::When She Was Younger:: by mjaw

When She Was Younger
by mjaw

darling readers, here comes another letter from the author –

With an addition this time. I will try to make the updates as quick as humanly possible, but I still am without Internet at home and so there might sometimes come up things that I can’t control. I still have no idea why this story was deleted in the first place, and since there really is no reason for it I’m doing it this way. Perhaps they will answer me someday, but for now they had no right to take this story off the site.

If anyone hit the abuse button in the posting-a-review section of the site I can only ask why. Perhaps it was a mistake, perhaps it wasn’t. I truly hope it won’t happen again.

And I hope all of you who liked this story before will find your way back to it! I’d hate to lose you!

Alright, kittens, here is the general intro and then... When She Was Younger rises out of the ashes. ;)

As I have spent so many years in the shop that holds fanfiction I feel I know my way around rather well. I can walk up to a shelf and dig out a piece I might not have looked twice at had I not seen a speck of cold on its cover, a treasure that might have been lost had I not noticed it. This has absolutely nothing to do with any sort of introduction to this piece of fiction, I only want to say thank you to all of those who have seen a speck of gold (or was it dust) in the stories I’ve so far contributed to this site and our community. I owe you a great deal of gratitude and I feel it especially strongly when I am about to post something new, because you give me hope that even though a speck of gold might be lacking, it still has a chance to be noticed by you. I tried to paint this whole cover in silver... we’ll see where that gets me.

This story is one that I’ve had in my head for quite some time. It started out as a very short, short story and I thought it would be a one chapter deal, but as it is it’s actually humming along quite nicely. We’ll see what you think.

The story is set at the end of S4 – after the episode of Who Are You.

I find myself pulled to S4 when writing mid-season fiction because I think the Slayer/Vamp relationship is so formidable in it. Also, there’s a lot to play with. Now, for anyone who is still waiting for their DVD Box Set or for the episodes from S4 to appear as reruns on TV and thus are inclined to shy away from spoilers – I urge you – shy away from this.

If you’re hardcore about Buffy you’ve already seen and you already know pretty much everything there is to know and thus – I urge you – need me, need me, say that you need me!

Kidding.

Here’s a recap of exactly where we’re at as this story unfolds:

In Who Are You Faith has taken over Buffy’s body. I’m sure the Spuffy fans have watched this episode about a thousand times because – even though Faith’s soul is the one doing it – it still is a pretty sizzling moment with the Vamp actually wanting the Slayer for the first time. They’re at the Bronze and Buffy (Faith) bumps into him after dancing. She soon realizes exactly who he is and gives him a pretty interesting speech of how she’s a stuck-up with no sense of fun and he, stumped, agrees that that’s a big part of why he hates her. She says she could be anything she wants, have anything and that that includes him. She totally seduces him in that moment and he would have kissed her, only she breaks away with a contented smile, leaving him glaring in her direction to then smash the beer bottle in his hand. Sorta frustrated, I’d say. ;)

Alright, in the story you have before you on the screen and are hopefully about to read the first chapter of, Buffy makes a wish that has pretty dire consequences – mostly for her. I’d tell you more, only I don’t wanna ruin the fun. Hah.

Thanks all and I humbly hope thou shalt enjoy.

Annie.

When She Was Younger

All We Did Was Some Dancing

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t even acknowledge her as he merely kept prodding in the dirt with one booted foot. A surge of the regular annoyance and disgust she felt whenever she rested her eyes on his form poured through her and she crossed her arms over her chest, thinking she would follow his lead of silence and simply stare him down.

It was a little harder, she had to admit, to focus that Slayer glare on the leather clad back of him instead of his eyes; but she would suffice. After a minute of complete stillness, which had him seemingly entirely absorbed in whatever the heck he was doing, all that she got for her effort was him changing the foot which was digging into the soil.

She unfolded her arms with an aggravated sigh and was just about to turn and leave when he said:

“I’m looking for something.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

“If you don’t stop asking questions,” he replied, still not looking at her but squatting down by the place he was searching and beginning to use one hand’s fingers instead as he finished: “I’ll start to think you’re actually interested.”

“Well, if you’re looking for some sort of herb or gem or any other item fit for spell-use – I am interested,” she stated simply.

“Then rest assured,” he muttered, rising and finally turning to face her, brushing the dirt off his hand as his gaze met hers. “It’s not here,” he added.

She eyed him in unveiled suspicion for a few moments and then shrugged.

“Good,” she said, beginning to walk passed him. “If you find it, let me know.”

She wondered why she always tensed when she was closer to him than three feet. Passing him and continuing on her way she had a picture in her mind how he reached out and pulled her back. Then she shook her head, cleared the picture and had one of getting hit over the head with something very heavy immerge in its stead.

“What’s on your mind?” Willow asked an hour later when she and Buffy were both sitting on the latter’s bed.

The Slayer grumbled, sinking down further against her pillows and pulling the covers up before she answered:

“Just... stuff. You know? A lotta it.”

Willow frowned.

“Like Riley it?”

“No, it’s more... shop related,” Buffy murmured, unable to disguise her increasing bad mood. “I think... the vamps are up to something.”

“The vamps?” Willow inquired, incredulous.

“The... vamp,” Buffy admitted reluctantly.

“As in singular?”

“As in Spike.”

“Ah.”

“He’s planning something.”

“Buffy, that vampire suffers from a serious case of delusions of grandeur, okay? The moment he’s not planning something I swear the Hellmouth will freeze over and your powers of good will no longer be needed.”

Buffy smirked.

“Swear?” she then wondered and Willow smiled back.

“Cross my heart.”

“Right,” Buffy nodded, still her concentration wandered and Willow sat back with a huff.

“Let it go, Buff,” she encouraged. “There’s nothing you can do about it anyway, right? Unless you wanna head out there again and just confront him about it.”

“Ouch! What the bloody...!” he spat, glaring down at the petite blonde pinning him to a large tombstone, which he a moment earlier merely had happened to be strolling passed. “What the hell did I do now! Glance around in the wrong way!”

She squinted as a reply and then let him go, taking a step back and watching him correct the collar of his duster before looking at her.

“Twice in one night? Ain’t I the lucky one?” he said.

Her face didn’t move a muscle.

“I smell trouble,” he sighed and she blinked.

“You’re around yourself every day, all day long – thought you’d be used to the stench by now.”

“Wow, was that an uppercut or one of those mean rights ‘cause I’m completely numb and somehow I didn’t see that coming.”

“That was my tongue,” she answered and she noticed a strange switch in his expression, in his gaze and even his body stance, but as she furrowed her brow all of it vanished and a smirk took its place. “But if you need a reminder of what the other two feel like...” she added and he tilted his head slightly to one side, a sudden fire in his eyes which almost begged her to do it.

God, he was such a masochist. And such a cliché. And such a constant pain in her ass because of it that she truly wanted to take a swing at him and let the frustration out. A good bruise might actually do him good! But, no. She pushed the conviction away.

Masochist, she repeated. Takes pleasure in Self-mutilation. And not-only-Self-mutilation.

Suddenly she shivered. He was probably thinking about what he could do to her if only he didn’t have the chip in his head. She looked away from him, trying to remember what had driven her to actually go in search of him in the first place.

“What are you up to?” she then asked and he actually looked bewildered at the question, the cockiness for once dropping away.

“I’m heading to the Bronze,” he answered tentatively. “Thought I’d grab a beer... some saucy wings...”

“I didn’t mean ‘what are you up to’ as in ‘hey, what’s up, tell me ‘bout your evening’ – I mean it as in what is that devious little brain of yours plotting right now?” she cut him off and his attitude was in the next instant firmly in place as he unabashed looked her over from head to foot.

She merely rolled her eyes and he smirked again.

“Slayer,” he taunted, shaking his head. “Are you so daft as to actually bloody believe I’d feel obliged to tell you anything?”

“Since you were just about to map out your future plans for the night...” she trailed off and his gaze turned hard before he clenched his jaws together, no smile in sight. “Tell me what you were looking for earlier and I won’t chain you to a tree.”

“Cover me in honey and hum for a bee?” he retorted, suddenly approaching her in the sleek way that was his and she gave him a disgusted stare, disbelieving the nerve he actually had.

“I’d hum for a billion bees if it’d only shut you up,” she shot. “But, alas, I know it wouldn’t.”

He circled her and she frowned, wondering what in the world he thought he was doing. Then he stopped, an inch from her and looked down at her with a superiority which made every cell in her be on alert. For some reason her heart was pumping just a fraction harder, but she met his gaze without flinching.

“The other night...” he said and she frowned again. “You don’t remember any of it... do you?”

Now she full-out stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, glancing down at how close he was and then up again, making it clear that he should really step back – or she’d be forced to make him.

He raised his eyebrows, then took a small step away from her as he observed her intently.

“Right,” he nodded. “I heard something about... your body being rented out. Another slayer, even. Guess that explains it.”

Her mouth was growing dry and her heart beat was heavier than ever before as she tried to get her thoughts back straight in order to ask him exactly what the hell he was saying. What had Faith done? She had slept with Riley. Had she...?

Oh, God.

“Stop,” Buffy instructed as she noticed Spike was already walking away from her. “Would you mind explaining?”

He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he then replied before continuing on his way.

She stood paralyzed for another second and then she ran after him.

“Hey!” she yelled and he looked to the skies before turning back to her.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, looking at her with a suggestion in his eyes which she didn’t care too much for. “Look, we... did a little dancing, yeah? Actually – you did most of it. Shocked the bleeding bat outta me, but now I get it. She sure as hell wasn’t you.”

Buffy stared at his back as he once again began to walk away from her. She hated the very tiny sense of rejection the vainer part of her pushed to the surface. It was absolutely unthinkable that even that tiny part would offer any kind of care as to what that bleach-head thought of her, but the sting still produced a powerful enough feeling of spite in her that she yelled:

“I bet you’d ‘ve loved if it’d been me.”

That stopped him dead and he slowly turned to face her.

“You should learn never to bet on a sure lose,” he said dryly and she felt blood color her cheeks burning red before she stalked up to him.

“Then you should try not putting your money where your mouth is!” she said, pausing as his countenance confirmed that that statement made absolutely no sense.

“You’re not offended, are you?” he asked, voice smooth as silk and she felt the burning irritation begin to twist and smoke someplace very near her heart.

“You asked me to marry you,” was the only response she could think of.

“And you gladly consented!” he reminded, which had her step down and take a breath.

“Okay. Fine. It’s just that... Faith took over every aspect of my life. She fooled my friends, my boyfriend! Even my mom! And now... I don’t know. I feel like I’m still partially outta my skin, I guess...”

“Yeah?” Spike asked, bringing out a smoke and putting it in the corner of his mouth before taking out his lighter; putting a glow at the tip of the preferred drug he flipped the lighter shut and took a long drag. Blowing out the smoke he added: “Is Red off friend-duty tonight? Did you need to bend an unwilling ear with all these absolutely bloody fascinating tidbits of personal turmoil simply ‘cause you were bored or...?”

“No,” she answered, her tone frosty. “I want to know what you were looking for earlier,” she repeated her previous demand and he took another inhale of smoke before he blew it out in a long, gray mist.

“This,” he said, holding up the silver lighter still in one hand. “I dropped it, and then – I found it. Now bugger off.”

“Gladly.”

They turned and walked in opposite direction, but after a few steps Buffy halted and swiveled around, calling after him:

“You’re not telling me the truth, are you!”

“I swear on my un-beating heart, pet – all we did was some dancing!”

“Buffy, calm down!”

“The thought of her sleeping with Riley is... OH! But the thought of my body in the hands of that... that...” she was so upset that she was shaking all over, even her voice was trembling as she trampled the floor of the dorm room. “I can’t breathe!” Buffy exclaimed, sinking down on the edge of her bed and leaning forward, drawing in deep gulps of air.

Willow’s hand soon slid comfortingly across her back and Buffy blinked the tears out of her eyes as she sat back up to look straight at her friend.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she insisted. “All the time there’s this struggle. Every single day! And... it’ll never stop. Unless I get myself killed in the process! Again! And all the time there’s these screwed up situations that I have to deal with. On top of which my own boyfriend couldn’t tell that it wasn’t me he was making love to... For all I know he thought she was better than me! Spike sure seemed to.”

“Buffy...”

But she wouldn’t listen, and she couldn’t slow down.

“I don’t give a damn what he thinks, that’s not what I mean. But it got me thinking. About a lotta things. And know what I came up with? My life really sucks big time, most of the time. Not the parts where I have my friends, or my mom – but this whole damn slaying of the guilty and hunting down the soulless is just... God! Sometimes I wish I could go back to what it was like before all this happened! You know? When there were no lurking shadows, no need to stay up late just to catch the bad guy, no worries. Just... boys and gossip and... bubblegum. I miss bubblegum. I just wish that for an hour, or a day, or one week I could be fifteen again!”

She seemed to quiet after that, growing thoughtful as she looked down at her hands and Willow watched her empathically.

“I’m sure we all have wished that, more than once, even... But...”

“Let’s not, Wills,” Buffy interrupted wearily. “Let’s not try and list all the good things about Mongroy slime on my new shoes or Spasmwheat on my new coat or vampire dust in my hair, okay? I just... wanna forget about it for a while.”

She lay down and Willow rose, walking over to her own bed and climbing in.

“Night,” she mumbled.

“Night,” Buffy yawned back, crawling under her covers and gently drifting off to sleep.

“Calor, her wish was expressed out of despair and confusion. You cannot tamper with...”

“Spare me, Ath. I’ll grant her wish. I’ll show her what she would have wanted had she been fifteen and had she not seen what she has seen. Perhaps then she will learn to value the destiny bestowed upon her.”

“The girl is hurting. It is part of her growth. Humans do this, you know that. They go through things and they come out of them...better.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Cale, do not toy with her.”

“She’s the slayer, Ath. She can take it. She asked for it.”

“She did not ask for this.”

“I am not in control of her actions... Everything that happens will be her doing. What was it you said? She’ll go through this experience and come out of it – better.”

“Don’t come to me when the Powers demand your head on a plate.”

“Have I ever?”

“Buffy? Buffy!”

“Just ten more minutes, mom.”

“Buffy!”

“Okay, okay!” One hand was stretched out from under the covers. “I’m up!”

But the covers were yanked off of her and she blinked, rolling over on her back before sitting up, trying to fight off the grogginess as she took in the girl before her. She looked... old. And what was this room all about? Where in the heck was she! And...

“I have to say – not amused!” she stated, scrambling to her feet and backing away from the stranger.

Willow stared at her.

“Look, if you wanted me to wake you up you should’ve told me,” she tried. “I’m sorry, okay. But, it’s almost ten-thirty and I was getting... worried. Are you alright?”

“I’m...um... I’m... No, I’m not alright,” Buffy answered, her arms around herself as she stood with her back against the wall. “I’m not sure... where I am, or who you are and I’m pretty sure that my mom would’ve woken me up by now if I was home and so... seeing that I’m not at home. I’m somewhere. And I don’t know where that is, or who you are and I’m freaking out just a little here!”

Willow struggled to take all the ramblings in and then she collected herself. Either Buffy was pulling some sort of prank... or... What she had to do was ask the right questions.

“Buffy...”

“Yeah, like that – right there. How do you know my name, huh?”

“Well, we’re... friends. You’ve had an... accident. You lost... parts of your memory from the... accident and I need you to tell me... what the last thing is that you actually can remember,” Willow said, voice calm and soothing as she put her backpack down on the floor.

Buffy seemed to relax just a little, but her eyes grew wide.

“I’m suffering from ambrosia?” she asked and Willow had to bite her lower lip hard in order to keep from laughing.

“Amnesia,” she corrected and Buffy smirked sheepishly.

“Right,” she nodded, having another look around the room before she asked: “So, what sort of accident did I have?”

“You... tripped.”

“Oh. Was I like taken care of by some really hot ambulance guy? ‘Cause that would’ve been like so totally sweet. Of course, that’s a part that I can’t remember,” she sighed, finally venturing out from the wall and casually walking up to her own desk.

“Yeah,” Willow said, not wanting to sound too confused. “So, can you tell me about what you last recollect?”

“What I DO remember and stuff?” Buffy asked, turning around and leaning against the desk. Getting a small nod from Willow she continued: “I was going on a date with Andy... Oh, my God! Have you seen him? He is sooo cute.” Receiving a look from Willow she smartened up and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Well, I was going on a date with Andy... tonight. He asked me out in front of half the school and I was SO happy that he did. I mean, it could’ve been just to make sure I’d say yes, but I think he knew I would, so he just wanted to show off – which means he REALLY likes me.”

“Okay!” Willow interrupted, then put on a smile and walked up to her friend. “I need you to give me some simple specifics. How old are you? Where do you live?”

Buffy frowned.

“You’re pretty weird, aren’t you?”

“I’m quirky,” Willow corrected, semi-offended.

Then she shook it off, remembering the situation looming before her.

“Whatever,” Buffy said. “I turned fifteen... one month ago, I guess... or, have I been out long?” Willow shook her head, her heart sinking in her chest. “Thank God! And I live in Los Angeles. California. In the United Sta-...”

“I got it!” Willow once more stopped her. “Thank you. Please, take a seat. I just have to... make a call.”

Careful What You Wish For

“Talk about ‘Be careful what you wish for’,” Xander stated half an hour later.

Willow had, after a few long minutes of weighing the pros and cons, decided to ditch school since the emergency at hand urgently called for it, and had brought Buffy to Giles’ apartment. For the past fifteen minutes a careful interrogation had been conducted by Giles and as he had just joined Willow and Xander in the living room they had also been able to share in the good news. Which were that Buffy was absolutely fine. The thing that was a little negative was that she was the “fine” she had been four years ago.

“She responds excellently to everything and listens... well, Buffy never really listens intently, but she seems to understand that something is going on that is out of her control and that we’re here to help her. I tried to explain to her that she might look a little older than she thinks she is, but that she shouldn’t worry about it,” Giles said and Xander nodded.

“Good. That should buy us some time, right? To get to the bottom of this?”

“Yes,” Giles agreed and Willow watched his tense face for a few moments before she asked the ominous question:

“How bad is it?”

“Well...” Giles replied, taking off his glasses and thoughtfully polishing them as he added: “I simply don’t know where to start. I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“So, what should we do?” Xander wondered after a tight silence.

“Act as though all is normal. Those beings that know she is the Slayer mustn’t have even the slightest doubt that she is at full capacity.”

“Well, that should be easy...” Xander said with faked enthusiasm.

“What about Riley? Shouldn’t he know?” Willow asked.

“Yes, certainly. Try to get a hold of him,” Giles agreed.

“I will. Trouble is there’s been so much going on with the Initiative lately... I’ll try,” Willow ensured.

“Okay. Who’s on Buffy duty tonight?” Xander inquired.

Buffy looked at her reflection with growing eyes. She looked so... grown up. Just like that Willow girl.

I look like I’m in college, at least! she thought to herself, not being able to contain the smile spreading across her lips.

This could turn out to be the best totally freakish thing ever.

“What did I do with all my short skirts! And what’s with all the bland! Where are the colors?”

Willow sat stumped on her bed, watching Buffy tear through her own closet at hurricane speed.

“I think you gave up anything too bright back in... A while back. This school is a little bit more... refined.”

“Hah! I’d say restrained,” Buffy commented, diving out of the wardrobe and onto her bed with her arms full of clothes. “But I’m pretty sure I remember the last edition of Cosmo... I’m sure I can whip something tasty out of this mess,” she added optimistically as she began to rifle through the heap.

“I’m really not sure it’s a good idea for us to go out tonight,” Willow said for the tenth time, but Buffy merely laughed.

“Come on! You can’t expect me to look like I’m twenty-one and not be able to try and play the part, can you?” she replied and Willow made an effort to not look unhappy as she pointed out:

“You’re only nineteen.”

“Yes, but I didn’t say I was twenty-one, I said I look twenty-one,” Buffy replied, holding up a small top and smirking. “Perfectamente.”

Willow rolled her eyes.

“Buffy,” she reprimanded, but Buffy merely smiled brightly before walking up to the full length mirror to have a peek.

“I’m gonna enjoy myself, Willow. I’m missing the biggest, most important date of my life. You owe me some fun.”

“That’s what’s bothering me,” Willow muttered.

“Oh, don’t be all sulky and mood-bringer-down-y!” Buffy exclaimed. “Put something nice on and have a blast yourself!”

Willow smiled as well, not able to resist as she could see the obvious excitement on her friend’s face. There had been no luck in the Riley search, and Willow couldn’t decide whether she should tell the younger version of the Slayer that she was committed to someone, or if this might actually turn out to be another freak-factor. Perhaps if she didn’t say anything just for tonight. For all she knew Riley might show at the Bronze.

“Hi!” Buffy smiled brightly at the young bartender and Willow felt like pulling her hair out as she could hear Xander’s voice in her head repeating the words “Buffy duty” over and over again.

This was proving to be a challenge.

“Why, hello, there,” the bartender winked back and Willow decided to cut in.

“We’ll have two club sodas...”

“Oh, don’t be boring, Willow!”

“...and that’s it!” Willow finished with a look of death at her friend and Buffy seemed to shrink back in defeat before she turned around and took in the crowd – her eyes immediately beginning to gleam again.

“This place is happening! Look at all the little cuties!” she yelled over the music which had just started up.

“Yeah – let’s not,” Willow disagreed, feeling the need to get it through the teen’s thick skull that this was not what she thought it was; and that she wasn’t free to do whatever she pleased. Suddenly Willow’s gaze landed on Riley. Finally, something going right. “I’ll be right back!” she said. “Stay!” she added with a finger in Buffy’s face, and the latter gave her a disliking frown before watching the Wicca jump off her stool and head for some guy.

Buffy observed as Willow began talking, and she saw the guy’s face turn extremely solemn as he listened closely. The Slayer lost interest the next moment. Her eyes wandered across the room and then stopped as they fastened on broad shoulders... black... leather... There was something... Something she couldn’t really put her finger on, but...

“Buffy?”

She turned her eyes in Willow’s for a second to acknowledge her, but then had them back on the spot where the other guy had been. He was gone.

Damn!

“What?” she asked, looking back at the redhead.

“There’s something I have to tell you...”

Buffy felt awkward, glancing at the person next to her on the sofa. Riley. Her boyfriend. Great. Did anything make sense anymore? Had she been warped into a different universe, somehow? Or... was she dreaming? She’d never had such a lucid dream before...

And what was she supposed to do now? Get engaged! She might as well, she’d never felt so tied down as in this moment. And what about Andy! No, never mind Andy – what about all the others just waiting out there, somewhere. Was she supposed to just not look at them, at all!

