snorted at this. Buffy frowned at his interjection and continued. “Long story short, Spike got sneezed on by a vampire, just before he dusted it. He had, uh, snot, on his coat, and he asked me for a tissue to wipe it off. It didn’t really phase me, although, come to think of it I don’t think I’ve ever seen a vampire sneeze before.”

 

Spike’s reply was curt. “That’s because it doesn’t happen, you stupid bint. Sneezing is a human thing.” Sometimes he couldn’t come to grips with just how daft the Slayer could be; if she was the good guys’ beacon of hope, they were in serious trouble.

 

Giles stood, wiped his glasses for the umpteenth time that evening and spoke up. “Well, from what I’ve observed, I’m afraid that this has nothing to do with a spell, Spike. I’m sorry to let you down but I’d say your symptoms point to--how shall I say this--the flu.”

 

“What?” Spike and the Slayer both stared agape at the Watcher.

 

“Well, um, if you think of it, Spike was exposed to the virus when he was...sneezed on, and he’s certainly exhibiting symptoms of the flu: general aches and pains, hot and cold flashes, trouble keeping food down...if he weren’t a vampire it would have been obvious, but since he’s not human, it just didn’t naturally come to mind.”

 

“Oh, I don’t bloody believe this.” Spike rested his forehead on the table and let out an audible groan. “First Dru leaves me, then I get chipped, now this. Why don’t I just get a soul while I’m at it? I could go to LA and help Peaches out in his quest to help mankind.”

 

Buffy was enjoying every moment of this. Seeing Spike so unceremoniously tossed off his ‘I’m a vampire, so I’m higher up on the food chain’ pedestal was a sight to behold. She calmly made her way towards him and put her hand on his shoulder in a display of mock affection.

 

“Don’t worry Spike, we’ll send you some chicken soup.” She paused, then added, just to get his goat. “We’ll even have Angel come by to nurse you back to health.”

 

Spike stiffened at Buffy’s mention of his grandsire; the last thing he needed just now was giving that poofter the satisfaction of seeing him in this condition. He’d never live it down. Then his face brightened, as some not-so-long-ago promise clawed its way back to the forefront of his conscience.

 

He looked at Buffy with a leer.

 

“No, not Angel, pet. I seem to recall you saying something the other night, when all of this started. Something to the effect of ‘if you do get sick, I will personally be your nurse and take care of you’ (this he said in a mocking, effeminate voice). Well, I’m sick--and I expect you to keep your promise.”

 

Buffy gasped. “I... I never said that!”

 

She turned to Giles, who simply stared at her with an odd look on his face; she could swear he almost looked amused. Spike just peered at her through tired lids. Maybe if she stalled long enough, he’d just fall asleep and she could leave him there.

 

“Well, maybe I did, but how was I supposed to know he’d be sick? Vampires don’t get sick, it’s unheard of!” Her voice rose an octave higher as she panicked at the thought of having to lower herself to nursing the sick vampire back to health; she knew he would milk it for all it was worth.

 

Giles cleared his throat and made a move to save her--or so she thought.

 

“Actually, Buffy, there are records of vampires becoming ill--it’s not entirely unheard of at all. The strains of viruses are different than the ones that attack the human immune system, but vampires are susceptible to them nonetheless.”

 

Buffy couldn’t believe it; she squeaked. “Giles, you’re supposed to help me--not make things worse!”

 

The Watcher’s lips twitched at the corners, and he offered his Slayer a sympathetic look.

 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take back promises that you make in the heat of the moment. You’re an adult and you’re expected to bear the responsibility of your actions and your words. This is something that you and Spike will have to work out for yourselves.”

 

He’d always known that her impetuousness would come back to bite her, but he’d never imagined that it would involve Spike, of all people. Buffy continually complained that no one treated her like an adult--this was to be her initiation into the adult world, and it would be a harsh one. Of course, he couldn’t go along with this, as he had serious concerns about the vampire; perhaps this was just another of his twisted plans. However, he was chipped and seemed genuinely sick. Would he pose a risk to the Slayer if she took him in to her home?

 

Buffy’s shoulders dropped. Giles was right. She did say those words and now she had to live up to them.

 

“I’ll do it. I’ll hate every single moment of it, but I won’t go back on my word.”

 

“Buffy, are you sure? This is Spike--William the Bloody--that we’re talking about. He may be chipped, but he must still be considered a potential adversary.”

 

“Giles, I patrol with him every night. If he wanted me dead, he would have tried by now. I’ll take him home, make sure he gets over this bug or whatever it is, quickly, and boot him out so I can relax before Mom and Dawn come back.”

 

She turned towards the vampire, expecting him to be sitting there with an arrogant grin on his face, ready to taunt her at any moment. Instead he was out cold, face against the table. *Boy* she thought to herself *this is really the start of a fabulous weekend*.

 

She walked up to him and shook his shoulder, trying to wake him but the vampire made no sound. She bent lower and shouted, “Spike! Wakey wakey--time to go home!”

 

This time, there was a groan, but not much more.

 

“Giles, I am so not carrying him home. Help me wake him, please.”

 

Giles looked at the sleeping figure. “Well, I suppose I can give you a ride home, if you can carry him to the car. I don’t know if we’ll have any luck at waking him, honestly. He does seem deeply out of it.”

 

They managed to get Spike into the back seat of the car and proceeded to drive to the Summers household. Giles pulled into the driveway and gave Buffy a fatherly look. “Do be careful. I know he’s sick, but he’s still Spike. You never know what to expect. ‘Expect the unexpected’ should be your mantra.”

 

Buffy smiled weakly. “If that’s the case, then I should expect him to act all gentlemanly and show some manners.”

 

Giles smiled back at the young woman whom he loved like a daughter. “Yes, well nonetheless, please call if you need help of any kind.”

 

“I will, Giles. Thanks for the ride.”

 

She sighed, got out of the car and pulled the sleeping passenger out of the back, flinging him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. *Ugh! Never realized he was so heavy... Guess this is where the term ‘dead weight’ comes from*

 

Buffy managed to make it into the house without dropping him. She walked in and casually tossed him onto the couch. He lay there motionless, one leg hanging off the couch. She stared at him, despite herself.

 

He looked so different in sleep; how could someone so arrogant, so irritating, look so peaceful, so handsome....

 

*Wait--did I just think that Spike looked handsome? Oh, I must be in serious need of a good night’s sleep. He’s not handsome! He’s annoying, and he’s dangerous, and he’s... Okay, I can admit to myself that he’s handsome. I’d have to be blind not to see that. But that doesn’t mean anything! So he’s got that bad boy thing going on that seems to attract women, for some crazy reason. He’s an arrogant, dangerous, handsome vampire... with kissable lips. Argh! Where did that come from? His lips are not kissable- well, maybe...*

 

She shook her head and came to her senses only to find herself staring into the vampire’s eyes. The vampire’s open eyes--had he been watching her stare at him? Buffy blushed at the thought.

 

He leered at her. “See anything you like, luv?”

 

Too quickly, she replied, “No!” Then, she regained her cockiness. “Heh, you wish. I was just trying to figure out a way to make sure that you wouldn’t get sick on the couch; maybe I should move you to the cot in the basement so you don’t make too much of a mess.”

 

Spike gave her a worried look. “What, in my condition? It’s damp and cold down there!”

 

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “And that’s different from your crypt in which way?”

 

“Well, you don’t see me there right now, do you?” He tried to make himself more comfy on the couch, propping his head on the armrest.

 

“As far as I’m concerned, this flu is a human affliction, therefore I should be entitled to human comforts. And anyway,” he added, as a jab to her earlier staring, “if I’m down there, you won’t be able to steal glances at my body when you think I’m sleeping.”

 

*Damn it, he’s right!* That little inner voice was really beginning to worry the Slayer. This vampire was her mortal enemy, the constant thorn in her side, the one who’d tried to kill her family and friends numerous times; and now she was staring at his body. *His perfect body, so sleek and hard; think of how long it’s been since you’ve been with a man...*

 

She stirred as she heard a groan and realized that it had come from her. All she had to do was put up with him until he was better, then get him the hell out before something incredibly stupid *incredibly earth-shattering--wouldn’t be anything less than that, would it?* happens.

 

“You’re going to want a pillow and a blanket, I suppose,” she said, her voice squeaking.

 

Spike didn’t know what to think. Why did she keep staring at him like that? It was starting to unsettle him. *Clue in, you git, she just asked you a question!*

 

“Uh, yeah--that would make sleeping on this couch more comfortable.” Then he realized that something was off; he furrowed his brow and asked, “So, where are Joyce and the Nibblet? You scare them off?”

 

The young woman sneered, “No, I did not scare them off. They’re in LA for a weekend of shopping. I was supposed to stay home and have a nice relaxing weekend of watching girly flicks and eating ice cream straight from the container. Now it seems that I’ll be stuck here with you.”

 

As she turned away, she mumbled, “Should’ve gone to LA; would have gotten some nice clothes, but NO, I had to stay home...”

 

Buffy made her way to the linen closet and pulled out a pillow and a blanket--one of those thermal ones that were light but kept you warm anyway.

 

When she came back to the living room she found the vampire asleep, duster tucked around him. She allowed herself a little smile and proceeded to divest him of his coat and boots. *Thank God he’s asleep or I’d never live this down.* She gently lifted his head and placed the pillow underneath. As she tucked the blanket around him, he mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear, although she swore ‘mum’ had been in there somewhere. She stepped back and glanced one last time at her guest.

 

As she made her way up to her bedroom, she thought to herself, *Maybe this won’t be so bad after all--maybe it’ll actually be tolerable*

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Buffy was ripped from the comfort of her dreams by the sound of coughing coming from the bathroom. Still drowsy, she forgot that she wasn’t alone in the house. She grabbed a weighty candlestick from her bedside table and made her way to the hallway.

 

She peeked through the bathroom door, which had been left ajar by whoever was in there. That’s when it all came back to her--Spike was sick and he was staying at her house until he was better. She let her ‘weapon’ drop to the floor and pushed the door completely open.

 

If she’d had any doubts about the vampire’s claims of illness, they were erased by the sight she took in. He was hunched over the toilet, one arm gripping the tank and the other holding his head up. His body was shaking from the combination of coughing and vomiting, and his skin was covered with a sheen of sweat.