Okay, Buffy, she reprimanded herself. Some part of you has to remember this guy.

She took his profile in. He was very handsome, she concluded. Cute. The poster boy for Wholesome American. He had most probably grown up in a sheltered and safe environment, folks who loved him, a dog named Rascal or something not far from it. Riley and Rascal. Made sense. And now he’d come to the “big” city to live it up.

Oh, dear God, I cannot do this, she thought. Please, don’t let him hate me. Well, not the other me, at least.

“Look...” she said, having Riley turn his gaze in hers with a small smile on. “I’m sure you’re a nice guy and everything, I mean, I must have some reason to like you, right?” The smile faded. “But this, right now... it’s just not gonna work out, for me. Okay? I’m so sorry...”

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

“So am I,” he said. “I guess I’m getting used to this. But I hope they get you back to... yourself... soon,” he then grumbled, getting to his feet and leaving.

She sat back and closed her eyes, scared that she’d just done something irreversible. Then she drew a small breath and rose as well. She almost turned and walked the other way when she saw Willow approaching her, but she knew that no matter how overbearing the girl was she wanted what was best for her. Surely she would see that having a boyfriend would totally ruin any attempt at having a good time.

“Why did he leave?” Willow asked.

“Well, I... sorta broke up with him,” Buffy shrugged and Willow’s eyes grew unimaginably round before she grabbed the other’s arm and pulled her aside.

“You love Riley! Now march after him and get him back here!”

“Take it easy! Jeez!” Buffy replied. “Maybe at one time the other me loved Riley... but now I’m me and I wanna be able to look around, you know? Shake it up. I’m not ready for a relationship. I haven’t even started dating yet!”

“No, you haven’t – but the other you, the actual you... I mean, not that you’re not real, but... Buffy! Listen to me. You can’t stir up this kind of trouble! Pretty soon you’ll be back to how you were, and so will everything else, okay? The reality you think is real isn’t really real, and when you realize that then you might be able to help me help you before you... Buffy? Are you hearing me?”

Buffy bit her lower lip as she glanced over Willow’s shoulder. The form of the man she had spotted before had returned. She swallowed as she stared at him leaning over the pool table and thrusting the cue forward with perfect aim. She couldn’t see his face, which was bugging her.

Come on, she thought. Just a quick look over here...

She got more than she bargained for as he straightened his back and in the next moment turned his head her way. She tried not to look caught as he casually leaned against the cue, holding her gaze. A small smile began to play on her lips, but an air of sudden caution seemed to slip over him as he didn’t return it.

“Who’s that?” she now asked Willow – not exactly expecting the other to possess an actual answer.

Willow turned to look in the direction the Slayer was looking.

“Spike!” she exclaimed, grabbing one of Buffy’s wrists and, this time, dragging her with her across the room to said vampire.

“You know him! And ‘Spike’? What kind of a name is...?” Buffy began to ask, but interrupted herself when they stopped before the man in question.

“Red,” he said with a slight nod. “Slayer,” he added, eyes back in Buffy’s and she stared at him, feeling a shiver of unexpected pleasure creep its way up her spine.

He knew her.

Then she blinked, forcing her gaze out of his and to Willow as she asked:

“Slayer?”

Willow flashed her a smile, not answering as she addressed Spike.

“I need a favor.”

“A what now?” he asked, putting the cue away and grabbing a half-finished beer off the end of the pool table.

“A favor, Spike. You should know what that is. We grant you one pretty much every single time we see you,” she replied and he smirked, cocking an eyebrow and glancing at the Slayer, who was behaving mighty odd this evening.

“Cut to the kill,” he said, taking a swig of his beer and swallowing as he shrugged off the blonde’s insistent study of him.

“I have to go. Just for a little while – something’s come up and Xander needs me to help him,” Willow answered, as well as she explained to Buffy, who was looking both nervous and eager – something which unsettled the Wicca even more. “Buffy can’t... I mean, she doesn’t want to come with me ‘cause... she’s been working so hard and she has to...”

“Why are you telling me this?” he interrupted and she sought out the best explanation at hand as she answered:

“Something happened last night which has her a bit out of the loop. I need you to make sure that she stays here ‘til I get back.”

He smiled.

“Why the bleeding hell should I do anything for you?”

“I’ll pay you,” she replied firmly.

His eyes glinted with interest, then he looked at Buffy again and shook his head a little.

“I dunno if I can put up with her for more than five minutes,” he stated and the Slayer looked clearly insulted at that, Willow saw that her mouth was about to fire back and she cut in with:

“You don’t even have to talk to her. She’ll keep herself happy... I’m sure. Just don’t let her leave with any... seedy guys, get what I mean?”

Now he stared at her.

“No,” he answered and she ground her teeth together.

Xander had come by ten minutes ago with a flushed countenance telling her just how much he and Giles needed another hand in the patrolling they were conducting. She had to leave, but if Buffy came it would be a disaster! Leaving her with Spike was in some ways even more of a gamble, but the choice had already been made. Willow didn’t have time to debate it anymore.

“Vampires,” she gritted out meaningfully to clarify her earlier request and Spike cocked an eyebrow, making her roll her eyes.

“I’m not sure I get...” Buffy started, but Spike held up a hand.

“Stay! Dance!” Willow said, before he had a chance to put up any more protests. “You don’t wanna leave anyways, do you? Buffy – Spike. Spike – Buffy,” she finished incredibly quickly and yet not escaping making Spike’s eyebrows rise high at the introduction. “There. Have fun and I’ll be back in... as soon as I can! Gotta run!”

And in a whirl she was gone.

Buffy stood feeling rather lost as to what she should do now. He was obviously older, he obviously knew more about her than she did about him, and she felt completely out of place. The fact that his piercing blue eyes seemed to see right into her to in the next moment look straight through her didn’t help. Not one bit.

She couldn’t remember the last time a guy hadn’t actually liked her pretty much instantly. She was a cheerleader, she was smart enough and she always dressed in the latest fashion. She was appealing, popular and came in a perfectly neat little package – what sixteen-year old wouldn’t just die to be in her good graces? Only, this... man was no sixteen year old boy. He looked at her as though he detested her, and still...

He ran his gaze over her shape one last time before he brought out a smoke and with a huff he turned, walking away.

She clenched her jaws together in irritation. With herself. Naturally she had to go chasing the most entrancing prey of the whole place. She was such an idiot!

“Wanna dance?”

She looked at the boy standing to her right, his hand held out and a friendly smile on his face. He was her age – well, the age she looked – and he was in her taste and so she returned the smile, took his hand and let him guide her onto the dance floor. They easily slipped into the groove and she discovered to her content that he wasn’t half bad as a dancer. She moved closer to him and smiled, this time to herself. Yeah, this was how she’d always pictured herself when she got older.

Free, happy and having the time of her life.

Spike moved along the outer swell of the crowd, not able to keep from reminiscing the first time he ever laid eyes on her. This girl close enough to touch, this girl that made him feel the hunter within him stronger than ever. It had wanted her then, as it did now. Wanted to drink her up and toss her away as though she didn’t matter. Wanted to be rid of her, once and for all. And with her, everything that she stood for. Wipe that satisfied grin off her face and have terror in her green eyes right before she realized that what she was up against was nothing less than her doom. And he would swallow every last drop of her, feel the high of a Slayer’s blood once again flowing through every speck of him. He would relish and linger and cross out that number three which still stood waiting in the back of his mind.

She eluded him, and it got to him more than anything. It scratched his fragile nerves and how he hated to see her enjoying herself. She should be frightened, huddled in a corner, imprisoned by him. She should be hating him, not pitying him. This goddamn chip!

He growled silently, turning from the sight of her and walking up to the bar.

She made him feel like an animal in need of raw flesh. She drove him well to the brink of sanity and he wasn’t sure he could take it much longer and yet he was tied to her and her moronic friends because of her imbecile of a boyfriend.

This. Goddamn. Chip.

He swallowed the whiskey which was set before him in one swift gulp and closed his eyes in aggravation. He had to cross her out.

Looking to his right he watched as she left the dance floor, the guy in faithful tow and he huffed again. Bloody fool. Couldn’t he see that she was no good? She was a killer, a murderer, a creature of the night. Fighting urges which that measly human could never possibly begin to understand... Urges to destroy. Destroy whatever this vampire had left. Destroy his very will. She would never be able to. He smirked. She could try, but he would never surrender to her – like everyone else did. God! Just looking at her made him want to...

The sentence hung unfinished as he caught her back disappearing through the back door.

“Oh... bloody hell,” he breathed, sliding off the stool and quickly making his way up to the place of her exit.

He slipped through the door silently and could hear her voice.

“What?” she said, giggling.

“Come here...” a male voice entreated. “I wanna tell you something.”

“That’s my cue,” Spike muttered to himself, quickly making his way into the alley.

Buffy was positioned against a brick wall, the guy she had been dancing with leaning into her, and as she saw Spike emerge over the other’s shoulder her eyes grew questioning; then agitated. The guy noticed, turning his head and raising his eyebrows.

“Do you mind?” he asked, the query not halting Spike’s deliberate approach in the least.

“Actually,” he replied as he stopped by them before reaching out a hand and grabbing the neck of the younger. “I do,” he added, pulling the latter back and then throwing him to slide on the asphalt.

“What the...!” Buffy yelped, staring at the scene.

“Leave,” Spike commanded the now rising other. “Right now, or I’ll bleeding well rip your not-ripe teeth out of your mouth,” he added and the fledgling turned and commenced running for its life.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you psycho! I’m outta here!” Buffy exploded, heading for the door; but one strong hand grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” he burst out in retort and she was rendered breathless at the pure fury in his gaze. “What was that? A new slaying tactic, huh? No, you better tell me precisely what the bleeding hell’s going on here!”

“Alright, just stop yelling!” she shouted, tearing loose. For a moment she hesitated, musing over whether this was a good idea, but then she figured there was nothing else to do and so she said: “...I’ve lost my memory, okay? That Willow girl told me that I had some kinda accident and I can’t remember anything. Or, sorta.”

“You ‘sorta’ can’t remember anything?” he asked, disbelieving and she gave him an irritated glare which was the first form of recognizable trait he’d seen on her all evening.

“It’s complicated, okay? Ask Willow, she’ll tell you all about it. I hardly get half of it myself. Other than I look older but feel younger, or something,” she stated and he looked confused. “Well, according to Will I’m nineteen – only I don’t remember it.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh,” he said, “and how old do you remember being?”

She looked at him for a few seconds, then replied:

“Fifteen.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Spike broke into roaring laughter. He laughed so hard he nearly toppled over and Buffy felt her face gain heat the more he did so. Finally he dried the tears from his eyes and straightened his posture, still wearing a wide smirk on his mouth which she wasn’t sure whether she liked, or absolutely detested.

“Let me see if I can get this straight,” he said. “You’ve somehow gotten yourself back to being bloody fifteen? You don’t remember... anything in between fifteen and... now? Nothing at all? You don’t know who I am?”

“No,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I wish you wouldn’t find it this amusing. To me, it’s totally creepy. I mean, she has to be somewhere else. We can’t be the exact same person, right? I mean, if I’m here now, where did the me who’s not here go? And where’s the me who’s supposed to be going out with Andy right now? Did I stop existing where I came from? Or is the older me there right now, screwing things up as much as I am here?”

“Alright, calm down, Slayer.”

“And that – why do you call me that? I can’t even describe how disturbing it sounds and I kinda wish you wouldn’t,” she mumbled, feeling a sudden chill travel over her shoulders and she wrapped her arms around her waist, huddling slightly.

He couldn’t believe it. Was she joking? But it fit too nicely with every unusual thing she’d done throughout the evening. And would the actual Slayer refuse a clear slay? Bate the hook and then not do away with the catch? Only to play mind tricks on an enemy? On him? No. And there was the fact of Willow actually asking him to look out for her.

And what the hell had he just done?

Suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. There she was. Alive. When she could have been very much dead. Good going, Spike. No money in the world could have greater worth than her out of his bloody path once and for all. The Wicca was crazy to think that she could buy his protection of the wench.

“Good luck getting home,” he smirked, turning abruptly and heading out of the alley.

Buffy watched him leave, looked around at the desolate place he had left her, and then hurriedly got herself moving in his footsteps. As she came up to walk at his side he halted.

“What are you doing?” he demanded and she smiled with fake-shyness.

“I thought...”

“Go back in there,” he said. “Don’t worry, love, you’ll be perfectly safe. Have a gay old time and wait for the posse to come pick you up, okay. Trot along now.”

But she merely followed as he picked up his pace again and he grumbled.

“If you don’t get the sod back there I’ll...”

“Why did you spend all that energy back there to save me, if you don’t even like me?” she stopped him and he struggled in vain to find an answer, and so he merely gritted his teeth and kept his gaze locked on something ahead of them. “You’re pretty strong, by the way. You threw that guy like he was made out of air. It was pretty cool, actually.”

He discarded the small twirl of satisfaction at that acknowledgement, and ignored her utterly.

“Oh, I get it. You’re that detached dude that never says a word unless he has to. Okay. Guess I’ll have to do all of the talking then.”

“Look!” he stopped her, turning to face her and she wore a completely innocent expression which he had until that moment not seen on her.

It perplexed him and made him forget the very liable argument he had been about to present as to why they would both be better off if she just went back to the club.

“I’m looking,” she said and the softness in her eyes caught him off guard. “I just wanna ask you something and then I’ll go, okay?” she then added and he nodded without being aware of making the movement. “If I shouldn’t leave that place with the guy I find the most... interesting, then who should I leave with?”

He blinked, mesmerized by the gentle shifting of color in her irises, and the carefully occurring tug within him to take her with him wherever she wanted to go.

Then he realized exactly what she was doing. Dru had been an expert at it. She was seducing him with sweetness and falsehoods and he would have none of it!

“You should leave with the one who gives a damn,” he replied to her question and she looked surprised, which made him feel that much better. “Maybe these little tricks work on those college... sorry, high-school boys you want to carry your books for you. But in the real world, honey, that little smile of yours is worth about as much as it looks. Run back to your own crowd. Believe me, when you come out of whatever the hell you’re under you’ll wanna snap your own bloody neck for ever saying that to me.”

As he turned and walked away from her for the third time she didn’t follow. She was too shocked to.

The fact that her charms hadn’t worked on him for a second was enough to shake her to her very socks. But that he had been so aware of it had a churning need start up in the pit of her stomach.

“Buffy!” Xander’s voice sounded from behind her and he, Giles and Willow came rapidly toward her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she smiled. “I’ve had a total blast. Think I’ve even seen the beginning of a wonderful friendship,” she added as they began to walk back toward the Bronze, the last statement having Willow and Xander exchange a very worried look.

All the Right Things

“Buffy?” Willow asked as they were both lying in their beds, lights out and sleep prominent – at least for the blonde.

“Hmh?” she mumbled.

“I promise we’ll do our best to help you,” Willow said and Buffy opened her eyes, looking up at the shadow cast ceiling.

“Why do I get this feeling like there’s something you’re not telling me?” she inquired and there was a long silence before Willow countered:

“What do you wanna know?”

“What’s the history here?” Buffy wondered, turning over on the side to look over at her friend. “Why am I in Sunnydale – forlorn and godforsaken wasteland of Small Town? Why didn’t I apply to a good college – if not for anything else, then for getting the hell away from here? How did I ever stumble over such a someone as Riley and how come I’m obviously completely overlooking the unpolished gem of this Spike – who’s got serious issues, by the way?”

Willow let the statement sink in before she thought “first thing’s first” and began answering the string of questions with:

“Well, your mom and you moved away from Los Angeles because of the... violence. Sunnydale is... well, we don’t have as much of the same violence. You almost went to another college, but then you chose to stay here... because of friends and family and things. And Riley is a wonderful, fun guy who really likes the you that’s supposed to be here,” she stated, adding: “And the you that’s supposed to be here really likes him back. As for Spike... I know he’s got issues, believe me. And you should stay away from him.”

“Why? You left me with him.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t something... I wouldn’t have unless it was important, and...”

“Why didn’t you even ask if I wanted to go with you?” Buffy interrupted. “You obviously don’t think I’m able to take care of myself, and then you leave me with someone who... Yeah, what’s so bad about him anyway? He did what you asked...”

“He did what I asked ‘cause I promised him money for it.”

“And why did you feel the need to do that?”

“Because he wouldn’t have kept an eye on you unless I did.”

“So you admit you don’t think I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not sure if you know what ‘taking care of’ really means,” Willow replied and Buffy propped her head up in one hand, leaning on her elbow and as she looked over at the other she suddenly realized that she could see everything in the room as though it was bathed in a soft light.

She furrowed her brow, checking the lamps on both of the bedside tables and concluding that they had to be switched off. Very weird.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she then reacted to Willow’s statement.

“Trust me, you don’t want to have anything to do with Spike. He may have his moments, but he’s no... unpolished gem! In the end he’ll turn on you and he’d sell you to the highest bidder without a second thought. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone but himself, Buffy. Never forget that.”

Buffy lay down again, almost carefully as thoughts were running wild in her head.

“How did I meet him?” she asked.

“Let’s save it for another night, okay?” Willow merely said.

“Okay,” Buffy murmured, closing her eyes but unable to shake the look in two blue eyes as they followed her into her dreams.

The next morning Buffy found a note from Willow taped to her closet door. It read:

“I called you in sick today, so don’t look too perky if you go outside. Your mom asked that you’d call her. Here’s the number...”

Buffy jumped up and retrieved the phone straight away, dialing the number and waiting with rising anxiety.

“Summers residence.”

“Mom?”

“Buffy! Are you alright? Mr. Giles told me that you... How are you, sweetheart?”

Buffy felt her eyes well up with unexpected tears as she sat down on the edge of her bed. She felt smaller and more alone than ever before and wished more than anything that this crazed adventure would prove over very soon.

“I’m okay,” she said, voice streaked with her confusion. “I’m just... a little lost. But I’m alright.”

“Really? I can only imagine what an ordeal it must’ve been to wake up in a strange place with strange people... I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“No, it’s not your fault! You didn’t know,” Buffy disagreed. “And they’ve been nice to me. They’ve treated me good.”

“Of course they have, they’re your friends! Listen to Willow, Buffy, she’s very smart and she loves you. She’ll look after you. Or would you rather I came and saw you?”

“I don’t think that’s...” A thought suddenly occurred and Buffy trailed off, regarding it and then saying: “Or maybe... Maybe I should come home for a while? I can’t go to class anyway, and I can’t exactly move around freely on campus if Willow insists on me putting on the being-sick-act.”

“I’ll come get you right now, okay?” Joyce asked and Buffy smiled.

“Sure, mom.”

Joyce gave a location for them to meet and they hung up. Buffy began to pack a small bag of necessities and was just finishing up when she happened to pull out one of the drawers of her desk and stopped dead. She stared at the various set of weapons and then grabbed a sharply pointed wooden stick, this just as Willow walked through the door.

“Oh!” Willow exclaimed, shutting the door quickly. “I see you found your... hobby.”

“Hobby?”

“Carving.”

“Carving?”

“Yes. Wood. Carving wood. You love it. Can’t get enough of it,” Willow assured and Buffy’s eyes went to the stick still in one hand.

“I think – no,” she said, throwing it on the desk and Willow was about to explain further when she noticed the overnight bag packed and ready by the bed.

“You going somewhere?” she asked and Buffy nodded.

“Mom’s picking me up in like ten minutes. In front of the clock.” Willow looked quizzical and Buffy elaborated with: “We thought it might be better if I went home for a while; until everything’s worked itself out. I mean, you won’t have to cover for me and I wanna see mom anyways, so... That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Yes! Of course!” Willow nodded, smiling. “You should be where it’s comfortable and I think it’s a good idea. Totally. And I’ll come see you. I can come and see you, can’t I?” she added, sounding slightly unsure and Buffy laughed, giving her a quick spontaneous hug which made Willow smile back in clear relief.

“You’d better! I’ll need to know where things are going,” Buffy stated.

“Come on,” Willow said. “I’ll show you where the clock is.”

Buffy smiled her thanks at that.

Everything felt off.

So, this was her room.

Her clothes. Her make-up. Her hair. Her face.

Nothing felt like it was really hers. The first exhilaration at this incredible situation, at the amazing chance of jumping forward in time, was wearing off. She didn’t feel like her body was hers anymore. She didn’t feel like she fit in here. She had spent an hour trying to go to sleep, but something was pulling at her every time she closed her eyes. Something was making her legs feel achy and in need of a brisk walk to get the led out of them.

She had asked her mother about why they had moved here, but Joyce had avoided the question and when Buffy pressed for an answer the older had said that she had been advised not to talk about any details regarding the years of Buffy’s life of which she didn’t know anything.

What had been a consolation, though, was the way they had spent the evening. It was how they always had, and it brought back a little piece of recognition for the weary Slayer. However, that time had now passed and as she turned over in her bed for the fourth time in half a minute she finally kicked her covers off and rose to her feet.

Pulling on a pair of pants and a sweater she grabbed her jacket and carefully pushed open her window. She had noticed the large tree outside earlier, its sprawling branches should be perfect to use as means of getting safe to the ground. For a second an incredible sensation of déjà vu rifled through her as she swung one leg over the windowsill, but it passed and she let it do so as she made her way outside. Jumping to the ground she landed in the soft grass and straightened herself up.

She took a deep breath of the night air and felt how her whole being seemed to feel revived. It was an overpowering stir deep down inside and she felt like running without stopping for anything. She didn’t though, but instead began walking toward the curb. Continuing she let her mind wander as it pleased.

She wouldn’t have thought herself living in a place like this, but she supposed in a way it was pretty alright. She hadn’t been able to find anything indicating that she still had contact with any of her Los Angeles friends... No letters, nothing at all. In a way she felt sorry about that. In another... A lot of them, she guessed, were pretty suck-y as friends. They just wanted to be near her because of her status at school. She hated that. However, she knew how the world worked, and if she could do something good for someone else – even if that was acting as a mere help toward popularity – then by God, she would do it.

She broke off to the left, walking through a tight cluster of trees and straight into someone’s chest.

“Watch where you’re going!” a voice she recognized, and which sent her heart galloping away, drawled. “Oh... it’s you,” he then grumbled and Buffy stared at him, utterly surprised and close to stupefied by that very feeling. “Good evening,” he added, and she couldn’t decide if he meant it or was only being sarcastic.

“Good evening?” she then asked. “It’s like one o’clock or something,” she added.

“Good morning, then,” he shrugged, bringing out a cigarette and she watched him as he lit it with a lighter gleaming in silver.

Another flash of déjà vu which disappeared as quickly as it appeared and she blinked before she said:

“You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you, or so I hear.”

Spike smirked. He might be able to get used to this, her acting all nice and nurturing. It sure was something else than the fist-to-face attitude she always saw fit to carry with her otherwise.

“Well,” he said, taking another drag and eyeing her for a moment before adding: “I don’t have to think ‘bout things like that.”

She looked skeptical and his smirk grew.

“Wanna walk?” he asked and she seemed self-conscious for a moment, but then followed to come up and walk by his side. “Shouldn’t be out this late alone, you know – isn’t safe,” he stated and she raised her eyebrows, disinterestedly. “You think I’m joking?”

“No,” she replied. “But – as apposed to popular belief – I can take care of myself.”

“No doubt,” he nodded and she glanced at him as he finished his fag and tossed it aside.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Meaning?”

“Here! In this very small town in the exact middle of nothing,” she elaborated as they reached an abandoned playground, and they proceeded to the swing set; Buffy taking a seat while Spike remained standing.

He seemed thoughtful and she wondered if she had said something wrong, then he snapped out of it and rested his gaze in hers. She smiled tryingly, but again he didn’t return it. Looking away he then leaned against one of the steel bars holding the swings up.

“It’s a long story,” he finally answered.

“I’ve got time,” she said.

“I don’t,” he bit off and she wished she knew what she had done to him that had him switch moods on her like that.

She wished she knew their history.

“Why are you called ‘Spike’?” she asked and she could see that he smiled, but it wasn’t a sunny one and it made her shudder in uncompromising unsettlement.

“I’m not gonna say I’m not enjoying this,” he said, pushing away from the bar to stand and face her again. “This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen you – what’s not to like about that...? But I think I’d better stay outta your way, love. And you outta mine.”

She furrowed her brow.

“Could I just...?” she began, getting to her feet; but she trailed off as she looked up at him and into those two eyes that were like bits of crystal tainted unimaginably blue.

She had never seen anything quite like them.

He held her gaze and then broke eye-contact.

“Go home,” he said, turning and walking away from her.

“Spike,” she tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen and she watched him go with growing irritation and defeat. “Spike!” she tried again, and then she was suddenly on the ground, something heavy on top of her.

She screamed, kicking out and having it fly off her. Scrambling to her feet she faced something resembling a human in form, but its face... Her heart nearly stopped as she stared at the creature before her.

“Slayer?” it hissed and her eyes grew as it lunged for her.

“Get away!” she exclaimed, throwing herself to the side and rolling on the ground, staying down as she tried to see where the being had gone off to.

It was getting up after missing its mark and she looked around for some kind of weapon. Any kind.

“Buffy!” Spike barked, breaking through the foliage on the other side of the playground and she felt her spirit rise with new hope.

Thank God!

“What the bleeding hell are you doing? Get up! Fight!” he now bellowed and the hope was extinguished.

Was he kidding!

She let out another yap of fear as the creature again was approaching her at awesome speed. She wasn’t sure how she got to her feet so quick, but without fully registering it she was up and as the creature once again attacked she felt her body tense and then her leg kicked out and hit it over the head. It flew to the ground, rolling around as she went after it. She was on automatic pilot and everything was a total blur, and before she could react her fingers were grasping a thick, broken-off stick, ramming it through the creature’s chest.

It turned to ashes before her growing eyes and then she straightened her back, looking at the simple weapon in her hand before she dropped it to the ground.

She was shaking uncontrollably.

“What did I do...?” she mumbled.

Spike watched the shock building quickly on her. So this was what it had been like – her very first slay. It was unreal, to watch her like this. He fought to push the swivel of empathy off, but he wasn’t successful and so he gently approached her. He was out of practice, but he carefully reached out a hand and placed it under her chin.

“You did good,” he mumbled as she finally locked her eyes with his.

“I couldn’t control...” she said, voice sluggish and he shook his head a little.

“No, it’s a part of you, pet. This is who you are... You’re not supposed to control it. I wish I could tell you to forget about it...” he said with a half smile and she returned it, which he figured to be a good sign.

“Why?” she asked and he watched her face for the longest minute, realizing that some part of him didn’t want her to know.

“I should take you to Giles’,” he then mumbled, taking his hand away and stepping back slightly. “The poof ’ll have all the right things to say.”

“I thought you just did,” she said, and he looked away from her again, not replying to her sentiment as they got themselves moving.

Buffy listened to the man known as Giles as he in very complicated terms tried to explain to her why she had just done what she did, why her reflexes had acted like they had and thus had saved her life. He gave her a speech he had already given her once, about the Chosen One. She stared at him as though he was insane. Finally he brought out one of those sharpened sticks she had seen in her very own dorm room and stated that it was in fact a weapon, a stake; used to kill vampires.

At the word she rose to her feet so fast that the chair she had been seated on toppled over.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” she said, looking from Giles – to Spike – and back to Giles again, “but this is absolutely ridiculous!”

“Buffy,” Giles began, but she just gave him another look, this one promptly silencing him, before she walked passed him and up to the front door.

“Next you’ll tell me that Dracula actually exists, or that werewolves and monsters are lurking about. Is this what you meant by this town not being safe?” she asked, eyes on Spike and he started to answer when she interrupted with: “The only thing I need protection from seems to be you two loonies!”

With that she opened the door and walked through it, slamming it shut behind her.

There was a short time of stillness, the vampire and Watcher exchanging glances, and then Giles sighed:

“That went well.”

Spike nodded.

“Above expectation,” he replied before moving up to the door.

“You are going home, aren’t you?” Giles asked. “You’re not considering going after her?”

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow at that.

“Why the bugger would I do that?” he shot.

“Spike,” Giles said and the vamp paused in the doorway, “it was good... that you brought her here.”

“Oh, don’t get all excited, Watcher, ain’t like I’m looking to take over your job,” he assured, and then he walked out the door.

Buffy crept through the window of her room, shutting it softly before moving up to her bed. She lay down on it and curled herself into a ball. Shutting her eyes seemed impossible and she found herself staring at her window. She thought the shadows moving over it took the shapes of faces and soon adrenaline was pumping through her veins. She was wide awake.

A creek in a floorboard outside her door made her sit straight, drawing small breaths of air as she took in the doorknob. It stayed where it was, didn’t move, everything was quiet; but her whole body was so tense she thought it might actually snap like a guitar string. The sound of something fluttering against the window made her give a small yell before she got off the bed and ran up to her door, opening it up she continued into her mother’s bedroom and was under her mother’s covers in a flash.

Joyce murmured something.

“It’s just me,” Buffy whispered. “I’m sorry, go back to sleep.”

Joyce rolled over and met the wide eyes of her daughter, having a slight smile cross her face despite herself. She reached out a hand and touched Buffy’s cheek before opening her arms and having Buffy move into a hard embrace.

“You haven’t done this since you were a little girl,” Joyce said and Buffy smiled as well, feeling how she was beginning to relax. “I guess I had almost forgotten that you used to do it... You’re always so strong, sweetheart, so grown up...”

She trailed off.

“Mom,” Buffy mumbled. “Do you know what the Slayer is?”

“Oh, honey,” Joyce whispered, her hold tightening, “I was hoping you wouldn’t have to go through this... not again. I was hoping that maybe... But that’s me being very selfish and very stupid.” She pulled back to have Buffy’s gaze in hers before she said: “You mustn’t be frightened, Buffy. We have had many talks over the years about why you are who you are, and you have always offered extremely good reasons for doing what it is you do. You may dislike it, but you do it none the less. And I love you for it, you know?”

Buffy swallowed.

“So... so it’s true?” she asked, fighting back the tears of growing shock. “Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare?”

Joyce closed her eyes, kissed Buffy on the forehead and then pulled her close again before she answered:

“Darling, how I wish it was.”

Not the Usual

The next morning Buffy stayed in bed until noon. She watched the sunlight fall through the curtains of her room, into which she had moved, spreading warmth and a healthy glow around. She thought it was strange how a room that was so threatening at night, could be so utterly different simply because it was daytime. She knew she had to go see Giles, but didn’t really want to. She admitted that the whole Slayer business put a whole lot of things in perspective... but...

Finally she threw the covers off, took a shower and dressed.

She walked slowly, coming across the playground from the previous night and finding herself thinking of Spike. She wondered why he acted the way he did around her. What had she done to him to make him dislike her in the way he did?

She reached Giles’ apartment and stood hesitating before the door she had stormed through only a few hours earlier, and then she knocked. It didn’t take long before it was opened.

“Buffy,” Giles said and she could tell he hadn’t been expecting her. “Come in.”

She stopped by the kitchen counter and turned to him.

“So,” she said.

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“I’m here.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“So... what now? I don’t have to wear some dorky outfit, do I?”

“No,” he smiled.

“Thank God.” There was a pause before she continued: “So this thing’s in my blood? The slayage?”

“Slaying,” he corrected, then nodded. “Pretty much in your blood, yes.”

“And I... what? I take one of those pokers and go out and wait to be attacked? Will the ‘reflexes’ reflect as they should? What if they don’t? How long have I actually been doing the slayage... –ing? Do you think what I’ve learned is still in there somewhere, or do I have to start from scratch? Man! So typical! Finally get a break from school and whatta you know – back behind bars even before I get a chance to smell the fresh air.”

She seemed to stop her rant there, sinking down on the same chair she had been in the night prior. Giles removed his glasses and watched her thoughtfully before he said:

“You have been the Slayer for a little over three years now, and I do believe the knowledge is in your brain somewhere. It may be buried too deep to extract, but in a fight you should do as well as you did last night. You will need proper training, of course, until we figure this thing out and get you back the way you... were before. I think you should minimize exposure to danger. Don’t stay out too late, don’t walk the streets alone – simple things like that will help you.”

“Simple?” Buffy muttered. “And I don’t see how sitting in my room could possibly ‘help’ me.”

“Perhaps you will if your life is threatened again. I should say it would be better not to risk it, but...”

She grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout.

“Well, this sucks,” she stated firmly.

“Willow and I are working on what could have brought you into this state. We will find a solution. Now, do you wish to know more about your heritage?”

Buffy looked at him, then shrugged. Encouraged he sat down and began to tell her.

Against her will she did understand that Giles was right. She made sure to be home by seven the following three nights, to have dinner with her mother after which she stayed inside the house, fighting every urge to go out. Her mother was seemingly in seventh heaven. They played silly board games and watched TV together, eating popcorn and snuggling up on the couch. But once Joyce went to bed and the house grew filled with silence, Buffy lay awake, staring at her ceiling and having the most unquenchable need to go somewhere, to run, to let her body stretch to its full capacity.

On the third night she lay perfectly still until the clock on her bedside table struck one, and then she simply couldn’t take it anymore. She donned a pair of jeans, a sweater, jacket and comfortable shoes and on her way out the window she snatched a stake – she had learned the correct word over the few days of sparring, which she had spent with Giles – and held it tightly in one hand as she jumped to the ground.

“Quite a climb,” a voice said behind her and she spun around.

“Do you always appear out of nowhere?” she asked, her heart in her throat as the bleached blonde emerged from the shadows.

“As apposed to what?” he asked back and she raised her eyebrows.

“Been a while,” she said with a sudden smile. “Been up to anything worth retelling?”

He thought of the unfortunate game of kitten poker he had played at Willy’s; of the three vamps he had killed the night prior and of the rumors he’d heard that something big was brewing beneath the city.

“No,” he then replied. “Nothing worth retelling.”

“Me either,” she sighed. “Is it just me, or is this town completely dead?”

“Well, not completely ...But I get your point.”

She started walking and he hesitated before he followed, casting an eye on the weapon still in her hand. He could almost hear the wood creak from how hard she was holding onto it. He smirked.

“On the hunt for nasties, are we, love?” he wondered.

“No. Just a precaution... Giles’ ghost stories seem dull coming out of his mouth, but swimming around with the other fishies in your head they begin to make mischief.”

Spike’s smirk widened.

“Sharks in calm waters?”

She looked at him, then smiled as well.

“Trouble is, I still don’t know exactly what the sharks are supposed to look like. Giles tried to draw me a picture, but God, am I glad he didn’t choose that as a profession.”

Spike struggled to summon a need to vamp out and grab her, give her the scare of her life. But something was lacking and he couldn’t see any sweetness in a situation like that, no real reward. It was more fun listening to her chattering on, getting a clearer picture of her; than it would be to alienate her. He was closing in on weaknesses, he knew it. Just a little while longer now.

“Did you hear something?” she asked.

He strained his ears, but heard nothing but the wind ruffling through leaves.

“No,” he shook his head. “Why? A little jumpy, are we?” he teased and she gave him a friendly glare before taking a small step closer to him, looking over her shoulder.

“Where do you live?” she asked and he almost choked, his eyes growing a tad. “I’ve never seen your place and... it’s a bit chilly, don’t you think? Please, let’s just go there.”

“I could be a serial killer for all you know,” he said, rather baffled at her carelessness, but she fired off such a bright smile at that that he nearly found the corners of his mouth beginning to twitch in response. “My place isn’t... the usual.”

“Spike, you’re not the usual, why would I ever think your place was?” she remarked and he could no longer hold down the smile, something which rather startled him.

“Fine, Slayer,” he then murmured. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence for a while, nearing the cemetery hosting his humble abode. Entering the graveyard Buffy furrowed her brow, but kept quiet. Spike led her up to the door of his crypt and opened it up for her. She had stopped dead in her tracks and now she stared at him.

“Seriously?” she asked, voice hesitant.

He merely made a gesture for her to move forward and after another moment she squared her shoulders and did as he wanted. She walked through the door, him following. He began to light the candles he had managed to get hold of as she walked around inspecting the place. It was rather desolate, he didn’t mind admitting it. But it was all he needed. He shook the match in his hand and threw it to the side before facing her.

“Wow,” she said, looking up at the ceiling. “When you said unusual... And look, your very own spider to spin webs for you.”

He smirked, once more in spite of himself.

“Want a drink?” he asked, checking himself as she was about to answer and saying: “Better not.”

She frowned, then sighed.

“Fine,” she muttered, sinking down in the tattered armchair which was the only piece of furniture the place boasted.

The soft light of the candles danced over her profile and he wondered, briefly, what a girl like her could possibly want to be doing in a place like his.

“Why are you here, Buffy?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She turned her head to him, meeting his eyes and holding them. Then she smiled a little.

“Curious, I guess,” she answered.

“About what?”

“You,” she admitted slowly.

“What about me could make you curious, pet? I’m no mystery.”

Then he remembered – everything written about him, everything she had been told, she had forgotten.

Bloody hell.

She smiled again.

“How about that drink?” he grumbled, walking into the provisory kitchen and grabbing the whiskey bottle there.

He got two clean glasses and filled them to the brim, heading over to where she was sitting and shoving one of the glasses into her outstretched hand before raising his. He didn’t say anything for a toast, merely tilted his head back and swallowed the strong liquid. She gaped, then closed her mouth and glanced at the glass. She took a small sip, feeling like a juvenile girl and bracing herself before she put the edge of the glass to her mouth. Just as she was about to swallow it down, however, it was taken out of her grip and she opened her eyes again.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I mean... Not... Bleeding...”

Turning from her he kept muttering incoherently to himself as he put the glasses down on a nearby sarcophagus. She observed his back for another few moments and then she said:

“Why are you so nervous?”

“I’m not nervous!” he spouted, facing her again.

She met his so suddenly burning gaze without flinching, and then she smiled. He glared at her at first, then he took a step forward, putting his hands on either armrest as he leaned forward, the motion not stopping until his face was leveled with hers. She drew an unexpected breath, her eyes not leaving his and questions tumbling through her brain as she watched the anger on him.

“You don’t know who I am,” he stated.

“So tell me,” she replied, wondering why she felt so calm, even under his malignant stare.

His gaze hardened, and then he straightened up, shaking his head.

“You’ll kill me,” he grumbled and she blinked. “Not now,” he added at her doubtful look. “Later. When you’re not... this. You. When you’re not this you.”

“Even if that’s true...” she said tentatively, “why would I kill you over telling me who you are?”

He didn’t know just what to answer to that, but had a searing warning at the back of his neck not to take this any further or it would come back to bite him.

“I’m a selfish being, Slayer,” he said finally. “That’s the one and only sodding time you’ll hear me say it, so you’d bloody well store those words somewhere safe. You can’t stay here. And it’s not for you I’m saying it – it’s for me. Swear to God, unless you leave something not so pleasant is bound to happen to my limbs once you’re back to your old self.”

She thought that over, neglecting to take into account the still hidden reason she might have to actually do a deed such as that, and then came up with a piece of logic he shouldn’t be able to find a way out of.

“How do you know I’ll remember then? My brain hasn’t been all oh-and-ah since I got here... Maybe it won’t be when I leave – or come back – either.”

He tilted his head just a little to one side, a characteristic she found utterly cute, though she had a feeling she shouldn’t disclose that to him. He eyed her, and then a small smirk drew over his mouth. She returned it easily.

“Besides,” she said, standing up and looking around the place, “you seriously need my help.”

“Right. I’ll let you prance in ‘ere and change my décor!”

“Spike, natural habitants don’t count as décor.”

“Look, if you’re gonna be a buggering girl about it you might as well go.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I’m talking baby steps! A dash of paint, a throw rug, some things to make it more... homely.”

“This is homely,” he assured, grabbing the still full glass of whiskey he had taken from her and downing it easily. “And,” he then continued, “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

She laughed, then her eyes landed on the armchair and her smile died as she slowly shook her head.

“This looks like you found it on the street,” she remarked.

“That I did.”

“You must be seriously pulling both my legs! I know people who are practically penniless, but they’d rather die than furnish their home in something someone else has seen fit to throw out! If you don’t have enough money, just get something second hand.”

“Right, ‘cause that’s not something people have seen fit to rid themselves of.”

“Now, no one love’s a smart-ass.”

“Was that some sort of hint for me to start feeling bad for you?” he shot and she gave him a push, which wasn’t meant to, but actually sent him stumbling into the mantelpiece, almost losing his balance.

He regained it smoothly and she looked regretful, though there was no way for her to smother her smile.

“Still getting used to that,” she said.

He watched her as she began to walk around the space of the room, dragging one finger on one of the sarcophaguses and frowning as it was covered in a thick layer of nearly white dust. He ventured trying to get himself to push her out the door and shut it tight right in her face, but this was fun in the most macabre way and he wasn’t so sure it would be that easy to give it up.

We’ll be back to cutting each other’s throats soon enough, he thought to himself. Right now it’s not really... her.

That addition, however, disturbed him on so many levels that he reached for the alcohol and took a swig right out of the bottle, telling himself over and over that above all he could not forget who he was dealing with; could not forget who he was dealing with.

She had circled the small room and now landed right back before him.

“And why are you staying here again?”

“I like it; it’s homely, if you recall.”

“Spike...”

“Slayer, I’m not moving – so don’t push it.”

“I wasn’t... You know, I’m not a ditz. There’s something...” She trailed off, looking at him for a moment and then taking a seat in the armchair again, folding her hands on her lap and then saying: “Tell me what brought you here... I mean, what do you do? Disregarding where we are; you seem like someone who probably has a really neat job...”

“Yeah,” he agreed, turning back to her and eyeing her for a long while before coming up to her, squatting down before her to make sure she was paying attention. “I kill for a living,” he stated, and the absolute graveness on his face made her feel a shiver run through her. “I’m not one of the good guys. Since you have to have it pointed out, I’m making a point – you can’t trust me.”

She met his gaze unabashed before she reached out a hand and touched his cheek.

“I think I can,” she said.

He clenched his jaws together.

“I’m not human,” he stated and she looked so disbelieving that it spurred him on in his decision and he changed appearance right there, her soft hand still against the side of his face.

The fear in her eyes caught him off guard, and he wondered why. He had been expecting it.

Buffy felt like she had just dived into ice cold water. The blue eyes she had come to know pretty well had been exchanged for a wicked yellow. His facial features contorted just as Giles had tried to explain to her when he described the vampire’s appearance. Where human teeth once were, fangs had taken their place.

She was trembling, but barely noticed it.

She couldn’t believe it.

She closed her eyes, drawing a breath to steady herself. She didn’t open them until she felt ready, her hand all the while resting against his cheek. Finally she eased her lids to part and rested her gaze in his once more. Her fingers gently slid up to the lumps between and above his eyebrows. Then down his nose to his mouth. He was staring at her, the surprise not concealed by the yellow. She finally removed her hand and sat back.

“Thank you,” she said. “For showing me.”

Once more all he could do was stare; utterly taken aback by this response. What was she doing! He felt a wave of frustration move through him as he straightened up into a standing position, stripping the vampire exterior and turning from her with a low growl. She giggled.

“Did you just growl at me?” she asked and he let hear a louder one as an answer. “Okay, then. You’re a vampire. But that’s clearly not all you are”

“It’s not how it works,” he said, swiveling back around to face her. “I try to kill you, you try to kill me, then I try again, you cower...”

“I do not,” she stopped him, rising to her feet and crossing her arms over her chest.

He looked at her again, saying:

“Alright, you don’t. You charge. You do not sit in my bloody chair telling me there’s more to me than...!”

“Than? Are you saying there is more to you?”

“Is this what we’re gonna be discussing all night?”

“What do you wanna discuss all night?”

“If you’re such a bleeding know-it-all, why don’t you tell me?”

“How to better the relationship between good and evil?”

“Didn’t know there was a... what did you call it?”

“I think it needs bettering,” she underlined, overlooking his query. “Especially if you’re gonna flip every time I try to pay you a compliment! You’re wound up pretty tight, there, aren’t you?”

He clenched his jaws together, and at his tightened stance she smiled again. It took a few moments, but then he seemed to relax, defeated, before he gave her a half smile in return.

“Do you have a blanket...? Something to sit on so we can... sit down,” she asked and he hesitated, then replied:

“Have a bed. ‘S downstairs.” She cocked an eyebrow, obviously hesitant and a wide smirk spread on his mouth at the sight of it. “Honey, I’m not into you that way,” he reassured. “You’re perfectly safe.”

Her other eyebrow rose as well at that, and as she walked passed him to where he was showing she remarked:

“This from the vampire who said he wasn’t to be trusted.”

As she began to climb down the ladder leading her to... well, she really wasn’t sure... she had to question herself. What was she doing with him? She couldn’t help it. It was an inexplicable want to dig deeper. Her curiosity was awoken. She couldn’t walk away now. She wasn’t in any danger, no matter how much he tried to make her think she was. She could sense it.

Spike brought one burning candle with him and as they both had descended he lit the ones in his bedroom. Buffy was pleasantly surprised to see a big and comfortable looking bed in the room. Or... cave. It was hard to tell.