 

She tried to find her voice, “Spike?”

 

“God, Slayer,” his tone was listless and he made no move to look at her when he spoke. “Do me a favour and stake me, will you?”

 

Buffy turned and left the room.

 

He groaned, wallowing in misery--he’d never felt this bad, not even in the past few days. He’d been better last night, so he thought; his sleep had been undisturbed by coughing or nightmares, probably due to the Slayer’s home being a bit more conducive to good health than his crypt. But that was short lived, as he now found himself sitting on the Slayer’s bathroom floor with a splitting headache, a raw throat, and every muscle in his body sore.

 

He thought to himself, *Figures the chit would just walk away, so much for helping me get better. So I’ve tried to kill her stupid Scoobies. I’m vampire for Christ’s sake! It’s what I do...* His musings were interrupted by the sound of running water. He hadn’t even noticed her come back; he’d been so absorbed in self-pity that he hadn’t heard her walk in.

 

She stood at the sink, wetting a facecloth. She watched him as he sat on the cold ceramic floor. Where were all these maternal feelings coming from, and why was she feeling them for Spike, of all creatures?

 

She should be revelling in his pain, or taunting him at least. But no, she felt genuinely sorry for him and she wanted to help him feel better. She crouched down and put her hand on his shoulder.

 

“Those tiles can get pretty cold.” She handed him a towel. “Sit on this, you’ll find it’s a bit warmer.”

 

Then she took the facecloth and started to clean him up. She wiped his face gently, then moved on to his shoulders and his back. She felt his muscles flex under her ministrations. She paused, and got up to rinse off the facecloth.

 

He stared at her in disbelief; was she actually being nice to him? She was being more than nice to him--she was being... motherly. The strangest thing was that it felt good. It almost felt natural; him sick, her taking care of him. *Bit of a stretch from our usual encounters- no sarcasm, no venom; maybe this is the Buffy I never get to see firsthand* He was watching her every move, memorizing them; he was sure he’d never see this side of the Slayer again.

 

When she got back down to his level, she could see the wheels turning in his head. *Wonder what he’s thinking about? Probably wondering why I’m being so nice to him- maybe he thinks this is some kind of trick. If he does, he’s not acting like it. He’s just sitting there, trying to read me. I wonder if he trusts me...*

 

She leaned in, and started to wash his chest. She felt him take in a deep breath; he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. *Guess that answers my question.*

 

His skin was so pale, the result of over one hundred and twenty years of absence of sunlight. She now openly admitted, without guilt, that he had a body to die for. The muscles in his chest were well defined; they reminded her of those Greek statues they had in museums. She couldn’t help herself--she trailed a timid finger down his chest, tracing the outline of his abs. Her inner Slayer was screaming at her, *What on earth are you doing? You’re only supposed to get make him better so you can get rid of him- stop with the making out!*

 

He slowly opened his eyes, and she felt like she saw him for the very first time. Why did it feel so different than every other time they’d looked at each other?

 

Then it dawned on her--he wasn’t sneering, or taunting her; the mask of rivalry had been tossed aside, and they were just two individuals looking into each other’s eyes. She had to find her voice before they did something they’d regret. *Would you really regret anything you did with him?*

 

“Uh...” this was harder than she’d expected, “we’d better get you off the floor before...”

 

He smiled at her. “Before I catch a cold? Bit late for that, pet.”

 

Nevertheless, he raised himself to a standing position and stood on wobbly legs. He had no idea what she was up to, but he certainly wasn’t going to do anything to stop it. When he’d gazed into her eyes, he’d come to realize something: the intensity of their fights, their clashes, didn’t take root in their hatred for one another, but rather in an oddly-placed sexual tension. Fighting with the Slayer always left him as exhilarated as if he’d shagged her.

 

He fought to remain upright and held his arms out to steady himself. *When was the last time you had a bite to eat? You’re weak as a kitten.*

 

The thought of food made his stomach grumble. Buffy raised her eyebrows, and he gave her a smirk. He put his arm around her shoulders and tried to find a way of easing their obvious discomfort.

 

“So what are you making me for breakfast? I’m absolutely famished.”

 

She pulled away, and stared at him in disbelief. “What? After all this throwing up? Tell me you’re kidding--you can’t be hungry!”

 

He teased her, “You know, Slayer, if you don’t want to make me breakfast you just have to say so. It’s just that I was under the impression that food would be included in the whole ‘nurse me to health’ package.”

 

She couldn’t believe it. Not five minutes ago, she was staring into the blonde vampire’s eyes, wondering if there was more to him than what he let on; now the Spike she knew was back in full force, annoying the hell out of her.

 

Her head was spinning.

 

“Fine--just put a shirt on before you blind me with your whiteness. It’s giving me a headache.” She let go of him rather sharply, and walked away in a huff.

 

His heart sank a little at the thought of having ruined this moment, but he never thought that they stood a chance as lovers. Oh, they would be amazing lovers, there was no doubt. He grew hard as he imagined the Slayer putting all her passion into making love to him, rather than into fighting him. But that’s not how things were meant to be, or so he assumed the others would say. He took a deep unnecessary breath and walked down the stairs.

 

When Spike entered the kitchen, he found Buffy sitting at the table, her nose in the newspaper. Across from where she was sitting was a mug filled with blood. He sat down, took the mug in hand, and asked “So, what are you making me for breakfast?”

 

A voice from behind the paper answered curtly, “You’re drinking it.”

 

He took a sip. “Oh”.

 

The sports section was slammed down onto the table and he found himself staring at a frowning Slayer.

 

“Lemme guess--you want more than that.”

 

“Well, yeah--I’m starving. Don’t take me wrong--the blood’s nice but I don’t think it’ll be enough. You know, human disease, human treatment. I’m sure that some nice solid food will help me feel better.” He patted his stomach and grinned like the Cheshire cat.

 

She pushed her chair back and got up, groaning. *He’s really milking this for all it’s worth* she thought to herself. As she slammed the frying pan on the stove, she put her hand on her hip and turned to him. “So, what would your sickly highness want for breakfast?”

 

He never expected her to give him a choice. “I don’t know--I haven’t had a proper breakfast in over a hundred years. Do you know how to make bubble and squeak? I think I used to like that for breakfast.”

 

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Bubble and squeak--ugh, what’s that?”

 

“Listen, just make whatever you want, and I’ll eat it.”

 

She warned him, “You better eat everything I make you--I’m not cooking for you just to have you turn your nose up at it.” Then she added, “I don’t know why I’m putting up with this...”

 

She continued to grumble under her breath, as she got to work. Truth was, she was happy now that she had something to keep her busy. She hadn’t been too eager to sit at the table with her guest, especially after what had transpired in the bathroom. She was still confused as to why she had felt attracted to him and blamed it on the fact that she was still half-asleep when she’d gotten up.

 

*Yeah, that’s got to be it! I’m groggy, I walk in there to help him out. And then he looks at me with those eyes of his- those beautiful, icy blue eyes...* The same eyes that were staring at her at that very instant.

 

Spike was enjoying every moment of this little arrangement. Not only because he had the Slayer serving him hand and foot (although that was a big bonus), but because he got to see her domestic side. He’d never really thought of her in a housewife capacity, but she seemed to be comfortable enough in the kitchen; she had more than one thing going on at once and wasn’t burning anything--that surprised him, as he’d always pegged her for a klutz. But that didn’t surprise him as much as the display of maternal affection she’d shown him that morning. If he closed his eyes he could still feel her touch on his skin--tender, gentle fingers--those same fingers that had nearly broken his nose on more than one occasion could also soothe and heal. He was startled out of his thoughts by the clunk of a plate, placed in front of him.

 

In an exaggerated sweet tone, Buffy asked, “Would you like anything to drink with that, while I’m busy being your servant?”

 

Spike tried to keep a straight face. “No, the blood’s good. It looks good--you can go back to reading your paper. I should be fine.”

 

He looked away from her to keep from breaking out into hysterics--the look on her face was priceless; her right eye twitched and her jaw clenched. She stormed out of the room, mumbling something about limited patience.

 

One large omelette, three pieces of toast (with jam, of course) and half a bag of hashbrowns later, the void in Spike’s stomach was filled. He had forgotten that food could taste so good. Of course, there were hot wings, but that was more like a snack food. He hadn’t had home-cooked food in what seemed like forever; come to think of it, he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a solid-food breakfast. He looked around. *Now where’s that Slayer? Haven’t seen her since she left in a huff. Probably sharpening a stake--maybe I shouldn’t have pushed it.*

 

As if she’d heard his thoughts, Buffy appeared in front of him holding some sort of glass tube. She had a funny look on her face that he couldn’t quite read.

 

“Time to see how your fever is doing. Now open up, and we’ll take your temperature”.

 

Spike backed away. “What’s that?”

 

*Oh, this will be sweet.*

 

“Spike--this is a thermometer. This very modern thingy reads your temperature. Thing is, it’s kind of tricky. It goes in your mouth, under your tongue. You have to be very still and you have to leave it in for a full hour. If you move around too much, or if you take it out too soon, the mercury that’s in it can become unstable. If it becomes unstable, it might...” *Think! What can keep him scared enough to stay put for an hour? Oh, yeah! Heh heh* “...well, it might ignite.”

 

Spike looked at the thermometer like it held the plague. “Bloody Hell, Slayer, you’re trying to kill me! I’m not going near that thing...”

 

Buffy ‘tsk’ed. “Oh, please--don’t be such a baby. Every kid has to go through this when they’re sick. It’s normal. It’s the only way to make sure that your body is getting better. I mean, what if you just think you feel better, but you’re not really better? You just wake up forever like you did this morning, puking your guts up, never fully healing.”

 

She gave him what she hoped was a believable ‘I truly care’ look. If anything was going to scare the vampire into having his temperature taken, it was this. The thought of forever heaving his insides until his body was wracked with convulsions should frighten him into doing anything.

 

With a look of defeat, he acquiesced. “Fine. I will put that sodding thing in my mouth and I will sit still for one bloody hour.”

 

He plopped himself on the couch with a grumble and allowed the Slayer to place the gadget in his mouth.

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Buffy couldn’t stand it anymore. It had been 20 minutes since she’d sat Spike down in the living room with the thermometer; he just sat there staring at the walls like a patient in an asylum. It was honestly giving her the creeps.

 

She went over to the couch, and sat beside him. He turned to look at her; if looks could kill, she would have been vaporized. She gave him a smile and offered, “Maybe some TV will help pass the time. Here...” she passed him the remote. “Is there anything else you need?”

 

The vampire crossed his arms and made a rubbing motion with his hands. Buffy frowned, but clued in quickly. “You’re cold?”

 

He nodded.

 

She got up off the couch. “No prob. I’ll get you the blanket you had last night--be right back.”

 

As she retrieved the blanket, it occurred to her that her little plan of making the vampire suffer was backfiring. She was fetching him the remote (without his asking, at that) and she was getting him a blanket. She just didn’t seem to be able to knock that pesky maternal instinct.

 

She got back to the living room, and handed Spike the blanket. He pulled his legs up onto the couch and proceeded to wrap the blanket around himself; the only body parts not shrouded were his head and the arm holding the remote. Buffy sat beside him and couldn’t help but smile to herself; he looked like a ten year-old off sick from school.

 

After an eternity of flipping through infomercials (“Eww! Who’d buy a chicken juicer?”) and talk shows, Buffy was starting to feel her brain go soft. Spike had been grumpy since discovering that Passions had been pre-empted by a pledge drive; he had muttered a few curses and sank down further into the couch. Buffy raised her eyebrows at him, and he scowled at her.

 

She looked at her watch and saw that an hour had passed. She turned to the cranky vampire. “Ok--time to take that thing out before you bite it.”

 

She removed the thermometer from his mouth and held it under the lamp so she could read it more clearly.

 

“I can’t believe you got so worked up just because your show was cancelled.” She looked at the thermometer and frowned. “What’s your temperature supposed to be, anyway?”

 

Spike threw his head back and groaned. “Oh, please don’t tell me that I sat still for a bloody hour, and it was for nothing!”

 

“No, don’t worry; it’s just that I don’t know your natural... uh, unnatural... oh, whatever--your usual temperature. If I don’t know that, I can’t figure out how high your fever is.”

 

“Fine--it’s supposed to be at 63.5 degrees. What does that stupid gadget read?” He made an attempt to grab the thermometer, but Buffy just turned away from him.

 

“Don’t touch it! It says...” By now the thermometer had cooled off to the point that it was no longer accurate. Guessing that Spike wouldn’t go for another hour of sitting still, there was only one thing she could do--lie. “67.5 degrees. That means you’ve still got a fever, but I suppose it’s getting better.”

 

“Well, I could have told you that! Don’t see me with my head in the toilet, do you? Can’t believe you had me sit still for an hour, just to tell me something I already knew...”

 

Buffy snickered to herself and got up to rinse off the thermometer, and put it away.

 

When she came back into the living room, Spike was watching the TV with a disgusted look on his face. “Are you watching that chicken juicer show again? That is sooo gross!”

 

“Nah, it’s worse than that--it’s downright revolting. It’s got some giant singing purple dinosaur prancing around with some ugly kids.”

 

Buffy reached for the remote. “Ok, mister, that’s Barney, and we’re popping a movie in if you’re going to torture me with that crap.”

 

Spike agreed, for once “Movie sounds good to me--what do you have?” He gave her a leer. “Got any dirty ones?”

 

Her head snapped up from the video cabinet. “No, I do not have any dirty ones! You know you’d be easier to tolerate if you kept your mind out of the gutter.”

 

“You know, pet, after 120 years on this planet, I’ve come to realize that life’s much more fun if you spend some of it in the gutter; ‘s less boring that way.”

 

She huffed, pulled out a couple of tapes, and threw them at him.

 

Buffy never expected them to agree on a movie so easily. She’d expected the vampire to shoot down all her suggestions out of spite, but he’d agreed on one of the first ones she’d tossed at him. Granted, she tried to find ones she knew they might both go for; no use asking him if he felt like watching Anne of Green Gables or Mary Poppins. So it was settled; she popped in X-Men, and sat down on the couch next to Spike.

 

He’d never openly admit it, but Spike was actually enjoying his time spent with the Slayer. The little thermometer incident just emphasized the pleasure he felt at watching her act all ‘motherly’ with him. He might not have recognized the thermometer right away, but he at least knew that it didn’t take an hour to register; he wasn’t, after all, as daft as she thought he was. He’d played along with her, knowing that sooner or later her guilt would push her into babying him; he hadn’t been around women for over 120 years, and not learned anything.

 

He’d watched her with hidden glee as she fetched him the TV remote and a blanket; the icing on the cake were the glances she’d throw his way, every now and then, to make sure he was still ok.

 

In only two days, she’d gone from trying to rip his head off, to fawning over him. And how was he reacting to this? He was sitting back and enjoying it. *Ponce* he thought to himself. *You’re going soft, like the ol’ grandsire- and for the same chit, nonetheless.* He hadn’t even put up a fuss when she tossed the movies at him; any of them would have suited him just fine, and he didn’t want to upset her. An upset Slayer would leave him to watch the movie alone. Nope--didn’t want that. Anyway, he was getting kind of tired, and didn’t feel like arguing.

 

He leaned back, stretched his feet out in front of him, and tucked the blanket around himself. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. This is something he could easily get used to.

 

About 20 minutes into the movie, Buffy noticed that Spike was being uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he chattered nonstop during these movies, Did that to a bloke once or That reminds me of this one time Dru and I..., but now he seemed to be keeping his thoughts to himself.

 

She went to ask him if he was ok. *Why should I care if he’s upset? Why does it matter all of a sudden?* That’s when the little voice at the back of her mind piped up, *Maybe it has to do with the way he looked at you this morning; if you’re nice to him, maybe you could be staring into those beautiful blue eyes every morning*

 

The memory of that morning’s encounter stirred up feelings of warmth in the Slayer. She imagined what it would feel like having those eyes gaze at her in a moment of passion--that gaze, accompanied by the feel of his cool hands on her warm skin, his lips on hers... She opened her eyes, *Argh! Spike thoughts are bad thoughts!*, and turned to the vampire; she saw that he had fallen asleep.

 

Sliding closer to him so she could pull his blanket back up, she brushed the back of her hand across his cheek. His skin was cool and soft. As she did this, the sleeping vamp shifted towards her and fell with his head on her lap.

 

*Oh, great. Now I’m stuck here. What am I supposed to do?*

 

She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and started to wind her fingers through the blond locks resting on her lap; they were much softer than she had imagined. Then the strangest thing happened-- Spike began to purr. She could feel it more than hear it, and it was turning her on.

 

The thought occurred to her that if someone were to walk in at that moment, she would be finding herself in a very compromising position, what with Spike’s head on her lap. That led to a less innocent vision, one where the vampire’s head was on her lap for an entirely different reason; she blushed. *Oh, Buffy--bad, bad thoughts! Hello, mortal enemy--not ‘hello yummy sex-god’. But if there was a god of sex, Spike would be it, wouldn’t he?* She looked down at his sleeping form, still running her fingers through his hair--it was like a sensual mantra.

 

As Spike slowly came to, his mind was muddled with sleep. *Must’ve fallen asleep--looks like the Slayer was good enough to give me a pillow, though.*

 

He shifted his head and stretched his arm over his ‘pillow’, only to hear a startled gasp and an increased heartbeat. *Huh? Pillows don’t have heartbeats...* He opened his eyes, and saw that his head was resting on a pair of thighs. *Bloody Hell- Slayer thighs; she’ll bloody kill me for this.*

 

He took a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind; he needed to rely on his senses. He could feel Buffy’s fingers in his hair; he could hear her quickened heartbeat, as well as her rapid breathing. *She can’t be afraid--can she?* He could feel her warmth, even more so than usual, and he could smell....

 

*What the...no, she’s not scared; quite the opposite, innit? You recognize that smell- the Slayer’s turned on from having your head on her lap. Probably imaginin’ something not altogether wholesome*

 

His face broke out into a grin. *Play your cards right, mate and maybe you’ll get the chance to do ‘something not altogether wholesome’ after all.*

 

He pushed himself into a sitting position, trying his damnedest to keep touching down to a minimum. He stretched, like a big cat, yawning. He turned and looked at Buffy, who was sporting a wide grin.

 

He creased his brow. “What?”

 

She traced a finger down his cheek. “You’ve got bedscars.”

 

He gave her a fiery look. “More like thighscars, I’d say. A bloke could really get used to waking up to that.”

 

“Yeah? Would that cause a certain ‘bloke’ to purr, then?” She knew she had him when he gave her a puzzled look.

 

“What on earth are you talking about, Slayer?”

 

“Oh, please--tell me you don’t know--I’m sure Drusilla must have mentioned something in over 120 years.”

 

He was too tired to play games, and the mention of his sire ruffled his feathers. “Listen here--I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s this about purring?”

 

Buffy got up off of the couch, stretching and said, nonchalantly, “You were purring while you were sleeping. That’s what I’m talking about.”

 

He looked up at her. “Purring? What the hell do you mean purring? Vampires do not purr.”

 

“Fine. Then you were temporarily congested, and it’s now magically cured. We can stick to that explanation if it makes you more comfortable. Right now, however, I have some housework to do and I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of the way.”

 

Head high, and shoulders squared, she left the room.

 

“Purring? Hmph--bollocks!” Spike opened the drawer on one of the end tables, and pulled out a deck of cards. He laid them out on the coffee table, and busied himself with a game of solitaire.

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon doing their own thing, Buffy busy with her chores and Spike with his cards. The house was shrouded in a comfortable silence, as if they’d lived together for years, not just hours; the knowledge alone that someone else was there contented the both of them.

 

Around five o’clock, Buffy came up from the basement hefting a large basket of laundry. She put it down on the coffee table, and grunted. “Ugh. Nice of Dawn to leave me her laundry while she’s out shopping. Hope I shrunk a sweater or two. Give a thought to what you want for dinner, and we can talk about it when I come back down, ok?”

 

Not waiting for an answer, she picked the laden basket up once more and headed upstairs.

 

A few minutes later, she was back down, sitting on the couch next to Spike. Pointing at his cards, she jumped in. “You can put your ten there. Oh! You can move that pile to that Queen...”