“Is this standard for vampires?” she asked as she walked up to the piece of furniture and took a seat on it, watching him walk about, still putting wicks on flame. “This... lone wolf... I’m so bad... don’t-mess-with-me crap?”

“I wasn’t always alone,” he snapped and her interest was sparked immediately. “And it’s not crap,” he muttered, dripping some wax to fasten the candle he had in his hand before coming up to her.

He sat down a few feet away from her on the edge of the bed. There was silence for a little while.

“Who was she?” Buffy wondered and he glanced at her, then looked at his hands. “Was she a vampire? ... Beautiful, I bet.” He gave her a rather appreciative look. She smiled. “Yeah. Everything you ever wanted.”

“She was,” he agreed. “For a really long time... she was.”

He grew thoughtful and she observed his profile.

“And she loved you.”

He gnashed his teeth, then smiled weakly to himself.

“Not enough,” he said.

“What happened? Did she leave you?”

“She bloody threw me out. Or something. Told me I was...” He looked at Buffy and furrowed his brow slowly. “Insane,” he stated and she looked wondering. “She was insane,” he clarified. “Crazy as they come. No use getting stuck on anything the bird said.”

“And you ended up here?” she asked.

“Yeah... Funny how things work for you or against you. Seems like everything’s against me, doesn’t it?”

“Why?”

“Well, fate spinning me around, taking me straight back to where my strongest enemy has set up her own little posse just so I can get a bleeding chip in my head making me not be able to feed, making me not be able to kill anything but my own kind and – in shame of all that is evil – actually join her buggering side!”

Buffy stared at him.

“That’s me you’re talking about, isn’t it?” she asked silently and he turned his gaze in hers. “That’s who I am... or what I am. Your enemy.”

She had the strangest feeling near her heart speaking of righteousness and destiny, as though she had just hit the mark with such a simple statement; and yet it sounded so wrong to another part of her that she found herself frowning. Enemies. It couldn’t be true. Though...

“Well,” she said, rising to conceal the evident emotions on her face, “it’s only natural, right? Here’s the Slayer, there’s the Vampire. And you said that we fight... I just didn’t think...”

She stood with her back to him and he frowned.

“Buffy...?”

“God, I’m so fifteen,” she muttered, swallowing and getting a hold of herself, turning back to him. “Look, I just wanted... I don’t know what I wanted. To know you, I guess. But if this is that weird, then...”

“It’s not,” he stopped her, getting to his feet as well. “Come on, I have the Slayer in my bedroom, we’ve moved well beyond weird.”

She smiled at that, and he returned it, satisfied that he’d been able to produce it, and then quickly turning himself away from that feeling. This was business and nothing else.

“So... it’s okay if I stay? You’re sure?” she wondered and he nodded.

“It’s fine,” he said.

She came up to him again, still wearing the smile as she sat back down, feeling slightly self-conscious as he sat next to her. She lay down on her back, stretching out and linking her fingers together above her head as she looked up into the dark ceiling.

“You know, some nice pieces of fabric would really brighten this place up,” she said as he lay down beside her.

“Just nothing yellow,” he said and she smirked.

“Reds and blues and greens,” she stated.

“Just nothing pastel-ish.”

“I cannot believe you just said pastel-ish,” she giggled and he glared at her before he rolled his eyes.

“I’ll tear them down,” he warned and she settled, smiling broadly.

“Whatever you say. Nada pastel-ish.” She paused, then yawned. After a few seconds she inquired: “Spike, how old are you?”

“Old.”

“Is it true that vampires are immortal?”

“Yep.”

“So you can’t die?”

“If I stay clear of stakes through the heart – nope.”

“That’s freaky.”

“Yep.”

“You don’t think it’s freaky!” she stated, rolling over on her side to get a better look at him. “You’re used to it! You’re old!” He smiled, simply nodding. “Are you strong?”

He put up a hand and she looked at it, then reached up hers and took a hold on it. She tried to pull the arm down, but it didn’t budge. She began to put all her strength into it and she could feel how the arm was beginning to shake. She smiled, not giving up for another ten minutes, and then gnawing out between clenched teeth:

“Call it a draw.”

“Sounds good.”

They both relaxed and Spike finally met her gaze, his blues being laced with a, for once, unhidden respect. She smirked and gave him a push with one elbow.

If She Craves the Fun

She woke up the next morning from a dream that still had left pleasant ripples within her. She was smiling to herself as she eased her eyes open, but in the next blink she was wide awake; sitting up and realizing the following moment that she was still fully dressed. Grateful she then recalled the night before. She looked around, but didn’t see Spike anywhere. Sighing she got out of bed and checked her watch.

“Oh, holy crap!” she exclaimed.

Five minutes later she burst through the backdoor of her house, entering the kitchen in which Joyce was seated with eyes red from worry. Giles hung up the phone at the sight of the Slayer and Buffy felt like turning and running right back outside.

“I’m sorry,” she said to her mother. “I’m sorry,” she said to Giles.

“Sorry isn’t gonna cut it, young lady,” Joyce stated, getting to her feet. “I want a minute-by-minute description of what you’ve been doing since I went to bed last night and up until this very moment! I want you to remember exactly what you’ve been doing because I never, ever want you to do any of it again!”

“I woke up early! And I decided...”

“I checked in on you,” her mother interrupted, Buffy’s eyes widening indignantly.

“You check in on me now!”

“That’s far from the issue,” Joyce warned, then added: “but yes! And last night I did so at three o’clock in the morning. You weren’t there! No note, nothing! And what’s worse, you just tried to lie about it!”

Buffy struggled to gather her thoughts, looking from one to the next. After another ten seconds she drew a small breath and said:

“I am sorry. I went for a walk ‘cause I couldn’t sleep.” True. “And then I just lost track of time.” Also true. “I ended up at campus and I thought I’d go see Willow to...”

“I just got off the phone with her,” Giles stopped her and Buffy paled considerably.

“Buffy Anne Summers,” Joyce said, baffled.

Buffy felt as though she was shrinking.

“I was with someone...”

“Someone?” they both said with one voice.

Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap.

“Spike!” she finally confessed. “I was with Spike, alright. Nothing happened. We talked.”

Giles was flabbergasted and Joyce looked slightly confused, then a light-bulb went off and she began to adopt the expression of the Watcher.

“The vampire? The vampire that’s tried to kill you!”

“You talked? Up until right now?” Giles asked.

“No, I fell asleep.”

“You are not to leave this house again without my knowing of it, is that clear?” Joyce demanded and Buffy nodded. “And you cannot socialize with this vampire anymore.”

“But, mom!”

“Don’t you but, mom me!”

“Listen to your mother,” Giles put in and Buffy’s eyes went from one to the other again before she pushed passed them and ran up to her room.

She was so angry that she shook, but soon the feeling gave way for frustration and then sorrow as she sunk down on her bed crying.

That evening she ventured downstairs, wearing the most adorable pajamas she could find, hoping to somehow sway her mother’s determination. She peeked into the living room, but it was empty and she continued into the kitchen. Her mother turned her head to her as she entered, the younger not feeling self-assured by the expression which met her.

“Mom,” she said hesitantly, “can I talk to you?”

Joyce put the plate she had been drying off down, placing the towel she had been using on top of it and then facing her daughter.

“Go ahead,” the older urged.

“Okay. I understand that you’re... upset.”

“Try livid.”

“Still?”

“I will probably not be anything but for quite some time to come.”

“Then I understand that you’re livid. I get why you’d freak on me, if you’d stayed out without telling me where and when you were coming home I’d have a meltdown too! I’d worry. I get that you worried. And that the worry made you... not really want to look at it from my point of view. But if you just let me try to explain, then...”

“Is this leading somewhere, Buffy?” Joyce interrupted tiredly.

“Yes. I didn’t go out to try and hurt you. I didn’t fall asleep just to worry you, you know that, right? I’ve never done anything like that before, and I promise I’ll never do it again. I’ll always leave a note! We can have a note-place, where you can look if I’m for some reason not in my room...”

“Do you think that I will let you out of my sight after the stunt you pulled?” her mother once more cut her short. “For years I’ve had to live with the fact that you put your life at risk. It’s been bearable because I have seen with my own eyes that you’re very good at what you do. But you are not nineteen years old anymore. From what Giles tells me your fighting skills are back to basics and you could get seriously injured. I see that your Slayer side is something extraordinary to have to carry by yourself, and that it drives you to do things that you normally wouldn’t; but you are not leaving this house until you are back to your former age.”

“But...”

“No. I’m not completely momified. I understand that this isn’t about being allowed to roam the streets at night. This is about something much worse.”

Buffy felt a vacuum open up, threatening to suck her in.

“You cannot see him anymore, under any circumstance. And that’s final.”

Buffy swallowed, taking a step back under the sturdy gaze of her mother.

“It’s for your own good,” Joyce said as her daughter quietly left the room.

Two days later Buffy’s mood had evolved back into seething anger. She flat out refused to talk to either Giles or Joyce when they still didn’t seem inclined to listen to her side of the story. She was so sick and tired of hearing them nag and tell her that they knew best, no matter what she thought about it, that she’d shut herself in her room, playing complain soft rock and staring at the wall.

When there was a knock on the door she glared at it, waiting until the third knock before she called out an annoyed:

“Would you, please, leave me alone!”

There was a pause, and then:

“It’s Willow.”

Buffy frowned, a pout on her mouth as she tried to make the girl disappear from behind the closed door with nothing but the power of her own will. She knew, however, it would take a little more than that. And thus she sighed and grumbled:

“Fine, enter at your own risk.”

The redhead came into the room with a smile on.

“So melodramatic,” she commented, closing the door behind her as Buffy impatiently gestured for her to do so.

The Slayer was lying on her bed, her hair in a sloppy ponytail and she was wearing a worn and torn old pair of pajamas. She looked aggravated and sad at the same time and Willow had a swell of sympathy for her occur in that moment. She hadn’t seen Buffy like this since... Since Parker. Willow swallowed her sympathy quickly, replacing it with determination. She had to make Buffy understand the actual situation she was in.

The Wicca approached the bed, Buffy muttering something before pulling her covers over her head.

“Buffy,” Willow said reproachfully. There was no answer. “You’re being ridiculous.”

The covers were reluctantly pushed down and Buffy peered up at her. Willow tried another smile, Buffy not returning it as she pulled herself into a semi-seated position, stroking loose tangles of hair out of her face.

“Alright, what’s going on exactly?” Willow inquired.

“Exactly? Want a minute-by-minute description?” Buffy sulked, Willow raising her eyebrows. “I’m grounded. Apparently for life.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, right. I may go to sit in Giles’ apartment or – if I crave the fun – I can go with mom to the museum. Yay.”

“Buffy.”

“Would you stop saying my name like that? And what did I do that was so wrong anyway? Tell me.”

“Well,” Willow replied, “you snuck out of the house; you had your mom and Giles and myself pretty frantic with worry; when you got back you lied twice about what you’d been up to...”

“Okay, okay,” Buffy interrupted.

Willow sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I think you know what you did was kinda serious,” she remarked and Buffy’s gaze shied away from hers stubbornly.

“Great,” she murmured, “another round from the firing squad – only this time it’s disguised as Friend.”

“I’m not here to make you more miserable,” Willow disagreed. “I am here to make you get, once and for all, why you’d do better staying away from Spike.”

Buffy cocked an eyebrow.

Then Willow told her not the whole story of the Slayer and the Vamp, but a broad recount of the vamp’s worse past. She told Buffy of when he first came to town with Drusilla, of the Slayer’s clashes with him, of him trying not only to hurt her, but her friends as well. Willow told Buffy all the details she thought were essential for the other to get the full picture of the vampire. How he probably hadn’t let her get herself killed simply because there was a more important part she had yet to play.

Buffy listened, her face growing more and more mask-like until she raised one hand.

“I think that about does it,” she mumbled with a weak smile.

Willow eyed her for a second, and then she nodded.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Buffy assured, her smile not fading. “Just a little... I don’t know, weirded out... It doesn’t sound like...”

She blinked, shaking her head a little.

“Wanna change the subject?” Willow wondered.

“Yes... No. Know what? I think I’d rather be alone for a little while.”

“You sure?” At that, Buffy nodded. “Okay.” Willow rose and walked up to the door. “Need anything?” she asked as she was about to close it and Buffy shook her head. Willow stood still for another moment, then said: “I know it’s taking some time to fix whatever’s happened to you, and I’m sorry about that. Usually we’re pretty quick about that stuff. But we’re working on it.”

Buffy kept the smile on as she answered:

“All I need to know.”

As soon as the door clicked shut the smile was gone and she was out of the bed and at her window. She opened it, swung her legs over the sill and was outside in the blink of an eye. As soon as she hit the grass below the tree she was running. She ran so fast she thought it was unbelievable how soon she found herself on the step of the door of his crypt. She barely had to catch her breath, either. She had to smirk to herself for no real reason, and then she knocked.

No answer.

She didn’t wait, she didn’t bother to knock again; she went inside.

Spike furrowed his brow deeply as he turned to her where he was sitting in the armchair. The television was on, but she ignored it, coming up to face him properly. He looked quizzical. She didn’t know where to start. He waited for a little while longer and then he directed his attention back on the TV. It was her turn to frown, then she went up and twisted the knob, shutting the contraption off.

“Hey!” he exploded, rising to his feet. “I don’t see you for two bloody days and then you show up without an invitation! What’d you expect! A welcome back banner?”

“Did you kidnap Xander and Willow? And did you try to bite her? And if you didn’t have a thingy in your head, would you try again? Would you kill my mom, Spike? Me? Am I only standing here right now ‘cause of some ulterior motive? Did you save me that first night... from being bitten... and probably worse... because of something other than you wanting me safe?”

He ogled her in surprise. This seemed terribly uncalled for. Then he shook his head at himself and looked her dead in the eye as he replied:

“Yes. Yes. Most probably. No, I like the bird. Yes. Yes. ...And yes.”

She swallowed. Then she brought her arm up without even realizing it, delivering an awesome strike to the side of his face, which sent him stumbling to the right. He met the kick she delivered next with one hand, swiping it away from hitting his side and then kicking her in the stomach, nearly screaming with the pain shooting into his head. She flew backwards, into the wall, and landed hard on the floor. Rubble broke from the ceiling and rained down on her and she curdled into a ball before she was pulled to her feet by the strong grip he took on her arms.

“What the bugger did you think, Slayer! That I was innocent? I told you, love. That Red’s been smartened up, because she knows me.”

“I know you,” Buffy said. “I know you.”

“No,” he murmured, “you really don’t.”

He didn’t understand why he was wavering, meeting the grief stricken green of her eyes. The absoluteness of her denial. Why was it even there? He looked down at her and then slowly let her go, taking a step back and actually taking her in. She was disheveled, for starters. And...

She noticed the sudden glitter of amusement in his gaze and when she looked down at herself she understood why it was there. She was still wearing her pajamas. Her hands went involuntarily to her hair and she remembered the lack of make-up.

“Dammit,” she muttered and his smirk grew.

Then it disappeared.

“You need to go.”

“No, I don’t,” she said. “I don’t wanna go back there.”

“Slayer.”

She met his gaze and held it, then she came up to him. He fought to keep the decisiveness in his chest, to keep the dislike strong, to remind himself what he still seemed in need of reminding – who he was dealing with here.

“You win,” she said. “I’ll watch my back. But you’re gonna let me stay here. You don’t know what they’re like. I can’t stay in that house anymore... It’s like a prison. It isn’t my home.”

“And you think this is?”

She took a look around, noted the still residing spider and then she smiled one of those bright smiles again. He couldn’t figure her out. In a way, it was nearly... tempting. He gritted his teeth. His skin was crawling and he couldn’t settle from what.

“They’re gonna come looking for you. Mom, surrogate dad, gang, even Captain Cardboard, I bet, once he catches ear of this.”

“What do you care?” she challenged. “Think having the Slayer share your digs ’ll ruin your rep?”

“Hadn’t really thought about that,” he grumbled and she smiled again.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she stated and the crawling in his skin grew more apparent with a sudden twist of vexation. The look in her eyes somehow soothed him, though. “I’ve even missed you a little,” she shrugged, his eyebrows going up. “I get the left side of the bed,” she stated, again twisting the knob of the TV to turn it back on.

He glared at her as she walked passed him and up to the place leading down to the bedroom, but he couldn’t quite get the sting into his gaze and he sighed as he sat back down in the armchair.

Buffy lay in the dark, on the bed she had woken up on two days ago, and wondered what she was doing. She felt revived, and yet scared of this decision. She had never disobeyed her mother this way before, ever; but her mother had never not listened to her either.

So really, it’s not all my fault, Buffy told herself.

And there was Spike. The mere thought of him sent butterflies into her stomach, and pleasurable goose bumps up her arms, and she had been told to give that feeling up. She didn’t want to. She couldn’t. She had tried, she really had. For the first twelve hours of her self-afflicted confinement she had told herself that it was the right thing to do. That she had felt it in the crypt when she and Spike had spoken of their true nature: they were enemies. She told herself that nothing could come of it. She was too young, and he... she didn’t even know how old he was. He was certainly older. And he was a vampire. She was the Slayer. There wasn’t supposed to be any form of attraction, any sort of understanding.

And then she had though of how angry he had been with her that night when he saved her outside the Bronze. She had though of how he had smiled at her jokes and listened intently to everything she said, no matter how he tried to tell himself and convince her that he didn’t. That he hadn’t. He had consented to her idiotic ramblings of redecorating his spot of the world, and he had let her fall asleep next to him without so much as touching a hair on her head.

Now she smiled in the darkness.

She had made the right choice coming here.

She couldn’t give this up, whatever it was. It was too fresh, too unexplored, and something deep, deep down inside her spoke of treasures hidden just within reach. All she needed to do was prod very gently.

She rolled over on her side and wished she’d brought a candle with her down, though the room lay in a soft glow which she could only deduce was some form of night vision it might have been nice to have had some normal source of light. She had to like the perks that came with this Slayer deal.

She wasn’t tired, it was broad daylight outside.

She heard the creaking of the ladder and soon Spike’s form sunk down on the bed. He tugged at the sheet and she watched him close his eyes. She narrowed hers.

“Are you gonna sleep?” she asked.

“Creature of the night,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes.

“I can hear that,” he muttered, which made her smirk.

“What were you watching?” she asked. “In the afternoon... For an hour... Oh, my God, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know.”

She saw the corners of his mouth curl up.

“Gonna destroy the image for you, pet?” he inquired.

“Don’t wanna know,” she repeated and he smiled before yawning.

Stretching he moved to lie on the side, facing her, and since his eyes were still closed she took to studying him. She wondered why he was alone. She wondered why Drusilla had left him... or kicked him out, whatever. She wondered a lot of things when it came to him, and she mused whether or not she would ever have all the answers. She had the most instinctive feeling that something was missing for him, that he was... waiting. If she could only figure out what he was waiting for.

She woke up from the sound of the door opening upstairs. She hadn’t even noticed falling asleep. The tiredness cleared as she got to her feet and walked up to the ladder. She could hear Giles’ voice. She climbed up without hesitation, almost eager to face him; leaving Spike still asleep on the bed. Giles turned around as she ascended; his eyes sharp as flint.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice booming with quiet rage. “Get dressed.”

“I came here in this,” she replied calmly.

“Why did you come here at all?”

“Because I needed to,” she began to explain.

“Not another word. You are coming with me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, raised her chin a little and said:

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Buffy...”

“I’m staying here. Tell mom I’m really sorry, but this is something I have to do.”

“Spike? Is that what you have to do?”

“What’s it to you?” the vampire’s voice rang out right before he emerged up the ladder as well, stopping a few feet behind the Slayer.

Giles directed his gaze on the being, but Spike didn’t so much as blink.

“You’re not seriously telling me that she is welcome to stay here, with you?” the Watcher asked and Spike had trouble holding back the satisfaction in his expression as he replied:

“’S long as she keeps outta my way.”

“This is a ten-by-ten tomb, how the bugger’s that even supposed to be possible!” Giles exploded, then he drew a breath and steadied himself, focusing back on his protégé. “Stop this nonsense,” he pleaded. “You’re not yourself. It’s only a matter of time before you will be. Do not complicate matters by acting so out of character! You would never...”

“I am going to ask you, very politely, to get out,” Buffy stopped him. “Right now you’re not welcome here.”

“As if he ever was,” Spike huffed and Giles stared from one to the other, looking completely disbelieving.

“You will regret this,” he then said to Buffy, though it wasn’t a threat, more of a sad truth.

Then he turned and left.

Spike couldn’t grasp it. He felt like jumping up and down with pure glee. This was too good to be true. He wanted to throw her up in the air and dance around with her in his arms. Had she any idea how good he felt in this moment? She had just done what he had wanted to do for... ever!

She turned to him and he didn’t even try to hide the grin plastered all over his face. At the sight of it she laughed. He couldn’t help it. He joined her.

The Cat’s Meow

Buffy nibbled on the chicken wing she had just devoured. Spike was suckling contentedly on one too. She watched him for a moment, then wondered:

“What’s the best part about being you?”

He cocked an eyebrow, finishing the wing and tossing it back in the bucket it had come in before rolling over on his back on the bed.

“Freedom, baby,” he answered simply. “Or at least it was... ‘til the bleeding government got a say in it.”

“Right... The chip. How weird. And how cruel.”

Now he met her gaze.

“Just what I think,” he nodded, and the sincerity in his voice had her smile, putting her wing down as well.

“I mean, can they do that? Really? ‘Cause that should be violating an amendment or two, just sticking something in your brain that completely holds you back from being... who you are.”

“Ah, but see, in this context it’s what I am, not who; and unfortunately the amendments only work for the human race. If you’re a demon you pretty much have to fend for yourself.”

“Terribly unfair.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he smiled and she giggled, grabbing the bucket and getting it out of the way before she placed herself next to him. “I think if they’re so bloody aware of us they could very well find a way to include us in their petty regulations.”

“From what I gather you’re not very fond of abiding by the rules,” she pointed out.

“As aren’t a lot of humans, but you don’t see them walking around getting electrocuted in the noggin’ simply ‘cause they wish to kill something.”

She was silent for a while and then she asked:

“Is it really like that? A need to... kill? Just haphazard mayhem?”

He thought it over.

“No... Not haphazard. But sometimes you need to blow off some steam. I bet you know all about that.”

“I bet I would,” she mumbled and he glanced at her.

It was nearing seven o’clock and he had woken up to the smell of the chicken she had gone and bought. She was still wearing her pajamas, but her hair was brought into a high ponytail. Still, the thought of her walking to the local KFC and buying the food was something that kept bringing a slight curve to his lips. He had to admit that after the stunt she had pulled with the old poof, he sort of had come to terms with having her there.