 

He put his cards down, and frowned at her. “Would you like to play?”

 

Buffy gave him an embarrassed look. “Sorry, about that. My Slayer ‘right-from-wrong’ powers don’t prevent me from becoming a backseat solitaire player.”

 

He gave her a short ‘hmph’ and proceeded to move ‘that pile’ to ‘that Queen’.

 

To avoid picking at his game once again, Buffy picked up the topic of dinner. “So--didja think of dinner? You had a big breakfast, but you haven’t had anything else all day. Are you really hungry?”

 

Spike put his last card down, having finally won a game.

 

“Actually, I am feeling a tad peckish. Not really hungry, but a bit of food in my stomach would help.”

 

“Fine--how about some chicken soup? Won’t take me very long to make some, and it’s good food for a cold, so I guess it must be good for a flu as well.”

 

The bleached vampire got up, and stretched like a big cat.

 

“Chicken soup sounds good--you make it, I will eat it. I’m not going to be fussy--I’ve no energy for that tonight.” He scratched his head and yawned, a move that--to Buffy, at least--gave him a deceptively human appearance.

 

She got up, and headed for the kitchen. “Chicken soup it is, then.”

 

Chapter 5

 

“Spike--is there something wrong with the soup? You’ve hardly touched it.”

 

He’d agreed to chicken soup, but now he just sat there dejectedly, stirring the spoon around.

 

*And I thought vampires just played with food on two legs*

 

The vampire took a breath. “It’s just that, well... I feel like a great big ponce, sitting here eating chicken soup with the Slayer. I mean, I used to be the scourge of Europe, or at least a part of it, and now I’m all domesticated. It’s really hard on the bleedin’ ego.”

 

He looked up from his bowl and stared at Buffy. “It’s because of this bloody chip that I keep finding myself in these stupid situations where the only possible outcome is either staking myself or becoming an unwilling lapdog for the good guys.”

 

Despite herself, Buffy felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

 

“Look, I can’t tell you that I know what you’re talking about, or that everything’s going to get better. But I do know that someone doesn’t survive for 120 years without being able to adapt. This chip is probably--ok, definitely--the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but you’ll learn to live with it, just like you learned to live with everything else. Remember when you were paralysed? You didn’t stake yourself when that happened; you concentrated on getting better. Now concentrate on that chicken soup and don’t feel sorry for yourself.”

 

She wanted desperately to add: You’ve got me, now. I’ll help you get through this--but chickened out.

 

Spike’s glare softened a little. “Thanks, Slayer.” He turned his attention back to the soup that was laid out before him.

 

When it was clear that her guest was done eating, Buffy cleared the table and put the dishes away in the dishwasher. Spike stayed seated at the table, his head resting in his hands. He hadn’t eaten much, but she was happy to see him ingesting something other than blood. She knew he wouldn’t make a habit of it, but it made her feel better while it lasted. Right now, though, he was starting to look like hell.

 

“Spike? I think you should take a bath, and then go to bed. You look beat.”

 

He answered her, but didn’t move. “How come I feel bad again? I was feeling fine this morning, and then after I dozed off. Now I’m back to feeling like hell. I don’t know how you humans put up with this on a regular basis--I’d end up killing myself.”

 

She sat down on the chair beside him. “You feel bad because you’re starting to wind down for the day. It always feels worse in the evening because your body wants you to rest so it can take care of itself.”

 

She put her hand on his arm. “Now let’s go upstairs and I’ll run you a bath. You can even sleep in Dawn’s bed if you promise not to puke in it. She’d never let me live that one down.”

 

She stood back up, and held her hand out for him to take.

 

Spike took her hand, and got up. His mind was racing as Buffy led him up the stairs, his hand in hers. He imagined that she was taking him up to her bedroom, and felt himself get hard at the thought, *Yeah, like that’s gonna ever happen*.

 

She led him to the bathroom, and sat him on the toilet “Now stay here--I’ll go see if I can find you some other clothing. I think Xander might have left some slouchy pants here at some point.”

 

As she rummaged through her closet, she could hear Spike whine, “Bugger that! I’m not wearing the whelp’s pants; I’ve had a bad experience with his clothes!”

 

His protest stopped short when she presented him with a plain black pair of flannel pants.

 

“They’ve got an elastic waistband, so you don’t have to worry about the fit, and I have some crazy notion that you won’t mind the colour. So shut up and take them.” She also handed him a towel and a facecloth.

 

She went to the bathtub and turned the water on--she fiddled with the temperature until she was content that it was just right. As she turned back to the vampire, she saw that he had begun to undress. He had removed his t-shirt, and was working on the buttons on his fly.

 

She could see that he didn’t wear any underwear; this led to naughty thoughts she wasn’t able to push away. *You know, you also need to take a bath; I’m sure he wouldn’t object to sharing the tub. Just imagine his strong hands, all soaped up, sliding down your stomach, his lips on the back of your neck...* She came back to her senses, and noticed that she was panting and staring right at him. *Great- now he’ll think you’re insane. Good going, Buffy*

 

Spike looked at the Slayer, intrigued. What was going on in that mind of hers? He had watched her as she sat on the side of the tub to turn the water on. Now she turned to stare in his direction, but she wasn’t really looking at him; she seemed to be staring through him. He turned around and looked on the wall, thinking that maybe there was a spider or something on the wall; for some reason, creepy-crawlies always hid in the bathroom. *No, nothing there...what is it then?*

 

He faced Buffy once again, and did a double-take. She was staring at him, one hand sliding down her stomach, and she was breathing heavily through parted lips. He cocked his head and said her name as if in prayer, “Buffy?”

 

He held his arm out and put his hand over hers, as it lay on her stomach. He heard her take in a sharp breath and watched her close her eyes. Fully aroused, the vampire’s senses were now at their sharpest. He could sense a charge flowing between their bodies.

 

He took one step closer and was hit by the smell of her arousal. *That’s for you, mate. The Slayer’s hot for you, and you’re too bloody sick to do anything about it.* He pulled her in an embrace and held her tightly, craving the physical contact like he craved blood.

 

Buffy expected Spike to taunt her, to sneer, to mock her; that or perhaps thrust himself onto her, in full throes of passion. What she didn’t expect was a hug. Without thinking, she returned the hug with affection. She could feel his lips caress her neck, and sighed. She ran her hands down his back, and felt his muscles tense. She could feel the strength hidden beneath his pale skin. He pulled back, and gazed into her eyes.

 

She had no idea what he was thinking, but she could see adoration in his blue eyes. *Do something! He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on earth that matters to him.* Buffy held his cheek in hand, pulled herself closer to him, and brushed her lips against his.

 

The kiss was feather light, almost chaste. She pulled back and rested her head on his chest, noting the lack of a heartbeat. It no longer bothered her that she felt something for Spike; this coming-to-terms was strange, but welcome, to her. She felt him tighten his grip on her; somehow, she now knew what he was thinking.

 

“Spike?” He brought his eyes to hers. “Things have changed--I... I want you to know that. I don’t hate you anymore; I don’t think I have for a while now. We have our fights, and I think that that’ll always be part of who we are, but I don’t wish you any harm anymore. I don’t know if this makes sense to you, but I feel like I have to tell you.”

 

Spike’s heart sang at Buffy’s words. She’d read his emotions, and laid bare her heart to him. It wasn’t an admission of love, but it was close enough for him. Anything other than ‘I hate you Spike and I hope you die’ was a good start.

 

“Yeah, pet, it makes complete sense.”

 

He grasped her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. They stood there, his chin resting on her head, not knowing what to say next.

 

It was Buffy who finally broke their silence, “Uh, you might want to get in the tub before the water cools down completely.”

 

He gave her a leer. “Care to join me?”

 

*I wonder how he’d react if I said ‘sure, why not’?* The little voice lost out, as level-headed Buffy took over.

 

“No--I think you need to wash up and head for bed. You’ve had a long day and you’re not feeling great yet--I can see that you’re still under the weather.”

 

She pulled out of his embrace and left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

 

She leaned against it, and closed her eyes. *Buffy, what are you doing? Can you handle falling for another vampire? What’s Giles going to say about this? And the Scoobies!*

 

Her little voice interrupted the Slayer’s thoughts, * Xander will be horrified, Anya will be excited, and Willow and Tara will sympathise with your need to be with someone. They might not understand, but they’ll be supportive--they always are. At least this one doesn’t have a soul to lose. That and you don’t have to worry about whether or not he’ll be faithful--his last relationship lasted 120 years. And last but not least, he’s dead sexy- you’ve got to find out what he’s like between the sheets!*

 

“Ok, that’s enough of that!” Buffy pushed herself away from the door and walked to her bedroom--she needed to get herself ready for patrol.

 

Dressed in leather pants and a deep red tank top, she grabbed Mr. Pointy and a small vial of holy water from her weapons chest. She laid them on her bed, ready for when she would be heading out.

 

She heard the water draining from the tub. The bathroom door opened, and Spike walked out, wearing Xander’s flannel pants. He looked slightly better rested, but still in need of at least one good night’s sleep.

 

“Ok, let’s get you to bed, shall we?” She walked ahead of him, biting her lower lip. *God! How can he look so sexy when he’s not even trying? He’s sick and tired, and you can’t think of anything else but what it must feel like to have him lavish you with kisses. What’ll happen when he’s feeling better, and he goes back to acting like a Casanova?*

 

They made their way to Dawn’s bedroom. Buffy turned the lamp on, pulled the comforter back on the bed and looked around.

 

She laughed quietly. “Hopefully the boy-band posters won’t give you any nightmares. Remember--if you don’t feel well, I’ve put a bag in the garbage. Try to reach for it if you think you’re going to be sick. I’m not kidding when I say that she’ll kill me if you puke on her bedspread.”

 

Spike sat down on the edge of the bed. He felt out of place--here he was, wearing someone else’s clothes (someone he hated, at that) and preparing to sleep in a teenage girl’s bed. This was definitely going on his ‘weirder life experiences’ list (well, the post-chip one, anyway). He pulled his legs up on to the bed, and leaned back against the pillows.

 

Buffy draped the blankets over him and sat down beside him.

 

“I can get you something to help you sleep more soundly. There’s this stuff called Neo-Citran- you just mix it with water, kind of like tea, and it makes you sleep better. Do you want to try some?”

 

Spike gave her a shy smile. “Do you think you could mix it with a mug of your finest?”

 

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Neo-Citran in blood? Ugh, I guess I can. It’s lemon flavour, though. Don’t know what that’ll taste like, but I can make it for you...”

 

Spike looked at her in earnest. “Slay... Buffy--I want you to know that I appreciate all this, what you’re doing for me. I know I called your ‘nurse’ bluff, but you never really had to go ahead with it.”

 

Buffy brought her hand up to his hair and pushed some stray locks back into place.

 

“Actually, this isn’t what I originally was planning on doing; I was going to wait for you to conk out at the Magic Box and I was going to sneak you back to your crypt.” She offered a sheepish grin. “Giles helped me realize that that wasn’t the ‘responsible thing’ to do. Thing is, I made a promise and I have to keep my end of it. I was annoyed at first, but it’s turning out to be better than I could have imagined.”

 

She pulled his head closer to her, and kissed his forehead.

 

“I’ll go get you that concoction so you can get a good night’s sleep.” She paused, and smiled. “Strange saying that to a vampire...”

 

Spike watched her leave the room and leaned back into the pillow. All of a sudden, he was almost afraid of getting better--he didn’t want this to end. He’d never been one for introspection, but he found that being sick led to a lot of that. He tried to remember exactly when it was that he developed feelings of any kind for Buffy. He startled himself when he couldn’t recall not having feelings for her--right from the start she had turned him on. The fighting, the banter, the tight little outfits; he realized that he’d always had it for her.

 

He closed his eyes and took a few unnecessary breaths. Breathing always calmed him down--he didn’t exactly know why, but he suspected that his body was comforted by the memory of its humanity. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Buffy making her way into the bedroom.

 

“Here you go--Neo-Bloody-Citran, just like you asked.” She put the mug down on the bedside table.

 

“Now it’s time for me to go take a late-night stroll through Sunnydale’s finest cemetaries. You make sure that you drink that all up--I’ll come by to pick the mug up when I’m back, and I don’t want to see anything left in there.” Then her face fell. “Oh, I’m sounding like a mother, aren’t I?”

 

Spike gave her the most charming smile he could. “Yeah--it looks good on you. You’re a natural, you know that?” He picked up the mug and took a sip. The smile disappeared. “Ugh! This is awful--you expect me to drink all of this?”

 

She attempted a ‘don’t argue with me’ look that must have been more convincing than she imagined, because the vampire frowned and took another sip.

 

“Good--now get some sleep and I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow morning. Maybe then I can get you out of my hair so I can have that relaxing holiday I was looking forward to....” She gave him a smirk and left the room.

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

Two hours later, Buffy found herself back home bruised and in need of a nice relaxing hot bath.

 

She hadn’t had such a tough patrol in a long time: a nest of fledgelings, a lizard monster, a mugger (who would no doubt rethink his next attack on diminutive blondes) and, of course, a fungus demon.

 

If only she had paid attention to what Giles was trying to teach her last night, she would have known to aim for the eyes before getting completely smeared in fungus.

 

She laboured up the stairs. *Since when do we have so many stairs? Oh, yeah--they multiply every time I have a tough night. Ugh*, and went to her bedroom to grab her PJs. She made her way to the bathroom and ran herself a steaming bath.

 

Closing her eyes she slid into the tub and pushed all thoughts from her mind; no Giles, no mom or Dawn, no patrols or fungus demons, not even a certain peroxide vampire. No thoughts penetrated the Slayer’s mind as she let the day’s stress float away with the steam from her bath.

 

Well rested and more than ready for a nice long sleep, Buffy slipped out of the tub and into her pyjamas.

 

On her way to bed, she peered into Dawn’s bedroom and saw that Spike was sleeping soundly. She crept towards the bed to pull his blankets back up, as they’d slid down to his waist; as she did this, the resting vampire started to purr again.

 

Buffy smiled as that little voice from deep within spoke up, *Why don’t you just slip into the bed with him? No one’s around to judge, and you know you want to! You remember what it’s like to wake up in the arms of someone you care for--and who cares for you; I know you miss that feeling. Anyway, he’s purring again--don’t you wonder what that feels like, to have him purring and pressed up against you... Bet you wouldn’t have any trouble falling asleep.*

 

Buffy felt her Slayer object, but she quashed it.

 

Yes, it had been way too long since she’d felt the comfort of sharing a bed. Now that she finally admitted to herself that she felt something for Spike, this didn’t seem so wrong.

 

She walked to the other side of the bed, pulled the covers back and laid down. Cupping herself behind Spike’s sleeping form, she lay her arm over him, holding him close to her. Instinctively, the vampire pressed back into her, took her hand and threaded his fingers in hers. Asleep in each other’s arms, both vampire and Slayer profited from a deep, undisturbed rest.

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

As he slowly drifted into consciousness, Spike took a mental assessment of his well-being: his head was no longer pounding, his muscles didn’t feel all achy, and he didn’t feel a need to empty his stomach; in short, he felt better.

 

*Well, whatever the Slayer mixed in your blood last night must’ve done the job, mate. You’re feeling like a new vampire. Gonna have to thank her for that when you see her.*

 

It was then that Spike noticed that there was something pressing onto his chest. *What the...*

 

He opened his eyes, and found that Buffy was sleeping in the same bed as him; not only that, but her arm was draped across him and her head was resting on his chest. He was afraid to move, in case she woke up.

 

He didn’t know why she was in bed with him, but he would bet a pretty penny that it wasn’t on purpose. If she opened her eyes and saw where she was, she’d no doubt stake him for trying to do something perverted. Not that those kinds of thoughts were far from his mind, but right now he was simply enjoying the feel and the sight of her in his arms. This experience was definitely something he would be filing away for future fantasies. He closed his eyes and unconsciously traced circles on the Slayer’s shoulder.

 

For a moment he missed Dru; mainly because he’d been with someone for so long and was now alone. He may have been the Big Bad (in his mind, at least), but it was no fun if you were on your own. Deep in thought, he never noticed that the young woman in his arms was now awake and watching him.

 

Buffy woke up to a tickling sensation on her shoulder. In a rare bout of morning clarity, she remembered crawling into Spike’s bed last night. Now there she lay, comfortably nestled against him. She looked up and saw that his eyes were closed and his brow knit in concentration.

 

*What on earth is going on in that mind of his?* Her Slayer voice suggested, *He’s trying to figure out a way of draining you! Come back to your senses, and get away from him!* But her other voice countered, *He’s probably just trying to figure out what the heck you’re doing in bed with him, without Mr. Pointy. Betcha he thinks this is a dream and that if he opens his eyes, you’ll be gone...* Yes, this was most likely the case. He could have easily killed her while she was sleeping--she had been openly without defence. Buffy decided to ease his worries.

 

She raised her head, looked up at him and smiled “Good morning.”

 

Spike opened his eyes, and looked at her. Any apprehension he’d felt at her reaction to waking up in his arms disappeared; he’d expected her to be angry or disgusted, but she looked genuinely content draped across him.

 

“‘Morning.”

 

“So, how are you feeling this morning? Did you sleep well?”

 

“I don’t know, but that stuff you put in my blood last night gave me the best sleep in a long, long time. I’m feeling about as great as a hundred-and-twenty-year-old vampire ever did. Looks like you kept your part of the bargain, Slayer.” He paused and added, “Guess you’ll be wantin’ me out of your hair now.” *Please say no, please say you want me to stay. I don’t think I’d be able to leave you just now*

 

Buffy no longer yearned for her weekend of solitude. What she wanted, more than anything at that moment, was the blonde vampire. She was sick of pushing aside what she wanted so that she could do what was ‘right’. This was her weekend to unwind and she’d do as she damn well pleased. Which meant, in this case, making sure that Spike wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

 

“No, Spike, I want you to stay. Mom and Dawn won’t be back from LA ‘till tomorrow, so...” She pulled herself up until they were face to face, and kissed him.

 

It took Spike about half a second to register that Buffy (his Buffy, now) was kissing him. He put his arms around her, pulled her up even closer, and deepened their embrace. When he felt her tongue pressing against his mouth, seeking permission to enter, he parted his lips and darted his own tongue against hers.

 

Buffy’s breathing became erratic as she pressed her body against his; she began to run her fingers down the vampire’s chest, tracing his abs and finally cradling his erection through his pants. *One kiss. That’s all it took for him to get this hard... was Angel this big?*

 

Her musings were interrupted by a low growl. “God, Buffy.”

 

Spike felt like an excited schoolboy; he was afraid of losing control at the Slayer’s passionate ministrations. *Can’t have that happen, can we? Time to take control of this situation.*

 

He flipped them over, never breaking their contact. Hearing Buffy gasp, he pressed his erection against her. He broke their kiss, and began to place butterfly kisses along her jaw, murmuring incoherently as he made his way down to her neck.

 

“So hot... Like a dream come true, love... Make me go mad...” Pausing, he slowly traced circles with his tongue over the pulse point at her jugular. Spike could feel the blood flowing, the life force of the Slayer; its power made him dizzy, as his demon recalled the rush its taste would give. Only this time he wasn’t in for the kill. He wanted to hear her moan, not from pain but from pleasure.

 

Just to gauge her reaction, he bit down with his blunt teeth; Buffy let out an undisguised mewl of excitement.

 

“Like that do you, pet?” he asked in a husky voice.

 

He felt her nod shyly. It made sense, in an ironic way, that the Slayer would have a thing for neck biting; it was after all what her existence revolved around.

 

She should have known. Here she was, Buffy Summers, a near-virgin putting the moves on a 120-year-old vampire. It hadn’t taken much time for the tables to turn and for him to take control. She didn’t mind, though. It was bound to be much, much better with him in charge.

 

Everything he was doing to her provoked the most intense sensations; his cool lips against her throat, the touch of his fingers along the edge of her shorts, and the feel of his arousal against her thigh. He hadn’t even touched her below the waist yet, and she was dripping with excitement.