“So, if the freedom’s taken away... there’s nothing good about being you?” she was asking.

“I’ve got strength, speed, hearing, sight...”

“Yeah, I have those too,” she said matter-of-factly, which suddenly irked him something incredible. “And then there’s the pesky business of sucking blood, which I’m happy to do without.”

He didn’t reply to that and so she let the comment hang in the air. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and she recalled that he couldn’t feed anymore. So, he missed it then. She had a slight shudder run through her and sat up, putting her arms around her before looking down at the pajamas.

“God, I wish I had a change of clothes,” she sighed.

He looked at her back and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Done,” he stated and in the next blink he was gone.

She stared at the spot he had been in and slowly got to her feet. She wished she knew what other tricks he could do. She went up and got some matches, having almost finished with lighting the downstairs when he returned, plastic bag in hand.

“What’s that?” she asked and he dumped the contents out.

She gave a slight squeal of delight at the sight of the jeans and sweaters he had gotten for her. She grabbed them and clutched them tight to her chest before she wrapped her free arm around his neck and gave him a hard hug.

“You are a god, answering a girl’s prayers! Thank you!” she exclaimed.

When she pulled back she began fussing with the clothes and didn’t notice the way he was watching her, taking a few steps away from her. He wanted to know exactly why she was there, that was all he wanted. And exactly why he had let her stay. There was something in the curve of her shoulder. Something in the softness of her blonde locks. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

So he looked away, cursed himself and went back up to the ladder.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’ll let you change,” he muttered, climbing upward and away.

She put the jeans on, noting that they were hers and wondering how he’d been able to get into the house undetected. Had he used speed or strength? Had he gone through her window or the front door? She thought of his cockiness and settled on the latter option. She brought a black sweater over her head and let her hair out, combing her fingers through it before she walked up to the ladder, climbing it easily and stepping up and into the crypt.

He wasn’t there and she furrowed her brow.

“Spike?” she tried, but he was gone.

“This can’t be happening,” Joyce was saying. “She can’t stay there! She’s a minor! She can’t just up and leave! I’m calling the police.”

“And what are you going to tell them?” Giles asked. “My daughter only looks nineteen; she’s fifteen in spirit and staying at a crypt with a vampire?”

“No. I’ll leave out the spirit and vampire part. He’s poisoning her!”

“I’m afraid,” Giles murmured, “it’s not all his fault this time. Buffy is strong-willed, you and I both know that, Joyce. This wasn’t his influence, it was her choice. Now we can only pray that the outcome won’t be too disastrous.”

“I don’t want to hear it! We are getting her out of there...!”

“How?” Giles stopped her softly. “Those two together? We’d need a small army. They’re too strong. I’m sorry. We’ll have to wait until she comes home.”

Joyce sunk down on the couch of the Summers home, her hands in tight fists on her lap. She seemed to forget just who her daughter was as of late. And she realized that it was true – she couldn’t make her daughter do anything she didn’t want to do.

Please, Buffy, she thought. Please, come to your senses!

“Please, Buford!” the lady on the screen called after the man, who was walking away from her with determined steps. “Please, come to your senses! Come back to me! Buford! Buford!”

Buffy yawned, shifting on the armchair and wondering if she should head downstairs. It was close to two o’clock and still no sign of Spike. She was bored, the black-and-whites she had been watching didn’t do it for her and she had been sleeping restlessly on and off for the past hour. Now she stretched and when she turned her head she drew in a startled breath as her gaze met two blue eyes, watching her. She glared at him, suddenly irritated.

“Where ‘ve you been?” she asked, rising and turning the TV off.

“Why, you didn’t wait up for me... did you?” he asked, a teasing sparkle in his gaze.

She kept her eyes in his and then she huffed, walking passed him on her way to the ladder.

“Fine,” she said. “Be that way. I could’ve come with you, you know?”

“And what?” he asked, humor in his voice. “Watched me play poker? Done a little dancing, a little drinking? ‘S not your scene, love.”

“Don’t talk to me like you know me,” she fired off, stopping and turning back to him. “And don’t call me ‘love’.”

He raised his eyebrows, getting to his feet.

“You upset, love?”

“Why would I be? Just ‘cause you see it fit to abandon me here all night...”

“Abandon?” he laughed. “Come on. You could’ve gone out by yourself. You’re so good at taking care of yourself, remember? You weren’t scared, were you?”

“Do you want me to hit you? ‘Cause I’ll do it!” she warned and his smile merely widened.

“So do it,” he urged, holding his arms out to the sides.

“Tomorrow night – I’m coming with you,” she said, turning and disappearing down to the bedroom.

He didn’t move for a while, unsure of what he should do. A small noise in his coat pocket made him frown and then he remembered he had kept some of his winnings for later. He put his hand in and brought out the small kitten by the neck. It kicked furiously for something to grab onto and he vamped out.

“Sorry, mate,” he muttered. “Cat’s gotta meow, vamps gotta...”

“What’s that noise?” Buffy’s voice asked and she poked her head up, her face going blank at the sight of him and in the next instant she had the kitten safe in her arms and a look of death on the creature before her.

“Bugger,” he grumbled.

“You were going to eat her, weren’t you?” Buffy asked, appalled. “What? Feel like a late night snack? Are you crazy? You can’t go around snacking on innocent little animals! I suppose you eat puppies too?”

“Not really too fond of them,” he shook his head. “Their blood’s sticky, doesn’t flow well.” He met her gaze, then sighed. “Give it ‘ere. ‘S my kitty and I can do with her as I please.”

“You are not going to eat this cat!” she exclaimed and with another glare she headed back downstairs, kitten still in a firm grip.

He followed.

She walked up to the bed, cuddling the kitten lovingly and carefully placing it on the bed. Once that was done she twirled back to face him.

“You know, you can’t always get what you want!”

“Stones. Yeah, gotta love ‘em.”

“What are you talking about? Never mind. That living, breathing thing over there that you were about to sink your big, ugly fangs into actually has feelings! It probably smelled the vamp stench all over you and almost had a heart attack! You know, you can’t just walk around telling yourself you’re as bad as they come! Like it or not, I see right through that! And you can’t go around thinking you’re bigger than life simply ‘cause you’re dead!”

He looked at her through the entire outburst, his expression not changing. When he spoke his voice was controlled, but laced with agitation.

“You can’t barge in here telling me what not to do. I am not about to rearrange anything simply ‘cause it happens to stroke you the wrong way! If that’s a problem for you then you can run back to mommy dearest. Now, that’s my kitten. I won it almost fair and square and I’ll be buggered if I’ll hand it over to you without a fight. Give it here!”

She didn’t think she’d ever been so mad at anyone. She marched up to the bed, picked the kitten up and brought it over to him.

“Look at her,” she said. “Just take one second to look her in the eye and you’ll get what I’m talking about. She doesn’t deserve to die like that. No one does.”

He clenched his jaws together as the Slayer put the kitten in his hands before turning around and proceeding back up to the bed, onto which she crawled. He glared at her, irritated enough to want to wring her neck. He moved his hands up, parting his lips, about to bite the thing when it meowed meekly. He squinted at it, its gaze suddenly in his. He felt a twitch near his heart, not for the animal, but for himself. He had just now thought he had successfully blocked the Slayer’s words out, and here he was adhering to every one of them.

He growled, dropping the kitten to the floor unceremoniously and clamping up to the bed. Getting the duster off with irate movements he then lay down. He could feel her turn her head to look at him, but he ignored her. She got off the bed again and he heard her speak softly to the kitten.

“You bring that thing in ‘ere and you’re both sleeping upstairs,” he warned.

Buffy didn’t bother taking him seriously. She lay back down, keeping herself between him and the tiny cat. She smiled at it, gently stroking its little head, and soon it was nestled against her armpit, sleeping soundly.

“Wish you wouldn’t try so hard,” she murmured and just as she had given up hope for a response from him, it came.

“With what?”

“Being something you’re not.”

“I’m starting to think this whole amnesia gig is some means of getting me housebroken, pet,” he grunted. “We are who we are – nothing more and nothing less,” he added. “Why’d you think you were able to kill that vamp? ‘Cause it’s in you. Slaying is inside you.”

“And I suppose kitten killing is in you?” she scoffed. “The eating of the innocents; that’s your nature, right? Well, according to Giles sleeping beside you is something I’d never do. I guess we all can find ways to go around our own boundaries... if we want to.”

He paused, and then turned his head to look at her.

“And why would you want to, Slayer?” he mumbled, her gaze meeting his fleetingly before she glanced away again.

“I already told you that,” she answered.

“Right,” he said, voice still lowered and eyes still on her. “Well, live food in the bed makes me itchy.”

He rose and she blinked, wanting to sit up, but the sleeping kitten prevented that.

“You leaving again?” she asked.

“I know, midst all the bonding,” he sighed mournfully as he pulled the duster on again.

“I just...”

She trailed off and he stopped his movements long enough to take her in, then he smirked.

“You have Kitty there to keep you company. Night’s still young; I’ll see you at dawn.”

“Where do you go?”

“Why? Gonna come find me?”

“Spike.”

“Willy’s,” he replied simply. “Keep an eye over your shoulder if you go there, and bring Kitty along. She might come in handy if I’m losing.”

She wanted to throw a pillow at him, but kept the urge down and simply glared at him as he left.

Why do you care? she muttered in her head. Time to get practical, Buffy. Time to move on from slight obsession of the evil undead and find someone a bit healthier to live with. Time to... go home?

No, she insisted to herself. Not yet. Just not quite yet.

She scratched Kitty behind one ear and soon there was a contented purring coming from the small ball of fur.

The sky was nearly light when he came back to the crypt. He shut the door tight and turned around, struggling to keep the room from spinning. He had finally reached some sort of buzz, tequila was good that way, but he didn’t want to fall down the ladder. He had done that enough times, woken up in odd positions on the hard floor beneath and walking around the next night stiff as a board. He descended clumsily, but with great care, and soon stood on both feet on the floor below.

He gave a nod of accomplishment and proceeded with walking further into the bedroom.

However, he felt as though he was quickly sobering up at the sight which met him.

Buffy was standing on her head, her feet in the air and her arms folded at the elbow at either side of her head, her body perfectly straight. Her balance was absolute and her back was to him, showing off a pair of flawlessly shaped, tanned legs ending in an ass that made his mouth water. He nearly slapped himself, but decided against it and merely cleared his throat.

No reaction from her.

She was wearing a tank top and tight little boxer shorts; something he thought was pretty unfair. What had happened to the covering clothes he’d brought?

He looked away from her and into the wall, suppressing every predatory as well as male instinct to pounce on her. He was shocked at himself and blamed it all on the alcohol. From this moment on he wouldn’t touch it, come the end of the sodding world he wouldn’t touch it for the life of him. He’d keep a clear mind through anything, especially this ordeal. Once the Slayer was the Slayer and out of his closer vicinity, then... maybe... he’d allow himself a sip of something not too strong.

He heard her move and when he glanced at her she was on all fours, stretching one leg back.

His mouth fell open and he let out a low-throated growl at himself before looking away again.

“Hi, Kitty,” she said and he noticed the kitten moving by the foot of the bed. “Don’t mind him,” Buffy added, and he had to turn around with a scowl.

She had just stood and now straightened her back, reaching her arms over her head before relaxing with an exhale.

“Good morning,” she greeted.

“Up a little early, aren’t we?”

“I rise with the sun,” she smiled sweetly, scooping the miniature cat up and walking up to the bed, beginning to pull on her jeans.

“Leaving?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

“Wasn’t worried,” he muttered, slipping the duster off.

“You stink of tequila,” she pointed out as she passed him on her way to the ladder, Kitty with her.

“Just trying to drown out that vamp stench,” he shot and she smiled broadly.

“Hit a spot with that one, huh?” she asked and he shook his head as he splayed himself on the bed. “Sweet dreams,” she said as she started climbing.

She walked briskly. The morning air was crisp and cool and within moments she felt more aware of the world surrounding her than she thought she had for some time. The way her feet hit the pavement in perfect rhythm, the way Kitty was squirming against her chest, the way everything seemed on the verge of waking. The Slayer smiled to herself.

She was amazed she had been able to hold the position she’d just been in for so long without toppling over. She was amazed that she had actually succeeded in leaving the room right when he finally saw fit to show up. She was thrilled how she’d taken back a little bit of the control she’d felt slipping out of her grip.

It took her a while, but finally she arrived at campus. She searched for her dorm and of course it was locked. Luckily an early bird jogger let her in as he entered, even holding the door open for her. Security sure was tight at this place. She walked up the stairs to her floor and quietly made her way down the corridor. Reaching her room she tried the knob and was happy to find the door open. She peaked inside, but the room was empty.

She furrowed her brow at the untouched bed of Willow’s, and then shrugged; putting Kitty down on the floor she walked up to her closet, finding what she was searching for in the form of a backpack she began to stow some of her clothes in. She walked around the room, touching her things and grabbing a few items she thought might come in handy. Then she retrieved a towel, shampoo, conditioner, soap, and headed for the showers.

She let the water work as therapy, cleansing her mind as well as her body. She had so far been following her intuition, and it seemed to have worked in her favor since she was still standing. She did wish that she had someone to talk to, though. Just someone to vent to. Barking at Spike for behaving like a totally self-centered, annoying jerk didn’t really count.

She turned off the shower; drying off and getting dressed before heading back to the room. Just as she opened the door she caught the sound of Willow’s voice, but it was too late.

“Aren’t you the cutest?” the Wicca was cooing, looking up as Buffy entered with a trying smile on.

“Hi,” the blonde greeted and Willow raised her eyebrows. “Look, I’ve said I’m sorry a billion times and it doesn’t seem to cut it so what do you want me to say!”

“Nothing.”

“I can explain...”

“Don’t wanna hear it. Buffy, I know you. I know that you wouldn’t do something like this if you didn’t have a reason. I know that somewhere somehow this all makes perfect sense. You hanging out with Spike – whom you loathe and distrust more than anyone you’ve ever met. You distressing your mom to the point of her calling the police, worrying her for... what reason was it again? Oh, no, don’t tell me; again something that has to do with Spike. What is it with this...vamp? Has he gotten you to believe that he doesn’t want you dead? Because ever since he first set foot in this town, all he’s done has been to try and get you killed one way or another. But then, I told you this already!”

“Yeah, you did,” Buffy nodded, still tentative. “And he agreed to everything you said.”

“I see. And this... is a good thing?”

“At least he’s not a liar.”

“At least he’s not a liar!” Willow exploded, making Kitty, who had settled comfortably by the Wicca on the latter’s bed, jump with fright. “If I could I’d ram your head through that wall right about now! That might make you get it! Or at least knock you out long enough for me to figure out how to get through to you! I don’t know what’s wrong with you, I don’t know what happened to you, and I can’t seem to find a way to get you back to normal; but I’m telling you, this isn’t you!”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t!”

“Yes, it is! You just didn’t know me when I was this me! I’ve seen things that I can barely understand over the past week. I’ve seen stuff I only thought was reserved for specific nightmares had by specific people! I’ve learned things about myself I had no idea was even possible! And I understand that Spike and I have history, a heavy one, that I know virtually squat about. But, you know what? I don’t care about that. When you look at him you see a monster. I get that. He was about to eat that adorable thing over there right before I stopped him. He’s insane! Egotistical. And what’s with the hair? But... I know that’s not all of him. He’s an iceberg, okay? He only shows the tip. He’s so angry, Willow. And sad. And misplaced, somehow. And lonely.”

Willow merely stared at her, too shocked to say anything.

“Look, this is Kitty,” Buffy continued after a few moments silence. “She can’t stay with me because... well, it might be hazardous to her health. Could you keep her here for a while, you think?” Willow looked over at the kitten and finally smiled, nodding. “Great. And don’t worry about me. I’ve got it all under control!” the Slayer assured, grabbing the backpack and a brush before heading out the door.

For A Dead Guy You Look Totally Alive

“I’m worried about Buffy,” Willow stated five hours later.

She, Xander and Giles had gathered in Xander’s basement for an emergency meeting.

“Specifics?” Xander asked.

“She’s lost it!” Willow replied.

“It is a bit disturbing, isn’t it?” Xander agreed.

“There is nothing we can do,” Giles muttered.

“She doesn’t understand, Giles. She doesn’t know Spike. She doesn’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Except she does,” Giles remarked. “She trusts you, obviously, why else would she have told you so much of how she feels? And you have hammered it into her over and over exactly who she’s dealing with. Trust me, Willow, she does know. I just wish she could admit it!”

“She’s retracted into some naïve state of denial, that’s true. But what would the reason be, other than...” Willow trailed off, exchanging a look with Giles and then shaking her head. “No. No, that would be way too repulsive.”

“What?” Xander asked.

Willow merely gave him a glance and then said:

“What about the other problem?”

“The big, bad problem?” Xander asked in Giles’ stead and Willow nodded with a subtle smile.

“Well, as of now there has been no stagger of activity. Hopefully Adam will keep to himself for a week or two, give us some time to regroup,” Giles said.

“Regroup? I think that’s a slight understatement,” Xander remarked.

“Research, perhaps?” Willow offered.

“Well, wouldn’t that make you happy?” Xander said.

“Not really, under these circumstances,” she defended. “I don’t even know where to start. And if I did, I already started there about three times. Giles, I don’t know what other books I can look through.”

“It is starting to look rather dark,” he agreed, both youngsters adopting abhorred expressions.

“Don’t say that!” Xander exclaimed.

“Yeah! You’re positivist guy! You’re the one who has that bright idea just when we think it’s starting to look dark!” Willow filled in.

“That’s right. Shine on!” Xander nodded.

Giles looked at them, and then removed his glasses, polishing them in silence.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Buffy was carefully entering the kitchen of the Revello Drive home. She closed the door behind her and paused before finally making herself walk forward. She was just about to proceed into the living room when there were steps down the stairs and soon Joyce’s arms were around her daughter.

“Oh, thank God!”

Buffy hugged her back, but couldn’t do so with as much feeling and soon Joyce picked up on it, letting the other go and pulling away, her gaze growing questioning as she looked at Buffy. The latter put on an as apologetic expression as she could, and Joyce took a step back.

“You’re not coming home, are you?” she asked and Buffy shook her head slowly.

“I will. But not yet,” she said. “I love you, mom.”

Turning from Joyce’s stunned face and walking back outside was one of the hardest things Buffy had ever done, but she did it, and well out in the sunshine she brought out the newly bought pack of pink bubblegum and popped a piece in her mouth as she headed for her first goal of the morning.

Four hours later she jumped off the truck holding the furniture she had picked out. The guy behind the wheel got out, still curious about the spot she had chosen to unload. He helped her bring the loveseat, the coffee table and the divan to the ground and she smiled, thanking him.

“Do you need help bringing it in?” he asked, glancing tentatively at the crypt behind her.

“No, thanks,” she replied. “I can pretty much take it from here.”

She waved good-bye and he drove off still wearing a wondering frown. Once the truck was out of sight she pushed the door of the crypt open and grabbed one end of the loveseat, beginning to haul it inside. She dragged it through the door, left it there and went to retrieve the rest of the stuff. Last she grabbed the five or so bags that were left and finally shut the door behind her. She sunk down on the divan and tried to get her head straight.

“Where to begin...” she mumbled.

The divan was dressed in soft, dark green velvet. The loveseat was in dark blue fabric and the coffee table was made out of almost black wood. They were all used, of course, and she’d gotten them for a bargain; but something told her he’d like them. She decided to put the loveseat and coffee table in front of the TV and move the armchair to the side. Then she went to work with what was inside the bags.

The first held three heavy candelabras, which she placed strategically around the room so they’d spread equal amount of light in it. The second held a myriad of different sized candles; and these she placed not only in the candelabras, but also on the vacant spots of the deep niches holding the windows. The third held a few new blankets as well as a set of fresh sheets – she had noticed he might need them. She left the two last ones on the loveseat and began to drag the divan over to the place of the ladder.

She shifted it carefully down, her strength coming in very handy when struggling not the break the heavy thing, and once it was down she climbed after. It was standing on end and she brought it onto its legs, pushing it further into the room. She found a good spot for it and turned her head to look at the still soundly asleep Spike.

She cocked an eyebrow and then approached him, blowing a bubble with her gum and letting it pop as noisily as it possibly could.

It was a no-go.

She smirked, having a seat on the edge of the bed and observing him where he lay. She bit her lower lip as a thought occurred. She waited for a few more moments, to make sure there was no reaction from him, and when she felt convinced there wouldn’t be she reached out a hand and tugged at the sheet covering one shoulder and most of his torso. She moved it carefully down, her eyes widening a little as his bare chest came into view.

She smiled crookedly, letting the sheet come to rest by his hips as she simply didn’t dare to take it further than that. She was flushing without really noticing it, and her heart beat was elevating. Her hands were growing clammy.

She swallowed, then moved one arm forward and let her hand place itself right beneath one of his collar bones. Her heart was beating even harder as she gently slipped her fingers over the taut muscles of his chest; moving down to his stomach she was nearly trembling with both the act of doing something so intimate and something that felt absolutely forbidden.

All of a sudden he eased his eyes open.

She was on her feet so fast she almost lost her balance, backing away from the bed making stuttering noises that were supposed to resemble speech, but did a poor job at it. Her head was reeling from trying to think of a good enough excuse for her to even be down there.

“I was moving some stuff into... here, and I’m... I’m sorry I woke you and... and... sorry,” she finally got out, smiling at her idiocy and already backing toward the ladder.

He had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching her departure part quizzical, part bothered and part humorous. As she finally reached her escape route she climbed it quickly and stood in the crypt on shaky knees, clamping her hands before her face, not knowing whether she should laugh or cry.

Spike blinked, still not all convinced that it had actually been her hand he’d felt touching him. He found it more probable that he’d been dreaming. Not about her, of course, but of... someone. She wouldn’t have been...

His eyes landed on the new piece of furniture and both eyebrows rose. He got up and pulled on a pair of jeans before heading for the ladder.

Buffy was sitting on the loveseat, rummaging through bags four and five, as he reached the crypt. She kept her gaze down and away from him, seemingly completely immersed in whatever it was she was doing. He looked at what she was seated on, and then at the table.

“What’re those?” he finally asked and she brought a hand out of one of the bags, holding up a folded sweater.

“Clothes,” she said. “Some color won’t stake ya,” she added with a fake-coy smile and her eyes met his for a few seconds, her posture stiffening as well as the smile before she looked away again.