 

She felt him tug at the hem of her top. A gasp escaped her lips when she felt his cold hand cup her breast. *That’s it, Buffy. He’s going to kill you through sex. Here he is, just reaching your breasts, and he has you so worked up that you can’t think straight. He’s deliberately making you go insane.*

 

Spike wanted to make this last forever. All the fantasies, all the dreams he’d had came up short to the real thing. Never had he imagined that the heat radiating off a living, breathing, person could be so intoxicating. He’d never had sex with a human before. The heartbeat, the blood pulsing through veins, the sweat and the smell--he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to go back; not after this...

 

Lust dulled his mind; he was reduced to simple thoughts. *Too much clothing; must remove clothing...* Tugging at Buffy’s top, he was glad when she understood what he wanted. The offending article tossed out of the way, he took a moment to look at her.

 

He sat up, and looked down at his Slayer. “So beautiful. Cor, Buffy, you don’t know what you do to me.”

 

Reaching down, he took one of her breasts in his hand; he kneaded it, rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger. Buffy gasped, and bucked up into his touch. Eager to please, the vampire brought his mouth down to her other breast, and dragged his tongue over the hardened nipple, eliciting yet another moan from the young woman.

 

As much as she enjoyed being doted on, Buffy felt that she should be giving as well. Her lover, *Yes, your lover. There’s no other word for what he’s doing to you. This isn’t just sex--he’s making love to you*, had moved down so low that she could no longer reach his erection.

 

She grabbed his free hand and brought it up to her face; one by one, she took each finger in her mouth, sucking on them, and wrapping her tongue around them. She felt his mouth leave her breast and move south, down her taut stomach.

 

“Oh God, Spike. You’re driving me insane; everything you’re doing...”

 

Spike paused, looked up at her through heavy-lidded eyes, and whispered, “Oh, but I haven’t started yet, luv. I’m going to love you like you deserve.”

 

His tongue darted into her navel, then followed a path down to her remaining clothing. The vampire curled a finger under the waistband of her shorts and looked up, as if seeking permission.

 

Buffy understood that this was the point of no return. *Yeah, as if there was a point of return before this. That tongue and those fingers working their magic; those blue eyes, almost black from desire, gazing through you; there’s no way you could stop now.*

 

She lifted her bottom off the bed, and allowed him to remove her shorts and underwear all at once. Her nakedness made her feel vulnerable. Feeling shy, she blushed and looked anywhere but at the demon between her legs.

 

Spike was incredulous. Was the Slayer actually self-conscious? Here he was, standing over the most stunning woman he’d ever seen, and she was blushing!

 

“Buffy, look at me!”

 

The Slayer turned her gaze towards him.

 

“You are beautiful, do you understand? Your neck, your breasts, your stomach...” His eyes never broke contact with hers and as he spoke he traced his fingers the length of her body, until they reached her nest of curls.

 

“So beautiful...” One finger drifted down into her folds, which were soaked with her arousal; hearing her whimper, he pulled it back out, and brought it to his mouth.

 

Buffy had never seen anything so erotic as when he brought that finger to his lips. She’d only been with a man once and when she and Angel had consummated their relationship, it had been frenzied and over too quickly. Now she was with Spike--soulless, arrogant, her supposed number one enemy--and he was lavishing attention on her like she was the only woman he had ever had eyes for.

 

*Is this how he’d been with Drusilla? If so, she was a fool to let him go.* If it had been left up to her, she would have pulled him on top of her and it would have been over in ten minutes. Things were much different with Spike in charge. *Guess you learn a lot in 120 years...*

 

All lucid thought escaped her as she felt his cold tongue press up against her hot centre.

 

“Ahhh... please, Spike...” Now it was her turn to mumble incoherently.

 

“Please what, luv? Do you mean this--” He slid his tongue the length of her folds, teasing her clit, “--or this?” He pushed his tongue inside her, then back out, repeating the motion a few times.

 

“Huh? Uh... both! Whatever! Just don’t stop; please don’t stop. So good...”

 

If she thought this was driving her crazy, she could never imagine what it was doing to the blonde vampire. He’d never been so hard in his unlife. Pressed into the edge of the bed with his head between the Slayer’s legs, he was convinced he’d never make it; every time he moved, his cock would rub against the comforter.

 

He had to change his positioning or he’d end up messing himself. Cupping his hands under Buffy’s rear, he pulled her closer to the bed’s edge; now he could move back a bit, and go back to showing his Slayer what she meant to him. He dragged his teeth against her clit and heard her breathing speed up. *Must be close*, he thought, smiling to himself. As he continued to focus his attentions on her sensitive area, he pushed two fingers up into her.

 

Buffy could feel that she was close. It wasn’t enough that his mouth was ravaging her, but he had to go add his fingers to the fray. Her body felt like a surge of electricity was flowing through it. Her fingers and toes felt all tingly, and her legs went weak.

 

She continued her mantra. “Oh, please don’t stop... please don’t stop... so close...” Then she felt him bite down gently on her clit, and that did it. She screamed as the most mind-blowing of all sensations ripped through her body.

 

When she came back down from her high, she looked down her body, and saw Spike sitting back on his haunch, licking her juices from his fingers. His eyes were darkened with lust--obviously he had been extremely aroused by her climax.

 

She sat up, reached for him, and pulled him on top of her. Looking up at him, she lost herself in his eyes. “Spike, I need to feel you inside me.”

 

Spike couldn’t believe it. She was asking him, almost begging him, to make love to her. He touched his lips to hers and kissed her softly. Reaching down between them, he positioned himself at her entrance.

 

With one slow move, he buried himself deep inside her and nearly died--again.

 

“Cor, Buffy... You’re so hot; you’re gonna burn me.”

 

She was so tight, he tried to remember if she’d mentioned anything about being a virgin; he didn’t smell any blood, so he guessed that she was just not very experienced.

 

Then he remembered Angel. She’d lost her virginity to that ponce, and he hadn’t even taken the time to do it properly. It was obvious that she’d never had oral sex before, and maybe not even been brought to orgasm. He felt his demon rise at the thought of his grandsire laying his hands on his Slayer. He growled, and increased the pace of his thrusts.

 

*He’s vamped out! Oh God, you’re in trouble now--what did I tell you? This was all a ploy just to kill you!* Buffy’s Slayer came to the forefront in one animated plea; the other voice, however, wasn’t as frightened. *Calm down--it’s just the sex. He’s really aroused and probably hasn’t even noticed it. If you really want to pay him back for his oral... skills, let him drink from you. Remember with Angel? That was the most intense physical rush you had ever felt, and it wasn’t even supposed to be sexual!*

 

Buffy looked up at the vampire; instead of the blue eyes of a human, she was staring into the amber eyes of a killer. Only they didn’t really seem that threatening at that moment; they were softer and she could still see the love he felt for her in them.

 

She reached up, ran her fingers along the ridges on his forehead, and pulled him into an embrace. His cold lips met hers, and her tongue made its way into his mouth. She heard him growl as her tongue nicked itself on one of his fangs and the metallic taste of her blood surged their mouths.

 

Her second climax was close, so she made up her mind and whispered three words in Spike’s ear: “Drink from me.”

 

This had to be a dream. He must be hearing voices, because no way on earth was the Slayer inviting him to drink from her. Spike pulled back, and looked down at the young woman beneath him. Her eyes were closed, and she had tilted her head to the right, to give him better access to her neck.

 

“Are you sure, luv? Buffy?” He felt her begin to tremble, and felt her inner muscles begin to twitch.

 

“Yes. Please, Spike!”

 

*Bloody Hell! She’s getting off on the thought of you biting her. What the hell are you waiting for?* He lowered his head and sank his teeth into Buffy’s neck, just as she came for the second time that morning.

 

The taste of Slayer blood was enough to push Spike over the edge; this blood, that she was giving him willingly, tasted better than anything he’d ever had. He pulled his fangs out and roared as he experienced his most powerful orgasm ever. His face shifting back to human guise, he collapsed on top of Buffy, exhausted, and licked at the drops of blood trickling from the fresh bite marks.

 

Buffy wrapped her arms around him, and held him tightly. “Wow. That was... wow.”

 

Spike chuckled and gave her a kiss on the cheek before rolling onto his back. “Wow indeed, luv. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard before.”

 

Buffy turned to him, resting her chin in her hand. “Really?”

 

“Yeah ‘really’,” he trailed a finger down Buffy’s side, smiling when she squirmed from the tickling.

 

“Never had sex with a human before; it’s just so... different. There’s the warmth from your body, your heartbeat, and your blood...” He said the last bit so quietly that she hardly heard him.

 

“When you asked me to drink from you I thought I was dreaming, but then I looked down at you and knew it was for real. Buffy, love, had I been staked after that, I would have died happy.” He raised his head and looked her in the eyes “Why did you do it--why did you ask?”

 

The Slayer drew her gaze away from his and focussed on a spot on the comforter. “I don’t know why. It just seemed right; like I needed to give myself to you completely.”

 

“I... I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He brought his finger to the bite mark, which by now had stopped bleeding.

 

“No, you didn’t.” Buffy blushed, as she admitted, “It’s, uh, nice. It... enhances the experience.”

 

Spike cocked an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that getting bitten turns you on?”

 

“No! It’s not like that; it’s... Ok, yeah, it’s a definite turn-on.” She gave him a stern look. “But only in the heat of the moment. And not all the time. And don’t you dare tell anyone about this, the biting thingy, or you are so very dead. Well, more dead, anyway.”

 

“Don’t worry, pet. If telling your little dirty secret means I’ll never get to do that again, your secret’s safe with me.” The vampire let out a little snicker.

 

They lay there in each other’s arms for a short while, until Spike made a move to get out of bed. Buffy whimpered, “Don’t get up, stay here for a while longer.”

 

The blonde vampire gave her a sheepish look. “Sorry, pet, but this body is having perfectly human reactions to all the food you’ve been pampering me with. If I don’t get to the washroom soon, you’ll have more than puke to worry about in Nibblet’s room...”

 

He gave her a wink, as he pulled his jeans up. “Anyway, I think it’s about time that I repay you your kindness--what do you say to breakfast in bed, eh, ducks?”

 

The young woman tucked herself into the comforter, and grinned “Mmm--that sounds nice. Just as long as it isn’t that bubble and squawk or whatever you used to eat...”

 

“It’s bubble and squeak, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to make it. I’ll figure something out.” With that, Spike left the object of his affections to her own company and thoughts.

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Buffy sighed, and began to think of what had transpired between her and her former enemy. They had shared the most intimate of relations, and had both been sober and spell-free. She had no doubts that he had feelings for her, and she could admit to herself that she liked the bleached vampire more than she should. Heck, she had *begged* him to drink from her; the kicker was that he had hesitated to do so until he was sure that she really meant it.

 

But Spike had no soul. What did that really mean, anyway?

 

For Angel, a soul meant a possible eternity of torment. With the soul, he could never attain true happiness; this meant that he could co-exist with people, ‘do the right thing’, but never fall in love. Without the soul he became Angelus, and that was bad for everyone else. Goodness is thrust upon him- it’s not by choice.

 

Spike, on the other hand, has the chip. This piece of micro-technology embedded in his brain prevents him from physically harming humans. It does not, however, lead him to do good. Granted, if he’d never had the chip in the first place, he probably wouldn’t have been helping Buffy and the Scoobies out. But (there’s always a but) he may have eventually helped out anyway. The good he does (helping her patrol, being a good friend to Dawn...) are acts of his own volition. Chances are that if he lost his chip, he could still be on his way to becoming a better ‘man’.

 

The breakfast tray thatappeared before her shook her out of her musings.

 

“Hope it’s edible, love. Haven’t exactly cooked much of anything before.” Spike sat down beside her, with a mug of O-Negative in hand.

 

Buffy looked down at her breakfast: eggs, toast and orange juice. Not the breakfast of kings, but all things considered, it was just right. “It’s perfect, Spike. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.” She gave him an odd look. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before? I didn’t hear the smoke alarm, or any breakage of bowls...”

 

The vampire frowned. “Well, I’m not clueless you know. Like you said--I didn’t live 120 years without learning to adapt.”

 

He looked at her plate, which had been nearly licked clean. “By the look of things, I guess I did a good job.” He put his empty mug on the tray, and put everything on the floor, beside the bed.

 

“Yeah, guess I was really hungry. Patrolling took a lot out of me last night; I usually have a snack afterwards, but I was kind of distracted by someone.” She smiled at him, and placed her head on his shoulder. There was a question she wanted to ask him, but she wasn’t sure how to go about it.

 

“Spike?”

 

“Yeah, luv?”

 

“Uh, nothing.” *Chicken*

 

“Buffy, if you have a question, please ask it. No need to start hiding things from each other. Not after this morning, anyway.” He put his arm around her, and played with her hair. *Closest I’ll ever get to sunshine again.*

 

“Well, it’s actually about this morning.” She bit her lip, and looked at him. “Why did you vamp out? Was it just the sex, or was it because your demon was fighting to come out, or...” She broke off, and went back to staring at that spot on the comforter. “Not that I minded, the biting being gentle, but I was just wondering why?”

 

“I thought about how Angel was your first, and it made me angry to think that he hadn’t done it properly--that he hadn’t treated you as you deserved.”

 

Buffy was beyond blushing. “How do you know about that--that he was my first?”

 

Spike offered her an apologetic smile. “Angelus has a big mouth, and a love for showing off. Bedding the Slayer, and being her first, wasn’t something the ponce was going to keep to himself. I’m sure it comes to little consolation, pet, but I think that Dru and I were the only ones he told.”

 

“You’re right--it isn’t much consolation, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. That was a long time ago. I’m just happy I didn’t know about it back then.” She leaned back against her pillow, and gasped. “Oh my God, Spike!! I... we... just had sex in Dawn’s bed!! I have to clean the sheets; I have to light some candles...”

 

 

 

Chapter 9

 

Her rant was cut short by a passionate embrace. Spike pulled away, and whispered in her ear, “Well, if we’re going to clean up after ourselves, might as well make it worth the effort, shouldn’t we?”

 

The young woman gave him a heated look. “That sounds like a good idea. First things first though--you’re way overdressed for the occasion. I think we’ll have to get rid of this extra clothing...” She straddled his thighs and began to unbutton his jeans.

 

Spike lay back and let her continue her exploration. It was nice to be the passive one, every now and then. Anyway, he was curious to see what she was going to do.

 

As she lowered her lover’s zipper, Buffy noticed that he wasn’t moving. At all. *Huh? Am I doing something wrong?* She looked up to see that he was gazing at her, a lazy smile on his face. *Oh. Oh! He’s letting me take control. What do I do now?! I’ll probably just embarrass myself...*

 

Her hesitation and uncertainty were obvious. “Just do what comes natural, luv. There isn’t a right or wrong--follow your instincts.”

 

“That obvious, huh?” Buffy smiled and stretched across the vampire’s length to give him a hungry kiss. She then returned to her previous position and began to pull his pants off. He must have washed up, as she couldn’t smell herself on him anymore. *Wonder if he had ulterior motives?*

 

*Good thing I remembered to wash up a bit. Maybe it’ll pay off...* His mind went completely blank as he felt her take him in her mouth. His hips lifted off the bed before he could regain control of his body. He took an unnecessary breath and tried to remain calm. He could feel her drag her tongue up the underside, until she hit that tiny sensitive spot, just below the head.

 

“Please, luv. Yeah--right there...”

 

Buffy was nervous as hell, as she’d never done this before. Sure, she’d talked about it with the girls, pretending to be an old pro at it, but truth was she’d never been this close to a penis--ever. She’d always imagined oral sex as something degrading, where the woman was in a submissive position. However, as her ministrations rendered Spike incoherent, she realized that the power was with the woman, not with the man. She relaxed her throat muscles and took him in completely. When she heard him beg her not to stop, she smiled to herself. *Wow, I could get him to do anything if I keep this up. Maybe I’ll ask him to mow the lawn...*

 

When he was completely sheathed in her mouth, Spike didn’t think that unlife could get any better. That was until she began rubbing the base of her tongue against his cock. *Danger! Warning, Will Robinson! Pull out before it’s too late!*

 

Buffy felt him pull out of her mouth with a sudden jerk. “Is there something wrong? I didn’t bite you, did I?”

 

Spike pulled her up to him, and gave her a slow, sensual kiss that left her wanting for breath. “No, pet. You were doing everything just right. If you kept that tongue thing up, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back. I don’t believe you’re ready for that quite yet.”

 

Relieved, she placed a chaste kiss on his neck. “Thanks--I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet, either. I know what I am ready for, though.” At that, she scooted down to his erection, and eased herself onto him.

 

Both blondes moaned at the intimate contact. This second coupling would last longer than their first time. Buffy bent forward, and took one of his nipples in her mouth, twisting her tongue around it, never breaking rhythm. She pulled away from it, and left a trail of wet kisses up his chest to his neck, where she playfully nipped at his jugular. Encouraged by his growling, she centred her attention on that particular spot, until she had ‘marked’ him with a very dark hickey.

 

Spike felt her work on the hickey; if it was possible, the idea of her marking him made him even hornier. There was going to be no way to hide it; it’s not like he went around wearing turtlenecks. It was as if she wanted to show the world that he was hers.

 

Buffy felt her orgasm approaching, like a wave far from the coast. The wave starts small, but grows as it approaches the shore. This one was going to be a tidal wave, from the feel of it. She increased her pace, and felt her pulse race. A bead of sweat hung from her nose, threatening to drip onto her lover. He anticipated this, and reached up to lick it away.

 

Holding his demon at bay, the blonde vampire knew his release was close. He also knew that the Slayer was close as well. Her breathing was laboured, her eyes unfocused, and she had changed the angle of penetration so that her clit rubbed against him on every thrust. She was using him to get off, and this turned him on. He began to push up harder, trying to increase her pleasure.

 

Buffy took her weight off her arms and dropped to kiss Spike as she felt her orgasm rock through her. She felt his muscles tighten as he also reached his peak.

 

Kissing, grasping, clutching at each other, they felt wave after wave of intense emotion rolling over them as they experienced simultaneous orgasms.

 

Exhausted, Buffy collapsed on top of Spike. “Oh, man, I think I reached nirvana or something. I’m still seeing flashes...”

 

The blonde vampire was, for the first time in his life, at a loss for words. The best he could come up with, in response, was a grunt.

 

“Ooh--the chatterbox has been reduced to caveman speak!”

 

The Slayer immediately regretted her taunting, as two strong arms flew up and to her sides, tickling her. “Uncle!... Uncle! I’m sorry--please stop!” She didn’t have the energy to fight him off--submitting was so much easier.

 

Spike stopped the assault, and pulled her down to him in an embrace. They lay there, catching their breath (although he was just going through the motions), for a long time. Eventually, Buffy sat up, and turned to look at her guest.

 

“I’ll go get some clean sheets and candles. Something tells me it probably doesn’t smell too good in here.”

 

The vamp took a deep breath, as he pulled his jeans up. “Smells good to me.”

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I doubt Dawn would agree with you. Can you start taking the sheets off the bed?”

 

As he gave in to her request, Spike felt odd at the domesticity of this scene. He makes love to the Slayer, holds her afterwards, and then proceeds to help her change the sheets. He would be the laughing stock of Sunnydale’s entire vampire population if this got out. Now, why didn’t this bother him? Why wasn’t he telling her to sod off, to change the sheets herself, as he bloody well should be doing? That’s when it hit him--he had developed feelings for the Slayer; there it was, in big neon letters, taunting his demon: Spike loves Buffy... He sat on the corner of the bare bed, head held in his hands.

 

When did his unlife get so complicated?

 

Buffy walked into the bedroom, and found the blonde vampire holding his head. “Spike? Are you feeling sick again?”

 

Spike snapped out of his trance and looked up. “Huh? No, no, I’m fine pet. Just doin’ a bit of thinking, that’s all.” He grabbed a corner of the sheet and helped her make the bed. “Thinking about this, about us. Don’t quite know what to make of it, to be honest.”

 

The young woman pulled up her side of the comforter, and looked at the vampire. “Honestly? I don’t know what to make of us either. Do you even want there to be an us? I mean, if this gets out, that you’re shagging the Slayer, as you’d put it, you won’t be able to show your face in the demon community.”