He studied her profile, and he got hit with the truth that it hadn’t been a dream. She had been... He was no fool; he’d noticed the signals she’d been sending out. Hell, ever since their first encounter she’d looked at him in a certain way. But this? He’d thought it was a simple attraction, something about him that mystified and made that brain of hers work overtime to try and solve him. A curiosity, just like she’d said. Since nothing else that was supposed to fit, did – she clung to the one thing that wasn’t supposed to, and made it.

And then again with the “but this?”

She was placing sweaters and shirts on the back of the loveseat.

He couldn’t think.

“What’re you doing?” he got out, a sudden anger irrepressibly growing within him.

“I’m unpacking the...” she began, but he was by her and tearing her to her feet before she could finish.

“Get out,” he said and she stared at him in surprise.

“You said that I could...”

“Bloody well leave!” he burst, turning her around and shoving her to the door. “Go on. Go!”

She spun around, putting her hands against his chest and pushing him off her with a glare of fury.

“What’s your problem!” she exclaimed. “You said I could try and make this place into a... place! You said as long as I kept away from anything pastel-ish! Do you see any pastel in here! You said I could stay as long as I kept out of your way!”

At that she grew silent, her words catching up with her and he nodded a little.

“So don’t wake me up in the middle of the afternoon,” he emphasized.

“Hey, I was in here for half an hour shuffling furniture around, I even brought that piece downstairs and you didn’t move a muscle! How the hell was I supposed to know you’d wake up just ‘cause I sat down next to you?”

“That’s not all you did.”

“Well... I said I was sorry! Why are you freaking out on me?”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and so he kept quiet, his hands in fists.

She wore a frown, but it soon smoothed and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I know I shouldn’t have done... what I did,” she said, forcing her gaze not to drift down to his still bare chest, ignoring the slight unfamiliar suction she felt in her stomach at the memory of how his skin had felt underneath her hand. “I dunno why I even did it! I guess, maybe, it was ‘cause I’ve never seen any living dead asleep before.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Without clothes on,” she admitted. “I was curious!” she defended at his other raised eyebrow.

“Seems to be a lot of that lately,” he remarked.

She tried a smile and he rolled his eyes at her, which made the smile widen. Glancing at his torso and then back into his gaze she said:

“I was a little surprised... Not that I didn’t expect... Not that I’d thought about it... Oh, boy.” He furrowed his brow, small smirk on as he observed her interestedly. She blushed. “It’s just you look so... healthy. I mean, for a dead guy you look totally... alive.”

He contemplated that, still smiling slightly, and then reached out a hand to take hold of her wrist, bringing her palm up to the place of his still heart.

“Don’t feel alive, though, do I?” he murmured.

She stared at him, caught completely in his eyes, and then she smiled in return before pulling her hand out of his grasp. She took a step backward and turned, walking back to the project she had been in the middle of. She began putting the sweaters into a pile and he came up to her, looking at what she had chosen for him.

“Buffy,” he said, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

“I thought you might like red,” she said. “And blue goes well with your eyes, so...”

“Buffy, what are you doing here. Really?”

She met his gaze at that, a smile soon spreading over her lips. He couldn’t interpret it, and he couldn’t return it, it unsettled him too much.

“I’m going back to bed, stay away from there ‘til I’m bleeding well awake again,” he warned and she gave a nod; observing him as he walked up to the ladder and descended.

Once he was out of sight she leaned against the piece of furniture before her and drew a slow breath. She wished she didn’t have to be such a jabbering ditz whenever he was near her. She wished she knew exactly what to say and exactly what to do in the exact moment it needed to be said and done for him to look at her and... see her.

He didn’t see her.

She sighed, looking at the sweaters and shirts and feeling young and silly. What had she thought? That the road to a vampire’s heart lay through cotton?

What’s the use...? she wondered. Soon I’ll be outta here anyway. Back with Andy, and what exciting things will ever happen to me then? I’ll forget all about this. Won’t I?

Spike woke with a start; sure that it had been from a nightmare but unable to remember it. He got off the bed groggily, wiping sleep out of his eyes and stretching as he walked up to the ladder. A spot of blood and then he’d head out. He climbed up and was met by candle light. He wondered what time it was. Seven, maybe. He had to admire the candelabras. They reminded him of an epoch of his life long since passed, when the women had been dressed in gowns and the men had been true gents.

He looked around the crypt, seeing no sign of her but for the TV being on.

Walking up to the loveseat he stopped behind its back and looked down at her, sleeping with one of the new blankets spread over her.

He tilted his head a little to one side as he watched her. Slowly he walked around to be able to see her face better, squatting down beside her.

She’s a child, he thought to himself. But that fire she has... it’s there, even now. Even at this young.

He watched her for a little while longer, then reached out a hand and shook her hard.

She sat up with a yell and he straightened into a standing position.

“Said you wanted to come,” he merely stated at her disoriented expression and she frowned, an incensed pout appearing on her mouth.

“Guess we’re even,” she muttered and he smirked at that.

Going into the imitation-of-a-kitchen part of the crypt he brought out a fresh bag of blood and tore it open, drinking greedily. Still seated, Buffy observed him with her frown deepening. Then she shuddered, making a disgusted noise as she stood.

“I can’t see how you can do that,” she said, grabbing her backpack and beginning to bring clothes out of it.

“I just showed you,” he shot and she gave him a look.

“It’s so gross! That has to be the worst part about being a vampire. Speaking of – how can you choose to become a vampire when you know that you’ll have to suck the living dry to stay on your feet? Personally it would take a lot for me to even consider it, and in the end I don’t think I’d go through with it. Immortality and all that... sounds like it might get boring in the end.”

“In the end is when it starts to get the most intriguing,” he assured.

She smiled.

“You wanna see what happens? That why you became a vamp? Embraced the forever? Jumped into the clutches of undeath and no-liveliness?”

“Hey, there’s plenty of liveliness left in these bones, don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

“You’ll get a chance to prove it tonight.”

He smirked once more, throwing the bag away and walking up to the ladder.

“So, what’s this place like?” she called after him.

“Classy crowd. Good beer. You’ll like it,” he called back.

“Anything like the Bronze?”

There was a moment of silence, and then he replied:

“It is what you make it, pet.”

“Just figuring what I should wear.”

Another silence, then:

“Something small and black.”

She gave the ladder a glance, her eyebrows rising slightly, then she shrugged and thought she just might take his advice... Or should that be request?

“Are you telling, or asking?” she called down, but this time there was no answer.

She raised one shoulder in a shrug and decided on a killer black dress she had dug out from some forgotten corner of the closet in her dorm room. She changed, beginning to brush her hair as he ascended again, now wearing not only a black T, but also his duster. She smiled at him, holding up one hand and spreading her fingers as she said:

“Five minutes.”

He didn’t look as though he believed her, but she ignored it and kept brushing, starting the search for the shoes she knew would go perfectly with the outfit.

Spike eyed her from across the room. How she moved, how the low-cut dress exposed her back – showing off just how gently it bent as she leaned forward to pick something up from the floor, how her locks easily swept themselves behind her shoulders as she straightened her posture. He realized his mouth had fallen agape and he closed it with a snap, forcing himself to look away from her.

“I’ll... wait outside,” he grumbled, stalking up to the door and nearly tearing it off its hinges before stepping into the chilled evening air.

Half an hour later she finally saw fit to join him, wearing a black thigh-length coat and black shoes.

He began to walk as she closed the door, flicking away the cigarette he’d been smoking.

“Aren’t you gonna lock up?” she inquired.

He merely glanced over his shoulder and she looked skyward, shaking her head at herself before she followed, catching up with him. He turned his head to her, looking her over and she raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“What?” she asked.

“Did it really have to take all that time to...? Yeah, exactly what did you do?”

She stopped, hands on hips.

“Hair, make-up, moisturizing – it takes a surprising amount of effort to look this effortless!” she argued and he faced her, once again looking her over.

“Honey, all you needed was the dress,” he shot, beginning to walk again and she narrowed her eyes.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” she asked and the swagger in his step seemed to falter slightly, but then he merely signaled for her to come along.

She did, again walking beside him, though this time she was smiling.

“Stop,” he muttered and she wanted to kill it off, but couldn’t.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s just... the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!” she added with a quick hug to the arm of his which was closest to her.

“No really – stop,” he protested.

“Oh, lighten up!” she laughed.

They walked on in silence, her smile remaining. Him wanting to feel more uncomfortable in the situation, and failing. Finally they reached the bar and he could breathe a fictional sigh of relief. At least now he’d be surrounded by his own, in a space he knew. Having the upper hand completely. Finally.

He held the door open for her without thinking, but she didn’t seem to think any more of it either, simply giving him a smile as she passed inside. He grumbled to himself as he followed her.

She looked around the room, dimly lit and occupied by creatures she could scarcely fathom were real. She kept her cool, heading for the bar as she slipped her coat off her shoulders. Pretty much every single pair of eyes was now being directed at her and she jumped up on a stool just as Spike joined at her side.

“Should you be in here?” Willy asked the vampire.

“Bygones,” Spike smirked, remembering exactly why he appreciated his designated company for the evening, turning his head to Buffy. “What’ll you have, darling? Anything you want, ‘s on me.”

“Sweet! I’ll have a daiquiri,” she told Willy.

“I’ll have the usual,” Spike stated and was soon served a glass of blood.

Buffy curled her lip in dislike.

“Oh, lighten up,” he smiled, taking the glass and walking up to an empty booth.

She mirrored his smile, bringing her drink and getting off the stool to follow him.

“Slayer,” a voice said behind her and she turned to face a large demon sporting horns and fangs galore.

“Oh, ew,” she said, then smiled brightly. “Sorry about the last part... I think. And... yes?”

The demon furrowed the part of its brow that it could furrow and then said:

“Shouldn’t you be running with your own crowd?”

“Firstly – it’s none of your business. Secondly – can’t run in these heels.”

She proceeded up to Spike and sat down, taking a mouthful of her drink and meeting his gaze.

“What the sod am I doing with you?” he murmured and she smiled brightly.

“We’ll see,” she answered.

Lie to Her

“So tell me,” she said as Spike ordered in his second beer and she got her third drink, this one being nameless and carrying a distant scent of tropical fruit.

“Gonna need specifics,” he replied, bringing out a fag and lighting it.

“Where were you born?”

“England, pet, thought the accent gave that away.”

“Oh, I see, you need those sorts of specifics. The I’m-too-dumb-to-answer-simple-questions-so-ask-me-even-simpler-ones. Fine, then; where in England – what city or town or province or whatever the hell you have over there?”

“Whatever the hell? You want me to answer your questions, don’t mock my home country.”

“Proud to be a Brit, then?”

“Bloody right I am.”

“Miss it? Your home country, as you so elegantly put it.”

“Reckon I do, sometimes.”

“So, what’re you doing here?”

He leaned back, resting his head against the hard wood of the booth wall behind him and then he shrugged, flicking some ashes from the cigarette.

“Guess I would’ve gone by now, if I hadn’t been chipped.”

She had to smile at the phrasing and he smirked, though it carried a touch of melancholy.

“Is that all that’s keeping you here? I mean, Riley and I seem to be pretty tight.” Spike stared at her as she continued: “Maybe I could talk to him for you. You know, see if he...”

“You’d do that, wouldn’t you?” he interrupted softly, his gaze warming so suddenly it made her need to take a breath.

“I would,” she then assured. “But...”

She trailed off, self-conscious.

“What?”

“Well, then you’d... leave. Right?” He nodded slowly. “Don’t know if this place would be the same without you.”

He smiled, killing what was left of his smoke and leaning forward.

“True,” he agreed, a smile spreading over her lips as well.

“And what if I’m stuck here forever and... no good nemesis’s ever comes along again? Then I’d have to grieve over ever helping you go away and there would be weeping and wallowing and destructive behavior and an all around bad. Not too sure I’d want that.”

“No,” he said silently, “wouldn’t want that.”

She felt naked under his studying gaze and looked at the glass before her, containing her present drink. The liquid was tainted yellow with lime green at the bottom. It looked quite tasty and when she took a sip the pineapple was a welcome distraction from anything not fruity.

“So, where were you born?” she finally picked up the conversation.

“London,” he answered.

“When?”

“October 17th, 1856.” He grew quiet, then said: “Haven’t thought about my birthday for... for a bleeding long time. Wouldn’t have thought I’d even remember it. Funny things: memories.”

“I agree,” she nodded, continuing: “Like, I can’t remember my first day of school except for this one thing; the way the sun fell on my mother’s hair when she took me inside the building and we waited outside the classroom for the bell to ring. I remember I looked at her and I thought she was so beautiful, and how I wanted to go to school and learn all these great things so I could grow up to be just like her.”

He observed her face, how her eyes lit up when she spoke of her mother, and he had the strongest memory of his own mother come into his mind; it make him speak even before he could consider whether he should or not.

“When I was five I sat in our drawing room and painted a picture for my father... Can’t remember what it was, but I do remember that I’d spent all morning on that stupid thing. My mum came in once in a while to check how far along I’d gotten, and she’d say something nice... encouraging. Then she’d smile at me. At tea she brought it in to me and we sat together while the paint dried... waiting for my father. He was late... it had been raining and he was wet... his hair was damp... He took one look at the picture... and asked who the artist was. Said whoever it was should be paid handsomely. That we should frame the picture and hang it over the mantelpiece – which was an honorary spot in our house. My dad died a year later, but in that moment I remember feeling...”

He trailed off, his gaze in hers as he was brought back into the now.

“Feeling?” she asked and he shook his head. “Spike...” He didn’t want to talk about it, though, and since she could so clearly see it she left it at that, instead saying: “When were you...?”

“Turned?” he filled in. “I was... twenty-four. 1880.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “I mean... it’s really real. And you’re... Wow, you’re almost a hundred-and-fifty. Years. Old. I can’t even begin to try to imagine what that’d be like. To live and to see the world change and evolve and... Has it been worth it?”

“Every single second, love.”

“Why were you bitten?”

“Why? Not sure if that’s the right way to ask it, but I’ll humor you this once. Dru found me. Took pity on me. Changed my fate, she did. Delivered me. Saved me.”

Buffy eyed him for a few seconds, then said:

“I don’t believe that. I think that the only one who can really change your fate is you. In the end, it’s your choice, right? Who you are, what you do. You chose to change into a vampire. You chose to leave mortality, and all that came with it, behind.”

“But without her there wouldn’t have been a choice to make.”

“So what happened? My God. She was the one who bit you? In 1880? You were with her for over a century?” She paused, letting it sink in before she finished with: “What could possibly have come between you?”

He shook out another cigarette from their box and flicked on his lighter, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out before answering:

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head with, pet.”

“You must have loved her.”

He stared at the Slayer for a brief moment, his face going from astounded at hearing those words out of her mouth, to serious.

“I did,” he then confirmed. “More than... myself, at times.”

She smiled a crooked smile at that.

“That’s what love is,” she said. “What it’s supposed to be. I bet you Andy wouldn’t do anything for me.”

“Andy?”

“This guy I’ve been... not seeing. Not yet. But trying to see. Was supposed to see, right before I was sent here,” she explained. “Not that I’m complaining,” she added with another smile and he returned it, not entirely sure why.

“Welcome to the dark side,” he then said, holding up his beer bottle.

She raised her glass and clinked it against the bottle’s neck.

“Let’s see if we can brighten it up,” she countered and he smirked.

“I really don’t have anything to say,” she stated, finishing her fifth drink.

An hour had passed, not that they’d taken any notice.

“Come on, you cannot not have a sodding opinion about this,” he pressed. “Lord knows you have one about everything else,” he added under his breath.

“What was that?” she asked, squinting at him and he smiled, swallowing down a mouthful of beer and faking innocence. “I just don’t think that it’s really for me. All that walking and never knowing if you’ll have a place to sleep.”

“You’ve clearly never traveled.”

“Hey!” she pouted. “Just so happens I’ve been to Miami. Twice.”

“Really? Vacation?”

“Family,” she muttered. “On my dad’s side,” she added. “And if you laugh...!”

He wiped the grin off as well as he could.

“What I’m saying,” he then said, “is that backpacking isn’t about the walking or the place you stay, it’s about seeing stuff that’s not in the guidebooks. Going somewhere no one else might ever have been. It’s about discovering, experiencing. Culture and people and a world that isn’t your own. ‘Course, it helps if there isn’t an angry mob on your bloody heel threatening to burn you into a pile of ashes, you get to see more if you don’t have to rush it.”

She gave him a half smile.

“I dunno if I’d like it,” she confessed. “I’m Give-Me-Comfort girl. Don’t really enjoy slumming it.”

“Then why are you staying with me?” he asked and she smiled another bright smile.

“You’re far from slumming it,” she replied, her gaze soft in his and he blinked before looking away, pushing back the very real sense of pleasure traveling up his spine.

Across the room he spotted a familiar face, smiling at the woman just as Buffy’s eyes followed his. She raised her eyebrows, taking in the skin tight leather the woman was wearing, her flow of red locks and the wicked twinkle in her gaze as she rested it in Spike’s. Buffy soon decided she didn’t like the stranger. At all. Thankfully the latter was soon out of sight and didn’t seem to be reappearing.

“So, I take it you’ve traveled?” Buffy asked and had Spike’s eyes in hers again.

“I’ve seen everything I’ve ever wanted to see. Twice.”

“Hah-hah. You know, I’ve been wondering – why did you stick around here after Drusilla left you? I mean, I take it you didn’t have the chip in your head when she broke it off, right?”

“No, I didn’t. But... we weren’t in Sunnydale when Dru left.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Where were you?”

“...Brazil.”

She looked disbelieving.

“You were on the other side of the world? Without a chip?”

“Yup.”

“Without a chip and still you decided to come back here?”

“Yes, without the buggering chip! I heard of this old legend that could help me... That would’ve, if you hadn’t... Bollocks.”

“I’ll go get us a new round of drinks and then you can tell me all about ‘If I hadn’t’,” she said, rising and walking up to the bar.

He ran a hand over his face, massaging the bridge of his nose and wondering where all this truth was spilling from.

Lie to her, dammit, he told himself. Just lie to her.

Two hours later those words still had difficulty sinking in, and since he rarely got drunk on mere beer he couldn’t blame any sort of outside influence. He hated how she kept asking questions he couldn’t resist answering. He hated how he kept asking questions wanting to know her bloody answer. This wasn’t how he had pictured the evening, at all. Where had his upper hand gone? Where had his goddamn self-respect disappeared to?

Now she was giggling at a story she had been telling of Shawna something trying to hook up with Gary something and what a mess their children would be.

“Not that I judge,” she said, still chuckling. “But between her frizz and while we’re on the subject, who does your hair? I mean, doesn’t it hurt bleaching it that white over and over and over... Because it grows, right? And you’re... dark? Ever thought of changing it back?”

“Don’t dis the blondeness, little one,” a female voice said, its owner – the disgusting redhead – soon leaning her upper body against Spike’s arm, one of her hands snaking around his neck, burying her fingers in his short strands. “Makes him stand out in a much too dull crowd.”

He smirked, eyes in Buffy’s until he turned his head to the other and his mouth met hers in a deep kiss. Buffy felt the blood drain from her face, her heart practically stop in her chest and her gaze slowly grow darker. Finally the kiss was ended and the woman smiled at the Slayer before giving Spike a final peck atop his head, then moving off.

Buffy wasn’t completely sober, but the jealousy tearing through her was too poignant to miss.

Spike tilted his head a little to one side, observing the scathing look the youngster was giving the back of the lady moving away. Vampiress, of course. Happy little playmate, whenever he felt the need for one. He hadn’t in a while, but wasn’t about to confess that to the Slayer.

The latter now moved her gaze into his.

She easily read the smugness on him.

Bastard, she thought, knowing she didn’t have the right and still getting madder and madder at him.

She rose, focusing all her energy on keeping herself from swaying, and then she proceeded to the bar. The place had filled quite nicely, she had to be able to find some sort of catch in there. Something to show that vampire that she didn’t need him. That he could walk off with whatever trollop might stick her tongue down his throat if he wanted to.

She slipped herself gracefully up on a stool and slammed her hand onto the counter.

“Cosmopolitan,” she said, Willy raising an eyebrow and then complying.

Buffy scanned the faces closest to her.

“Do seriously no humans come in here?” she asked as Willy handed her the drink.

“They come in and turn right back around,” he winked; then checked himself and moved away from her nervously.

She frowned, about to take a sip when her eyes met the gaze of a young man across the bar. He smiled gently and she returned it. After a few more smiles and a subtle tossing of her hair he was on his way up to her. He was pretty handsome; dark eyes and broad shoulders.

“Hello,” she greeted.

“Why, hello, there,” he said smoothly, leaning against the counter next to her.

“I like your hair,” she said, moving her fingers into his black locks. “Mind if I touch?”

“I’d mind if you didn’t.”

“Oh, cute,” she smiled.

Spike watched the debacle, mildly amused. It was a vampire she was buttering up, did she even realize that? He observed her body language, the approving twinkle in her green eyes and the smile on her mouth and finally came to the conclusion that she didn’t, getting to his feet he was soon at her side.

“Party’s over,” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her off the stool.

“Spike!” she exclaimed. “Let go! ...I’m so sorry,” she added to the dark haired. “He’s in impatience management. Only he’s not managing it very good yet.”

Spike walked them back up to the booth, grabbing her coat and throwing a few dollars on the table before dragging her with him outside. Well there he almost ripped the coat in half putting it on her and then he grabbed her wrist again.

“That’s it!” she yelled, tearing loose. “You really don’t have to do this. I know you don’t really want to. You only don’t want to get staked later. Oh, yeah, I can get smartened up too! It’s not like everything you say just whoosh go right by me! I don’t need you to protect me from the scary, scary vampires. I don’t want you to! Understand? Is it getting through! So go. I’ll stay. Think I’m afraid? Watch me!”

He let her get halfway through the door before he caught her and lifted her into his arms.

“Put me down!” she screamed, kicking her legs.

“You can tantrum all you bloody well want, Slayer,” he said, carrying her down the sidewalk and into the alley behind the bar.

He put her down, leaning her against the wall. She was breathing from fury, glaring up at him.

“I wish I had a stake right now,” she stated and he smirked.

“Do you?” he asked, leaning closer.

“I do,” she murmured, her eyes drifting to his lips and then jerking back up into his again, her annoyance as intact as ever.

“No, you don’t,” he said, voice lowered as he stepped into her, hand sliding to rest on her hip.

She swallowed, the suction occurring in her stomach once more and she frowned lightly, her hands slipping up his arms, her fingers finding their way into his hair as his mouth hovered less than an inch away.

“You’re just jealous,” he mumbled, her fingers becoming fists as she pulled down hard, getting his head away from her. “Ow,” he protested and she let him go. He rubbed his neck, wearing a slight smile. “You good and ready to go?”