 

“First of all, ‘yes’, I would like there to be an us, if you’re willing. And I mean more than the shagging, as nice as that is.” Spike smiled at his slayer. “This weekend, you showed me your true nature--compassionate, loving, strong... That’s the Buffy I want to spend time with. As for the demon community, bugger them. Like they don’t know I already patrol with you--they probably already think we’re going at it. But what about your friends, the Scoobies? What about the Watcher? What will they think? I figure they’ll send you in for psychiatric testing and hunt me down to stake me.”

 

Buffy reached out and took his hand into hers. “There’ll be no staking. I’ll make sure of that. I don’t know how I’ll bring it up. Maybe we should just try to let them know one by one, starting with--God forbid--Giles. He has the right to know first. He’ll say something like ’Bloody Hell’ and wipe a hole through the lenses of his glasses.” She snickered a little, at this image. Her face scrunched at a thought. “Does this make us boyfriend and girlfriend? ’Cause, that sounds way wrong...”

 

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Ugh, no. I prefer... lovers.”

 

“Sorry, Spike. I am not introducing you to anyone as my lover. That won’t cut it with Mom, or anyone else for that matter.”

 

“How about ’significant other’?”

 

“No! That’s too politically correct. Look, we’ll just figure it out when the time comes. For now, we’ll just... we’ll just be happy together, and not put a title to it. Now, I have to light these candles. Can you bring the tray to the kitchen, and I’ll meet you down there?”

 

The vampire stood and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Sure, luv. I might be out on the porch when you come down. Lots of shade there, and I’m dying for a fag.”

 

Buffy groaned at his attempt to joke, and pushed him towards the door.

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

The shrill ring of the phone startled her as she rinsed off the breakfast dishes. Pulling the receiver off the wall, Buffy uttered a quick: “Hello?”

 

“Buffy? Thank God, you’re alright!” An obviously worried Giles let out a sigh of relief.

 

“Of course I’m OK, Giles. Is something the matter? Why shouldn’t I be OK?”

 

The Slayer was getting nervous; her watcher wasn’t one to flip out over any small issue. She tried to imagine what kind of beastie had reared its ugly head this time, to make him nervous enough to call her in the middle of the day. “Please don’t tell me there’s another apocalypse.”

 

“No, there’s no apocalypse. Not that I know of, anyway. I was just worried because you didn’t call yesterday and, well, with Spike at your house...” He didn’t need to finish his sentence--Buffy knew where her Watcher’s thoughts led.

 

Buffy snickered to herself, knowing full well how little danger she was in. “Giles, I’m sorry I didn’t call. You did say that I should call if I had a problem, which I didn’t. Anyway, between doing my chores and taking care of a whiny vampire, I simply didn’t think of it.”

 

“How is Spike, anyway? Is he still ill?”

 

Buffy knew that Giles’ interest in the whole situation was piqued. The next time they met, he would pull out his journal and play twenty questions with both her and Spike. She looked out the window and watched the vampire lean against the porch railing. “He’s fine. I gave him some Neo-Citran last night and he woke up 100% okay this morning. Yesterday morning, though--he was in horrible shape: throwing up, sweating. It was really gross.”

 

“Neo-Citran? And it really worked? Intriguing. I’ll have to ask you about that...”

 

She could hear the gears working in the Watcher’s brain. “Yes, I’m sure you’ll have lots of questions to ask on Tuesday. Don’t worry, I’ll spill the beans. You’ll be able to show that stupid Council up; betcha they don’t have any detailed records of sick vampires. Anyway, Giles--thanks for the call, but I really have to go. I’m in the middle of doing the dishes right now *I’ve got to go and talk to my vampire lover* so I can’t stay on the phone.”

 

“Alright, Buffy. Do be careful, though. Don’t let your guard down--Spike may seem harmless when he’s sick, but he has tried to kill you in the past. He’s still a formidable opponent...”

 

“Don’t worry, Giles. I’m keeping an eye on him. I’ll see you at the meeting, then.”

 

“Good-bye, Buffy.”

 

“Bye-bye.” Click.

 

Buffy rested her forehead against the phone. She had no idea how she was going to break her new relationship to Giles. He wouldn’t understand her feelings for the vampire, and would clearly doubt Spike’s affections for her. She couldn’t hide this from him at all; not after what had happened with Angel. He would take any secrecy about a new relationship as a personal affront. No, she had to be forthright and honest for there to be any positive outcome. Guess this fit into the ‘responsible’ Buffy category as well...

 

The young blonde walked out onto the porch and turned to see Spike sitting on the swing, cigarette in hand. He seemed to be deep in thought. She looked at the sky and noticed that the clouds were menacing.

 

“Looks like we’re going to be getting that rain they were mentioning,” she offered, as she sat down beside him.

 

The vampire jumped a little, not having noticed her company. He still held his gaze out ahead of him. “Yeah, I can feel it.”

 

The young woman looked at him with a wry smile on her face. “You can feel it?”

 

He shifted. “The demon can, pet. Kind of like when animals go all wonky before storms. Hasn’t your watcher taught you anything ’bout us vamps?”

 

“He tries, but I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Does that mean that you’ll start running around the house like my old cat Mittens used to do?”

 

Spike turned to her, eyebrows raised. “You’re not serious, are you?” When he saw the laughter in her eyes, he laughed out loud. “Had me goin’ there for a second, luv. Thought you were going blonde on me.” He exhaled, sat back, and started playing with a stray lock of her hair. “Sunshine--that’s what your hair is like, you know that? All soft, and golden...”

 

Buffy sighed. “Giles called. He wanted to make sure that I was still alive--asked how you were doing, too.” She paused, and Spike snickered at the Watcher‘s misplaced concern. “It made me think about us again. I’ve given it some more thought.”

 

The vamp cringed inwardly. *Here it comes: “It’s been nice and all, but it won’t work out. Now bugger off.” I can’t believe I had any hope.*

 

“Spike?”

 

“I’m listening, love.”

 

“Just checking--looked like I lost you there, for a sec. I’ve decided that I’m ready to face the gang and tell them about us.”

 

Spike’s jaw slackened. “You’d do that for me? For us?”

 

She leaned back against him, staring at that same spot in the distance on which he had been fixated when she joined him. “I’m tired of doing what others tell me I should do, and acting how they think I should act. You know, I think I’d enjoy my life a whole lot more if I made my own choices. If that includes being with you, then... so be it. Giles will have a conniption, Xander will go into denial, but the others will be happy for me... for us, I mean.” She put her hand on his lap.

 

The vampire covered her hand with his own, and looked at her. “Buffy, if you’re comfortable with a more public ’us’, than so am I. Hell, I’ll scream it in the streets if you want me to. If any demon or vamp has a problem with my woman they can discuss it with my fist.”

 

The Slayer laughed at his declaration. “You know, Spike, I like you because behind all the attitude and the bleach, you’re still old-fashioned.”

 

“Romance is timeless, love.” He got up and stretched. “’Bout time I made my way back to the crypt. It’s dark enough that I can make my way to the sewers without goin’ all Fourth of July.” He held his hand out to her and helped her out of the swing.

 

They walked into the house and Buffy got the duster out of the hall closet. Spike shrugged it on and leaned in to give his Slayer a chaste kiss on the lips. As he made his way down the porch steps, Buffy called out to him.

 

“Spike! Uh, we’re having a Scooby meeting on Tuesday night. Maybe you want to join us...”

 

He didn’t turn around, but offered her a “Maybe, Slayer.” Which she knew was as close to a yes as she’d get from him.

 

Buffy closed the front door and made her way up the stairs. She had to remove all those candles out of Dawn’s room before she came back home....

 

As he made his way to the tunnels, Spike couldn’t believe how quickly he’d let himself fall for the Slayer. *Bloody hell--now you’re joining the Scooby kids on your own. Bad enough when you were tied to the Watcher’s tub...*

 

 

 

Chapter 11

 

She heard the car pull up in the driveway just as she was making her way down the stairs. *Wow, good timing there, Buffy* She put her sandals on and walked out to help her mom and sister with their bags.

 

“Hey, guys! Did you have a good time?” Her attention was diverted to the mounds of shopping bags that Dawn and Joyce were pulling out of the taxi. “Holy good God, guys. You should have left something for the other shoppers.”

 

Joyce approached her oldest daughter and gave her a big hug. “Oh, honey. You missed a wonderful trip. So much shopping, so little time. You really would’ve had a good time.”

 

“Yeah, Buffy. We had an absolute blast.” Dawn jumped up and gave her sister a hug. “Did you have a good time here? Betcha you were bored out of your mind; alone in the house with only your movies to keep you company. Oh well, that’s what you wanted.” She paused, then let out a piercing shriek that only a teenaged girl can produce. “Oh! You have to see the skirt Mom bought me!! I can’t believe she actually let me have it--it’s like those pants where the waist is so low you can see the person’s bellybutton, but it’s a skirt! It’s soo cool! And there‘s this shirt that goes with it, and it‘s blue with stripes down the arms...”

 

Buffy wondered how long her sister could go without breathing. Had she ever been that bad? *I’m sure Mom would say ‘yes’ to that one...* “That’s great, Dawnie. Let’s get this stuff inside before it starts to rain; then you guys can show me what I missed.”

 

Joyce paid the driver and picked up the two bags that were left. As the three Summers women made their way into the house, Joyce whispered to Buffy. “Wait until you see what we found for you.” She smiled, and hurried ahead, leaving the blonde dumbstruck.

 

“Really? You guys bought stuff for me?” Buffy’s voice reached nearly the same pitch as her sister’s. She squealed and ran inside, eager to see what awaited her.

 

Two hours later, all three women sat in the living room, each surrounded by a mound of empty shopping bags and piles of clothing. “Wow, Mom.” A very exhausted Buffy exclaimed. “Did you, like, win the lottery or something?”

 

Joyce snickered. “No, no lottery for this. You can thank the gallery for this shopping spree. My boss gave me a very nice bonus for getting my hands on those Polynesian masks.”

 

Buffy wiggled in her seat. “Yay Polynesia. Anything that leads to new clothes is way cool in my books.”

 

Dawn got up, grabbed her clothing and made her way towards the stairs. “I’m going to go call Janice and tell her about all this new clothes. She’ll be, like, sooo jealous.” She proceeded to climb the stairs, two steps at a time. Her stomping paused briefly, and she came back to the edge of the landing.

 

“Uh, Buffy--why does my room reek of vanilla candles?”

 

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