She walked passed him, buttoning her coat and shaking her hair to lay behind her shoulders as she continued on her way. He looked at her back, still smiling as he followed.

She didn’t speak two words to him, merely marched on ahead.

“Where are we going?” he called out, but she only walked faster.

They arrived at the cemetery hosting his crypt and he caught up with her.

“Buffy, stop. Buffy!”

She twirled to face him, quizzical and demanding.

“It’s still early,” he said. “If you wanna go back there – do. But I’m not coming.”

“Why are you telling me? Thought it was your style to skulk off into the shadows without so much as a whistle! And if you’re going back to Willy’s I’m not coming, ‘cause... ‘cause I don’t believe in leaving a place and then all of a sudden showing up there again! It isn’t... my style!”

“Why are you so bleeding upset! You’ve had fun tonight, right?”

“Have you?” she bit back, but her eyes told how real that question was and he contemplated it before giving a shrug.

“Wasn’t the worst time of my life,” he muttered and her anger seemed to melt away slightly. “Wasn’t the best either,” he added quickly. “Are you coming or not?”

“Where?”

“The Bronze, I guess.”

“Fine,” she said, beginning to walk again.

He came up beside her and once more silence reigned.

Her mind had cleared slightly of alcohol after their quick promenade, and she kept telling herself that it was a test, he was testing her. And all she really wanted to know was if she was passing, or failing.

Pick a Word

It was Saturday and the Bronze was happening. The dance floor was packed and there wasn’t an available table in the place. Buffy looked around, wondering if she might see Willow. Since there was no obvious sign of the Wicca she followed Spike up to the bar.

“Beer,” he said, turning his head to her.

“Tequila.”

“Slayer...”

“Tequila,” she repeated firmly, seeing a group of people rising from their spot and signing to Spike that she was going for the table.

He gave a nod and she left his side, arriving half a moment before another girl and sinking down on a chair as the other had to head back to her disappointed friends.

“It’s a tough world,” Buffy philosophized to herself, having her drink be put down before her and she smiled her thanks to Spike.

He watched her as she downed the liquor, suckling on the piece of lime that had come with it and looking out over the crowded room.

“Where’d you get the money?” he asked and her eyebrows rose. “For the furniture,” he elaborated.

“College fund,” she replied and his eyes grew wide. She had to laugh. “Relax,” she smiled. “Totally joking. I wasn’t completely broke and it wasn’t expensive.”

“I could’ve...”

“No, you would’ve chosen a bright red couch that would’ve been too big and a chandelier for the ceiling just for the hell of it and oriental rugs for the floor. My way’s better.”

“Hmh, kinda like the oriental rugs bit, though.”

“Dream on.”

“Whose home are we decorating here?”

“And the spider...”

“You can’t touch the spider.”

“Actually, that’s spiders, and... oh, my god, I love this song!”

She was on her feet in the next instant, heading up to the dance floor where she easily began to move with the rhythm of the music. He reluctantly let his gaze find her, and was transfixed. So transfixed that he didn’t see the fist being swung at his jaw until it was too late and he was tumbling out of the chair. He spun around, coming face to face with a furious Riley.

“I’m surprised you’d dare show your face here,” the human stated, the vampire getting to his feet easily.

“I’m surprised you care to show yours at all.”

Riley grabbed him by the collar of the duster.

“If you hurt her...”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mate! Well, I would, but...”

“If you touch her I swear I’ll...”

“What? You’ll what? And what if she starts it?” Spike asked just as Buffy’s voice rang to the side of them:

“What’s going on here? Riley. Let him go.”

Riley stared at her, slowly doing as she asked and taking a step away from the vampire. The human looked from the Slayer to the Vamp and then turning, almost colliding with Willow before heading to the exit. The redhead fastened her gaze in Buffy’s, and the Slayer sighed.

“Hi,” she then said and Willow smiled slightly.

“Hi,” she said back.

“Care to join us, Red?” Spike asked and she gave him a black look before saying to Buffy:

“I need to talk with you.”

“I’m coming,” Buffy replied, the Wicca leaving and Buffy stopping before Spike.

Her fingertips lightly brushed his hand as she looked up at him.

“You okay?” she asked and he wondered why his mouth was going dry.

“Takes a bit more than what Soldier boy’s got to dent me,” he murmured and she smiled a small smile at that, turning and heading in Willow’s footsteps.

His eyes didn’t leave her back until it was completely swallowed by the crowd.

Buffy had a seat on the couch, which also hosted her two best friends, or so she supposed. Xander’s right leg was shaking, and he was twisting his hands. He looked like he was about to have a meltdown. Willow was calm, though, and Buffy chose to focus on her.

“We may have found something,” she said and Buffy had her breath catch in her throat. “We need you to stop by Giles’ tomorrow.”

“Alone, if that’s possible,” Xander muttered.

Buffy gave him a look, then smiled at Willow.

“Sure, I can do that,” she said.

“So, how are things?”

“Fanged, bleached and spinning totally out of control?” Xander added.

“Alright, what! What’s up with you?” Buffy asked.

“What’s up with me? Right now, nothing’s up with me. Everything about me is brought down by the fact that this spazed out version of one of my best friends has inhabited her own body and now is wreaking havoc with the work that she herself has built over a long, long period of time!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you shouldn’t be appearing in bars and swaggering about and dancing for and living with that... that...”

“Yes, what? What is he? You can’t even pick a word, can you? So save it.” She rose. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said over her shoulder to Willow as she left.

“Evildemonicsadistichatefulfiend!” Xander grumbled and Willow gave him an empathic look.

“You needed to pick one.”

“Yeah, I know, I just pulled them together into one big, long one.”

Buffy walked aimlessly around the room, feeling weighed down by the mistrust from the people who were supposed to know her the best. She saw Spike speaking with a pretty girl who was seemed completely lost in his gaze and without thinking she headed for the backdoor. Slipping into the alley she leaned against the brick wall and closed her eyes.

Why wouldn’t he only be toying with her, she asked herself. Why should she think, for even a second, that the time they’d spent together had had some sort of impact on him? He’d made it pretty clear that he could care less whether she stayed or left, whether she was nearby or...

“Hear only misfits hang around in darkened alleyways,” his voice sounded beside her and she jerked, turning her head to him.

He flicked his lighter shut, having just lit a new cigarette.

“Then you heard right,” she murmured, though the satisfaction pouring through her at seeing him was quickly beginning to light up her sullen features.

“Friends ragging on you?”

“Or something like it,” she answered, exasperated. “They seem to have lost all faith in me... Then again, that faith wasn’t in me... it was in her. And she’s not here, so they’re wigging. I’d be too, so I can’t blame them. Though, I wish they’d stop making me feel like I’ve done something wrong, just by...”

Her gaze met his and she trailed off.

He blew out the smoke, eyeing her.

Finally she looked away, wrapping her arms around herself.

He dropped the cigarette to the ground and reached out a hand. She furrowed her brow, gaze back in his; then she carefully slipped her hand in his. He offered her a small smile and then pulled her with him inside.

They made their way up to the dance floor, the music being soft, slow. He linked their fingers together, getting her to take a step closer. She tilted her head back to look up at him, enjoying the way the dim light of the room played with his features, threw shadows over his paleness and gleam in his blue eyes. They began to move together, swaying, her gaze not leaving his.

His free hand moved up to her cheek, pausing before he let his fingertips gently run down it.

“Let’s show them what they’re missing,” he whispered into her ear.

She smiled slightly, wishing she didn’t feel special or selected or any of the things he made her feel. It was a great ride, but what happened when it stopped or broke down or fell apart? She put those thoughts aside and decided to enjoy this moment, hoping that at least this she would be able to remember.

With both hands free she slowly moved them up and around his neck, getting herself even closer to him as his palms slid to place themselves at the small of her back. Her coat had been left at the table, forgotten, and so his fingers with no effort rested directly against her skin.

She was nearly trembling, but her unwillingness to show it won out and she was able to control it.

Her gaze was locked with his again, but she couldn’t infer the expression in them. She felt a longing, but was sure that it was only wishful thinking when she thought she saw a reflection of it in his eyes.

“No!” she exclaimed. “No, you can’t seriously dub ‘Braindead’ a valid motion picture! All it has in it is blood and... blood. Hmh, I can suddenly see why it’d appeal to you.”

“It’s funny!” he defended.

“It is not funny spitting up a whole dog! That’s gore, and gore is not valid! I’m telling you, a movie should have a plot!”

“The plot is that there are zombies who bleeding well try to eat the... Oh, forget it,” he muttered.

She giggled, taking another mouthful of the coffee she was drinking. They were walking back to the crypt. It was nearly four o’clock and Buffy was happy. She was happy he had stayed by her after her run-in with Willow and over-protective-much Xander. She was happy the vamp had danced with her, and then shared a few drinks with her and then had danced with her again, and then had talked with her and then it had been a little bit of a blur until she was outside with the coffee in her hands.

“What’s your favorite movie?” she asked.

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s. The ending makes me cry.”

She boxed him on the arm and he smirked.

“Do you have any idea how many movies I’ve seen? Think I can actually pick one and say: this?”

“Fine. My favorite movie is Serpico.” He raised his eyebrows. “What?” she wondered. “I love Al Pacino, alright?”

“Alright.”

They slowed as they neared their goal, the cemetery resting peacefully around them. Buffy smiled to herself at nothing in particular as they stopped in front of the door which would bring them into their makeshift home.

“So,” she said.

“So,” he agreed.

He held her gaze for a dragged out second and then simply turned and walked inside, leaving the door open for her. She stood stumped for a moment or two, then snapped out of it.

“What was I expecting?” she mumbled as she entered, shutting the door behind her.

He had already gone downstairs and she put the coffee down on a sarcophagus before walking up to the loveseat still hosting most of her clothes. She changed into a top and pajama pants, wrinkling her nose at the smell of smoke still clinging to her hair and deciding on a shower the next morning; which meant another trip to UCS...

I’ll deal with that then, she thought to herself.

Climbing down the ladder she yawned, walking up to the bed and sliding in beneath the covers.

“A pillow never felt this good,” she mumbled contentedly. “...Spike?”

“What?”

“Thank you... I really had a good time tonight.”

He didn’t answer, merely shifted position.

“Spike?”

“What?” he muttered and she smiled at his impatience.

“Sleep tight.”

Again he shifted.

“Spike?”

“Slayer.”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry... if I make you look bad. I don’t get the whole demon thing, but it seemed like you aren’t their favorite vampire right now.”

“Well, that’s their prerogative,” he muttered, shifting once more before adding: “And you don’t make me look bad. If anything you make me look...”

He trailed off and she turned on her side, opening her eyes and being rather surprised as she rested them in his; his head turned to her.

“Good?” she offered and he smiled.

“I was gonna say ‘leashed’.”

“Ouch.”

He smirked.

“Gotta sleep,” he said and she nodded. “Good night, Slayer.”

“Can’t you call me Buffy? Slayer sounds so terribly impersonal and to be honest – it still creeps me out a little.”

His smirk widened.

“Good night, Buffy,” he complied silently.

“Good night, Spike,” she said, curling up before closing her eyes.

He didn’t though. He couldn’t, for some reason. He lay there, and watched her fall asleep.

“And then that should break the spell,” Willow finished her presentation.

It was close to ten o’clock in the morning and Buffy wasn’t feeling too hot. Granted, the shower had perked her up for about twenty minutes, but those twenty minutes had then been used to get to Giles’ place and now she was quickly sinking. She needed about eight more hours of sleep and twenty-five cups of coffee. How those two were supposed to mesh was another matter. She kept down a yawn and nodded.

“So... all I have to do is read a poem?”

“It’s a chant,” Willow said. “Tara thinks it might be powerful enough, and I agree.”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

“Buffy, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! I’m not going to risk myself ending up in another different thingy where people might walk upside down and the cows might speak French and who knows what else! I don’t want to try anything if it’s not absolutely, one-hundred percent safe. And proven. Proven to safely bring me back to my year. I’m sorry. Thanks for all your hard work and... keep at it. Or whatever I’d say. I’ll see you later.”

She put her sunglasses back on and got off the chair.

Giles watched her as she left, leaning against the kitchen counter as the door closed.

“Bugger,” he muttered.

“Calor, you have had your fun. This may prove dangerous for her friends, you do realize that. You cannot tamper with Fate. If she is not where she is supposed to be...”

“Another few days, Ath. And Fate does not let anything mess with it, if the Slayer is supposed to be somewhere, she will be there.”

“She will be killed.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Your vanity will be your downfall.”

“The lesson is yet to be learned. Even the Powers would recognize that.”

“I will have no more of it.”

“You’ll miss one grand finale. Pity.”

“You are ill.”

“I respect the Slayer, do not ever say that to me again! This is for her own good. She must understand that the truth of her has never been what she can do, but what she can feel. What she can see.”

“You have done a fine job at rendering her blind, Cal. You are not a fitting teacher in matters of humanity. Leave them be now – I beg of you.”

“You should probably leave.”

“Indeed.”

She left the room in a huff, but he didn’t mind it.

“Soon the veil will be lifted and we shall see if you have passed or failed, Slayer. We shall see.”

“Forever young. I want to be forever young. Do you really want to live forever? Forever, and ever? Forever young. I want to be forever young...”

“Bloody hell, I’ll bite you myself just to make you shut up!”

She turned her head to him with a smile, standing on a chair as she tried to find some way of fastening the curtain rods, which she had bought, to the thick stone wall beside each niche that was the prelude to the windows.

“You’re awake!”

“You’ve been chanting those lines incessantly for fifteen sodding minutes! They were bound to wake me up.”

“Thought my voice did that,” she remarked, still smiling. “Since you’re here, mind helping me with this?”

“What is it?”

“It’s for the curtains.”

“Curtains?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want them.”

“But they’re marine. They’ll go with the couch. They’ll keep sunlight out of here during the day.”

“Usually, if you can remember, I’m not up much during the day.”

“You need curtains.”

“I don’t need anything of the sort!”

She raised her eyebrows, about to move the rod down when the chair wobbled and she let out a yell as she lost her balance. She was caught by his strong arms, his hold tightening slightly to steady them both before he placed her on her feet. She looked up at him, heart still racing in her chest.

“Thanks,” she mumbled; her hands on his arms and he moved a little away from her, eyes holding hers and a puzzled expression drawing over his features before he shrugged.

“Don’t do it again,” he merely said. “And leave the bleeding curtains where they are. Don’t care if they go with the couch. Understand?”

“Gottcha,” she nodded and he narrowed his eyes.

“Weren’t you supposed to meet with Red?”

“I did. They were all there... telling me how they had this plan for getting me back to the way I was. Or am supposed to be or... whatever.”

He tilted his head slightly to one side and she could have sworn he was holding his breath. Then, of course, she remembered he didn’t have one. But that look in his eye... Was it disappointment? Anticipation, more likely, at getting her out of there once and for all. Why would he be disappointed! Gosh, she was so silly.

“But it didn’t work?” he now asked and she was brought out of her musings as she blinked wonderingly. “Well, you’re here, right? So whatever it was they’d planned didn’t work.”

“No,” she agreed. “I mean, I didn’t try it. It was some strange spell or other and I didn’t feel cool with the whole deal. God knows where I might’ve ended up! They weren’t even sure, and they wanted me to read it!”

“Doesn’t sound like the bleeding poof not to be sure,” Spike mumbled almost to himself, then he seemed to be back with her because he met her gaze and added: “But it was good that you didn’t do anything you didn’t think was right. Spells are tricky, you know? Not to be fooled around with. As far as I know Red’s not even a real witch yet. ‘S good you went with your hunch.”

He gave her a nod as underlining and then headed up to the ladder, climbing down it. She stared at the hole for a long moment, then smirked. The smirk soon turned into a frown.

“Willow’s a witch?” she asked out loud.

Sometimes You Have to Try

The following evening Buffy glanced out the window and noted that dusk had settled over the city. Soon he would be awake. She smiled to herself, checking that all the candles were burning bright. She looked at the coffee table, which she had set ready for dinner. It was so low that they’d have to sit on the cushions she had gotten that afternoon – in exchange for the totally pretty but unwanted curtains – but it was sort of cozy in itself. She had found some nice plates and cups and glasses and a few silverware items for hardly anything at a local store and had now used said things to make a not-so-fancy-but-yet-agreeable spot for them to share the food.

She had gone to the Bronze and picked up some chicken wings, because she knew he liked that kind best.

And she had snuck to the dorm and taken a shower, plus now she had changed into a nice skirt and shirt. It was a plain black skirt and a dull white shirt, but she did admit that they fit her good. She ran her fingers through her hair one last time as she heard him ascend the ladder.

He stretched, barely glancing at her as he headed for the fridge.

“I’ve already opened one,” she said and he halted, turning his head to her, looking quizzical.

She grabbed the cup she had prepared for him from its place on the table and held it up for him to see. He hesitated, then slowly approached her, still looking questioning. She handed him the cup and he sniffed it, eyes not leaving her face.

“It’s warm,” he said.

“Isn’t that the way you prefer it?”

“You... heated it?”

“Yes. I also opened the bag and poured it into the cup, which I happened to purchase today,” Buffy replied. “And then I found a place for it amidst all its little mates here on the table,” she added with a slight gesture and his eyebrows rose at the sight which met him.

“Wings?”

“From the Bronze.”

“You went and got me wings from the Bronze?” he asked, incredulous. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? ‘Cause I wanted to, that’s why. I felt bad for waking you up and having you all annoyed about the curtains and for being in your way even when I promised I wouldn’t be and this is just my way of saying... thank you. For letting me stay here.”

He took a sip of the blood, finding nothing wrong with it he quickly drank it and once finished he held the cup up to get a better look at it.

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” she asked, taking a seat on one of the large cushions.

“Very,” he muttered, sitting down as well.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, rising and running into the kitchen, returning with an opened bottle of wine.

“Where’d you get that?”

She smiled, taking her previous place and beginning to fill his glass before she answered:

“I stole it.” His eyebrows rose high and she giggled. “For being so terribly smart you’re awfully gullible,” she stated. “I found it over there.”

The last she said with a nod to the kitchen. Soon his face lit up with recognition.

“I got it months ago,” he mumbled. “Was supposed to use it when I finally...”

He trailed off, glancing at her and noticing the drifting scent of her freshly washed locks. It blended much too well with the soft touch of musk in her perfume and suddenly he felt light headed. He rose, nearly stumbling passed the couch but regaining his balance and heading for the door.

“I’m sorry,” she said, on her feet as well and bounding after him. “I should’ve gotten you’d been saving it for something special. I didn’t mean to... Don’t go.”

She grabbed his arm and he spun around to face her.

“Let go,” he grumbled and at the chill in his gaze she gingerly did as he asked.

“Let me come with you,” she pleaded silently.

“Eat your dinner and go to bed. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Spike.”

But he wouldn’t hear her as he walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

She jumped at the harsh sound, standing still for another moment and then getting herself moving to clean up the wasted food. She wasn’t hungry. She paused in the movement of picking up her half-filled wineglass, raising it she looked at the light shimmering through crimson liquid. She made up her mind, putting the glass down she proceeded to blow out the candles before she grabbed her coat.

He eyed the chipped black of his nail polish with a critical glare.

Why had he even started the trait? Give his fingers a personal flare? He remembered he had borrowed some from Dru one rainy afternoon when he hadn’t been able to sleep. He had splashed it on with no intent of ever doing it again, but Dru had enjoyed it. So he had kept it up until he could do it flawlessly enough to paint hers. She had loved that.

He huffed.

Bleeding loon, he’d have done better if he’d never met her. Then he’d never come to this cursed place. Then he’d never laid eyes on the sodding Slayer.

Why couldn’t he get her the hell out of his head?

Focus, mate, he instructed himself. Focus on anything but that blonde, sweet-smelling freak of a little g-...

“Wing?”

He stopped short as she was suddenly blocking his path, holding up the bucket of chicken wings and panting slightly. Bloody hell, she must’ve run fast.

“No, I don’t want any sodding wings!” he answered, taking the bucket from her and tossing it aside, a movement which made her look surprisingly hurt.

“Hey!” she objected. “I wanted some.”

He gave her a look and she dared a smile. When he didn’t show even an inkling of returning it, she let it fade and crossed her arms over her chest as she observed him. His gaze didn’t budge from hers and after a near two minutes of utter quiet she sighed.

“I don’t know why I even bother,” she finally stated, unlocking her arms and flailing them to the sides. “What am I doing with you? I’m wasting my time! Do you have people you practice your people skills on, because you should have. Now, since you need the for-dummies version I’ll let you have it, since I don’t have time to waste: I’m standing here, telling you that I, for some reason that’s beginning to grow dimmer by the moment, think I’d like to know you.”

“Thought you knew me already.”

“Thought you said I really don’t!” she shot.

“And exactly how do you propose to do this? Talking for hours? Permanently attaching yourself to my buggering hip?”

“Why are you so mean!”

“Because I’m evil!” he exclaimed. “Because you were never meant to be... This was never meant to... Sod it! I want you to gather your things and get the hell outta my crypt!”

“I’ll do no such thing, you pig-headed... blonde... stupid... blob!”

“I want to say ‘ouch’, but it just doesn’t apply,” he muttered. “Go home, Buffy. This... whatever it was... is over.”

He was about to turn from her when she was suddenly right by him, her soft hands clasping themselves firmly to either side of his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Tell me you really want me to leave.”

“I really want you to leave.”

She rested her eyes in his for a lengthened moment, then slowly repeated:

“Tell me you really want me to leave.”

He stared down at her, feeling a ripping truth wanting to break through but he growled it away as he pushed her to stumble backwards. She recovered, and when he once more turned to leave she moved forward without thinking, kicking up one leg and hitting him in the small of his back, sending him to his knees. He twirled around and was on his feet in a second.

“This conversation isn’t over,” she stated.

They appraised one another, Buffy feeling a concentration settle over her that was unlike any she had ever experienced before. Then she moved forward. He met her kicks easily, almost laughing as he grabbed a hold of her ankle in mid-kick and then simply dropped it, taking a step back. She cocked an eyebrow, lunging again and he side-stepped the attack, grabbing her neck and pulling her to him.

“Careful, love, before we say things we don’t mean,” he murmured in her ear and she put an elbow in his side hard enough to make him let her go.

She twirled around, kicked up a leg and hit him in the chest, making him fall to the ground with a hard thump. He got up with a loud growl, glaring at her and she smiled sweetly, taking a little bow. He took a step forward and then put one palm to his temple, making a face of pure pain.

“Zap,” she smirked and he changed into his vamp exterior with another growl of frustration.

“God, Summers, sometimes I just wanna wring your neck!”

“And other times?”

“Come closer and I’ll bleeding well show you!”

She held his gaze, then walked up to him without hesitation, stopping with her chest nearly connecting with his, tilting her head back. Her whole stance was so defiant he wanted to shake her. Violently. But the sting still lingering in his neck reminded him that he shouldn’t.

“I’m waiting,” she said.

“Wouldn’t think you’d be one to play unfair,” he remarked.

“Oh, you mind?” she shot.

“You haven’t got it in you now,” he murmured. “I could break you in half.”

“Tempting, isn’t it?” she asked, then her face grew suddenly solemn as she took a step back. “What did I do? To make you hate me like this? I’ve seriously tried everything to make you at least tolerate me, but what do I get for it! Fang-face! And wishes of certain death!”

He blinked at her out burst, then changed into his human exterior. She looked at him, still aggravated, but the anger seemed to lessen at his new appearance.

“I’m a demon,” he said, voice lowered. “Everything about you says I’m liable to detest and preferably destroy you. Can you get it through your thick skull? It’s the way nature made us. Good and evil never coexisted. Never will. You can try all you want; it’s just the way it is.”

“It’s not the way it is,” she disagreed.

He shook his head at her, bringing out a fag and lighting it.

She watched him, crinkling her nose up; then she put her hands on her hips.

“You couldn’t break that in half!” she stated. His eyes grew as he coughed. “Alright, so make your move! I dare you!”

“You dare me? What are you – fifteen?” he retorted with a smirk. “’Sides, I’m not too fond of the searing ache that’d shoot through my entire head, was I to accept your... dare.”

“God, you’re so annoying!”

“And you’re lacking the moves, sweetheart. Might as well fess up to it.”

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered. “Where were you going anyway?”

“To Willy’s...”

“Let’s go to the Bronze,” she said. “And no protests from you, I’m all rallied up now. I don’t feel like going to bed. Take me dancing and I’ll forget all about the passed hour.”

He looked at her.

“Is it always that simple?”

“If you make it,” she answered firmly.

“Some things you can’t force, Buffy.”

“Sometimes you have to try, Spike.”

He watched her as she came up to him and then walked past him, continuing on her way. Eventually he followed, reluctant to join at her side and yet finding himself there, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

“And what if trying to force it doesn’t work?” he asked.

It was two hours later and they had finally snatched a couch at the Bronze, having had to wait for half an hour. Buffy had been dancing for over an hour, but had relinquished to thirst and decided to join Spike at the bar. The club was packed, but nobody minded – this was why they came there, after all.

Buffy brought her legs to the side, folding them under her and making herself more comfortable as she took a sip of her drink before answering his question.

“Then you try not forcing it. And if that fails you turn to shaking the living daylights out of it ‘til all bad memories are gone and left are nothing but the good ones.”

He was shocked at her optimism.

“I am shocked at your optimism.”

“Please! People are way too into the whole grudge hoopla. Holding a grudge is the worst thing a person can ever do, both to others and themselves! I mean; imagine a son that has a fight with his dad when he’s seventeen and then doesn’t talk with him for the rest of his life! It’s insane! They both miss out on having each other’s company on birthdays and weddings and anniversaries and holidays. No, here’s the formula – you say what you mean, and mean what you say, but you listen to other’s opinion. See, listening is key. A lot of misunderstandings could be avoided if people learned to listen a bit more to one another. Take this situation right here, for example. If my mother had listened to me I wouldn’t ‘ve run off to live with you.”

“Right,” he cocked an eyebrow. “And ‘ere I was thinking you came solely for the company.”

“Oh,” she smiled, patting his arm, “that too,” she stated honestly.

There was silence for a short while, then he asked:

“Think you’ll see Red?”

“Might, I guess...” Buffy shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. After the freakathon last time I’d rather stick with you.”

“Cheers to that,” he smirked, clinking his beer bottle against her glass. He took a mouthful, swallowing it down as he rested his eyes in hers. “You were very different,” he then murmured, the music almost drowning him out and she frowned wonderingly. “When you were younger,” he elaborated. “You’re... older now. A bit wiser, even. But not as...”

She held his gaze.

“Not as what?” she pressed and he finally shook it off as nothing.

She swallowed the last of her drink and rose, grabbing his hand.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re gonna dance with me.”

“I’ve got half a bleeding beer left!”

“So let it bleed! I’ll buy you a new one! Come on!”

He had no more protests to offer and let her drag him onto the dance floor.

The music was pumping from the speakers and she twirled around before beginning to move to the rhythm. He stared at her, about to turn and walk back to the couch when the music switched and became slower; languorous tones drifting like smoke on water, softly stroking his sensitive ears until he felt as though his being was jiving to its gentle beat.

Buffy had her back to him now, her arms raised above her head as she snaked to the sound, her shoulder blades scraping his chest. He closed his eyes, but opened them in the next moment. Clenching his jaws together he still couldn’t stop his hands from moving to her hips, and then sliding forward, over her waist and to her stomach. His face was suddenly next to hers as he bent forward slightly, his lips nearly brushing her shoulder.

He was losing himself.

He fought to regain power, but she carefully turned around in his arms, her head tilting back as her nose graced his, a small smile gliding across her mouth as her hands found their way around his neck.

And so he again found himself on the dance floor of the Bronze with this creature in his embrace – though this nearness had never been intended. He felt her heart beat pounding against his ribcage. Sensed her blood pulsating through every corner of her. Her life enveloped him, and for the first time he didn’t fight it. He stared into eyes of green and let them mesmerize. Let them take him away.

His lips drifted towards hers more than once, and every time there was something in the back of his head that still had a voice screaming so loud it stopped the movement.

The moment he scented her arousal was when he woke himself out of the daze and brought her arms down so he could step away from her.

“Songs finished,” he said.

“So it is,” she agreed, producing a weak smile, her arms going around her and the sudden insecurity on her palpable. “What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“I’m tired.”

“So go home.”

“I am. I mean, I will. I was.”

“Alright, then.”

“Okay.”

He stood still for another few seconds before turning and heading up to the bar. She watched him leave and sighed to herself. The way he had been looking at her and the way he had just held her... it had made her whole body feel weak. She felt like she was trembling as she made her way up to the coat check-in. She didn’t want to leave! But she couldn’t stay now without looking foolish and so she handed her ticket over and got her coat, proceeding outside.

She wondered which way was fastest. She was pretty good at keeping coordinates in her head, but it seemed every night they went to the club they took a different route. She stood hesitating when Spike stopped at her side. She turned her head to him in unhidden surprise.

“Going on how you’re fighting these days I think it’s best I come with you,” he said, taking a drag on the cigarette in his hand.

“Aw, so you do care,” she smiled, having him give her a look.

“If you don’t want me to, I’ll just head back in...”

“No!” she stopped him, taking a hold of his arm. “This is nice.”

He gave her a slight smirk at that and they began to walk.

“So, demons,” she said. “Why are they so bad?”

“Birth defect.”

“Yeah, by the looks of them I’d say that’s about right.”

He smiled, finishing the fag and tossing it with a flick of his wrist.

“That could start a fire,” she pointed out, crossing his path and walking up to the stub, stepping on it.

He chuckled and she turned back to him.

“It’s the way doing what’s right is stamped on your forehead,” he explained. “Doing what’s wrong is a demon’s privilege – one which most enjoy to its full extent.”

“Mh, like you,” she said and he wasn’t sure he liked the sarcasm in her voice.

“Why won’t you believe that? I have done everything in my power to show you exactly what I am.”

“Mh,” she said again. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”

She started walking again and he joined her, eyeing her profile and wondering what the bleeding hell was wrong with this girl’s head!

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he finally caved in.

“Action speaks about ten thousand megatons louder than words,” she simply replied, then she smiled warmly and started running. “I’ll race you to the playground!” she called over her shoulder.

He rolled his eyes at her, but couldn’t back down from the challenge and was soon closing in on her. She was laughing, rounding a corner and stumbling onto the grass surrounding their destination. She lost her balance and fell, bringing him with her as he was going too fast to stop cold turkey and tripped over her feet. She was still laughing as she rolled over onto her back, looking up at the starlit sky.

He didn’t want to smile, but did it anyway.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she mumbled. “I wish I knew more about the names... I always wanted to learn.”

“My mum...”

He trailed off, suddenly realizing how easily it was for him to just start babbling about anything that came to mind whenever she said something as simple as this! Checking the urge he bit his jaws together and refused to look at her when she propped herself up on one elbow, waiting for him to continue.

Suddenly she reached out a hand, her fingers touching his forehead and he grabbed her wrist in a tight grip, bringing it away.

“Grass,” she mumbled as an explanation, clearly taken aback.

“Let’s get off it then,” he said, rising.

She looked up at him and he fought the impulse to help her to her feet by walking up to the swing set. She silently stood and soon came up to him, observing his back for a few moments before she walked around him and took a seat on one of the swings.

The last time they had been there she had killed her first vampire.

Well, she supposed it wasn’t actually her first, but...

“I wonder why I’m here,” she said out loud, not wanting to expect a response from him since he seemed set on clamming up on her.

But it came.

“That is the universal question.”

Her eyes met his and she had to smile. He returned it, though it was a weak excuse, and then he reached for his pack of cigarettes.

“Please,” she said. “Spare me just this once.”

He hesitated, then quietly complied. She smiled her thanks, looking away from him and being unsure of why she felt so awkward.

“You’re a contradiction,” he said, having her gaze in his again as she raised her eyebrows. “You say you don’t believe in holding a grudge, but you’re staying with me to get back at your mother, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not... The reason I left was you... because I couldn’t see you. She wouldn’t let me. I’m not staying away ‘cause I’m mad at her. And she knows that.”

He tried to swallow what she had just said, but had difficulty with it. Why did she have to be so honest about every single thing!

“Slayer...” he began, but she got to her feet with a yelp and he swirled around to see what it was that had her so spooked.

Three vampires were deliberately making their way towards them.

“Wonderful,” he muttered. “Get your stake,” he added to Buffy. Her eyes widened. “You did bring your stake, didn’t you?”

She looked guilty and he growled as he turned to face the approaching demons.

“Can’t you just ask them to go away? Courtesy of everybody wearing fangs, or something?” she hissed.

“Oh, now she likes the fangs?” he scoffed, bracing himself for the attack.

The three moved forward at once, two heading for Buffy while one met the kick of Spike. The bleached turned his head to the Slayer, who was backing away from her assailants, her eyes going from one to the other.

“Okay, boys...” she murmured. “Which one’s first?”

They exchanged a glance and then both drew back one arm to deliver a punch each.

“Oh,” she said, ducking just in time and kicking out one leg, hitting one on the shin.

She straightened up and stomped the other on the foot before she turned and ran.

“Buffy!” Spike yelled.

“Just want a more open spot!” she shouted back, her heart hammering away in her bosom as she tried to think of what to do.

In the middle of that thought something hard hit her behind her right knee and she fell to the ground in a heap. Rolling over onto her back her eyes grew round right before another awesome kick was delivered, this one to her side. Another one hit her leg and she curled herself instinctively into a ball, closing her eyes.

There was sound of growling, then punches hitting bodies, and then the kicking stopped. She sat up immediately, seeing Spike fight off one of the vamps while the other pulled a sword from a sheath it had been wearing slung over one shoulder. Buffy stared at the scene as though it was in slow motion, then she got to her feet and began running.

The vampire was raising the sword, aiming it at Spike’s neck just as the blonde put a stake through the heart of the other vamp. The sword began to cut through the air and then the Slayer reached Spike, pushing him hard, out of the way. She swirled around, kicking her leg up and hitting the other vampire on the cheek. She heard the clanking sound as the sword fell to the pavement beneath their feet, and then the thud as the vampire went after it. A moment later the weapon was in her hands and she brought it into the chest of the demon, making it burst into ashes as she pulled the sword out again.

She was breathing hard, staring at the spot for the longest minute and then bringing the blade up before her face. She stared at its bloodstained surface.

“Didn’t think vampires bled,” she mumbled to herself just as the searing pain began throbbing from the wound in her shoulder.

She blinked, going down on one knee.

The last thing she remembered was being lifted by two arms and the distant scent of his leather duster.

How Lovely

She woke up with a jerk, looking up at the ceiling and then around the room with disoriented eyes.

“Where am I?” she asked, but there was no answer.

She slowly began to remember, and soon she concluded that she was in his bed, in the crypt. She tried to sit up and an ache immediately began to pulsate from her right shoulder, making her draw a breath as she sat up fully, moving the covers to the side and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her hand went to the place of hurt and she felt soft bandages. Carefully she got to her feet and realized she didn’t have a top on.

She blushed. By the feel of her shoulder she was certain circumstance had called for her nudity and still... She bit her lower lip at the thought of him seeing her... Then she got the thought out of her head and grabbed one of his sweaters, pulling it on with studied movements. She headed for the ladder once she was done, climbing it and coming up into the crypt, which was lit by the candles burning brightly.

“So you’re up then,” he said, coming from the kitchen and walking passed her to the coffee table.

She felt a slight sting at his indifference.

“I’m up then,” she murmured, following in his footsteps and then slowing to a halt.

“What?” he asked at her stricken expression. “It’s food, Buffy, wipe the astonishment off.”

“You... did this?” she asked, coming up to the table and having a seat on one of the cushions.

“No, you did,” he replied. “It’s the same setting from last night; I just went and got us more wings. The wine’s ruined, but I never liked that year anyway. Got us some better stuff...”

“Last night?” she asked and he met her gaze.

“You’ve been asleep for a while,” he shrugged, sitting down as well and grabbing the opened bottle of wine, filling their clean glasses.

“For a while?” she asked.

“You’re healing, love,” he said. “Wound’s not to toy with, it got you deep. How does it feel?”

“Sore,” she mumbled, reaching out to take the glass and wincing. He smiled a small smile as she changed hands, lifting the glass with her left. “To...”

“...the moment,” he filled in, and she complied, drinking the toast.

They were quiet for a short while and then they both reached for the chicken.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“No, no; you got them, you go ahead.”

“No, you need to eat something. Here.”

He grabbed a piece and unceremoniously threw it onto her plate. She looked at it, and then at him, and for the first time there was the hint of a smile on her mouth.

“Thanks,” she said, picking the wing up and beginning to eat.

He grabbed one as well, watching her. She finished hers and took hold of another one. He wondered distantly what she thoughts were running through her mind.

She had never been this hungry. And chicken had never tasted this good. She took another mouthful of wine and savored it. As she started on her fourth wing her eyes finally landed in Spike’s and she held his gaze, growing quizzical. Finally she asked:

“Anything wrong?”

“No.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“No.”

“Why aren’t you eating?”

He glanced at his untouched wing.

“Saving room.”

“You going out?”

“Yeah.”

“No, you’re not.” He cocked an eyebrow and she finished the wing, putting the remains down on her plate and swallowing as she kept her eyes in his. “Stay here, with me. Just for tonight. Please. I don’t wanna be alone.”

He gritted his teeth.

“Alright,” he muttered and she smiled brightly.

“Good!”

“You done?” he asked with a nod to the bird.

“Yes, thank you,” she answered.

“Welcome,” he said, grabbing their plates as he rose, walking into the kitchen.

Buffy climbed onto the loveseat, contented in the fact that he had humored her. Then a small frown appeared and she wondered exactly why he had caved in so easily... She hadn’t even had to ask twice. Then she realized why and she rose, turning to him as he came back.

“I acted on instinct,” she stated.

“Pardon?”

“Saving you. It wasn’t this noble act; it was seeing you almost get your head chopped off and reacting to it. You don’t have to feel like you owe me anything.”

“Don’t feel anything of the sort,” he said, posture growing rigid.

She eyed him closely, then sat down again. He cleared the rest of the table in silence. She watched him, wanting to say something to ease the tension, but lacking the right vocabulary. She played with the hem of the sweater she was wearing as he came up to the loveseat and sunk down beside her.

“Is that my sweater?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah...” she replied.

“Huh... Wanna play cards?”

She furrowed her brow.

“Depends on what you wanna play.”

“Poker?”

“I don’t know how to...”

“I’ll teach you,” he interrupted, rising to get his deck.

“Spike, if you wanna go play poker you can go play poker. Just... don’t play for kittens – it makes me sad.”

He came back up to her, pulling her off the couch by way of one wrist and plopping her back down on the previous cushion. He sat down facing her and began to cut the deck. He started with showing her the basics, and she listened intently. After another twenty minutes she thought she had it pretty much down.

“The rest is luck,” he stated, gathering the cards spread out on the table.

“Alright,” she said. “So... what’re we playing for?”

He met her gaze and then smirked.

“Money.”

“And that means that your collection of rings now belong to me,” Buffy stated three hours later, splaying her winning hand over his losing one and he snarled.

“Unbe-sodding-lievable,” he muttered, tearing the rings he had been wearing off his fingers and one by one throwing them at her.

She giggled, sliding them all onto her forefinger and wiggling it at him.

“Don’t be a poor loser, Spike.”

“I think I’ve lost enough for one night,” he replied, getting to his feet and stretching.

“Is there any wine left?”

“I think so. Want some?”

She nodded.

He brought the bottle and their glasses back to the loveseat, on which she had yet again placed herself. She sat there, wearing his sweater and his rings. He glared at her, feeling a rumble which at least resembled annoyance rise in his chest. But then she shifted, bringing her locks into one hand and moving them to lie over one collar bone as she played a little with the ends of them. The dark blue of the sweater suited her, and the way it had slipped to reveal the smoothness of her unhurt shoulder had him sit down at the other end of the seat, as far away as he could get from her without being too obvious. He then stretched out the hand holding her wineglass towards her.

She took the glass before rising and walking up to the TV, switching it on. She turned the knob until she found a movie and then she moved back to the loveseat, sitting down again, only this time in the middle of it. Performing the deed as nonchalantly as she could muster. However, he stiffened, and she grumbled in her head as she gently slid herself over to where she had been previously positioned.

She took a mouthful of wine, set the glass aside and folded her arms, placing them on the armrest and letting her chin find a spot on them. The movie on the TV screen had an obscure title she had never heard of, and she only recognized one actor from a show she had followed once.

“Where did you put my top?” she said out loud, the words registering with her the following moment and she was startled by them. In spite of this emotion, she went on with: “I looked for it before and I couldn’t find it.”

She met his gaze as she turned to sit with her back against the armrest instead. He finished his wine, small smile showing on his lips and she crossed her arms over her chest conscientiously. The smile turned to a smirk as he put his glass down.

“I threw it away,” he said. “It was soaked through with blood.”

She swallowed, one hand going to the bandages.

“And then you...?”

“Love, I had no bloody interest whatsoever in seeing you without your clothes on before last night, and I have no bloody interest to now either. I didn’t see anything... well, not very long of anything you might not ‘ve wanted me to see. Alright?”

“Fine,” she grumbled.

He stared at her as she turned her head back to the TV. She was disappointed. Bloody hell, what a mess this was turning into. Either way he went he ended up producing that goddamn pout on her! Stay home. Alright, he stayed home. No, don’t feel like you owe me, go out. But...

He looked at the TV as well, then got to his feet.

“I’d better clean your shoulder,” he stated.

“What?” she asked, but he had already disappeared down the ladder.

She rose, leaving the TV on she followed him down, stepping onto the floor just as he came up to her.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Thought you said...”

“We can do it on the couch.”

She smiled a crooked smile at that, walking passed him and up to the bed. Climbing onto it she placed herself on her stomach. He stood frozen on the spot for a few more seconds, then got himself moving, approaching her with a caution he didn’t think he should have to feel. But he felt it alright.

Setting the things he needed down on the bed he looked at her.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, you’re dressed, for starters,” he replied and she smiled again, sitting up.

“Right,” she murmured. Looking up at him she grabbed the hems of the sweater before saying: “Close your eyes.”

He held her gaze, then did as she asked. He heard her pull the sweater over her head, and then lying down again.

“Alright,” she said.

“Need light,” he murmured, though his night vision worked perfectly.

He got himself moving up to the spot holding a nice supply of matches, grabbing a box and opening it up. He took out a match and tried to light it. It broke. He clenched his jaws together and tried again. Another snapped in half.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed silently.

A third and a fourth. As he got to the fifth he focused all his will on making it be set on fire and after a few seconds of this meditation he struck it against the box and there was a hiss as a flame burst to life.

Thank God, he thought to himself, bringing the flame to the candle standing closest and then taking the candle around the room. Setting it down once he had finished he turned back to the bed and his eyes rested in hers. She was still on her stomach, her head turned to the side and her gaze following him.

He came up to her again, having a seat next to her.

“Do your worst,” she mumbled with another smile, and he returned it.

She closed her eyes and he sat still for what felt like forever.

She wished she knew what he was thinking.

And then his cool fingers slid over her back, making her draw a small breath at the unexpected sensation as a million goose-bumps unfolded all over her body. The touch ended at the bandage covering her shoulder, and she clenched her jaws together as he pulled off the tape securing it there. He removed the bandage. Then she felt a sting as he cleaned the wound and she drew another breath. Soon his fingers were moving around the cut, inspecting it. Then something cool was put on and finally a fresh bandage.

“It’s getting there,” he said.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Thanks.”

A blonde lock of hers slowly slid from behind her ear and down over her nose and before he could stop it he had reached out one hand, his fingers gently pushing the lock back, fastening it again. Her eyes didn’t leave his face and he removed his hand with a sudden twist somewhere inside of him.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, rising.

“Spike...” she said, grabbing the sheet and covering herself as she sat up. “Don’t go.”

“I have to. Business, pet. I’ll be back in... a few hours.”

“You already said that.” He grabbed his duster. “You can’t keep running away,” she stated, voice lowered.

“Running?” he asked, suddenly smiling. “From what?”

She fixed him with a long look and then answered:

“From me.”

“Don’t be daft,” he said, still smiling. “I’ll be back...”

“... in a few hours,” she filled in and with that he was out of sight.

She sighed, curling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, making a face as the wound let hear its objection.

“Ateh nomad lirg. Girfa dreg,” the demon greeted and Spike gave a nod. “Are you sure you wish to part with these?” it added, holding up the two items Spike had opted to sell.

“Need the money, mate,” the vampire replied. “Three hundred.”

The demons eyes flared red.

“Lirg cotha dworg, you drive a hard bargain,” it then muttered, digging out a wad of bills and peeling three off it.

“Only when I have to.”

Spike took the money, stuffing it into one pocket of his duster before turning.

“The Slayer,” the demon said, “is it true what they say? She is weakened.”

Spike looked over his shoulder at the creature, then replied:

“Not yet.”

“But you will let the rest of us know.”

He smirked; then continued on his way, the glee soon fading as he entered the streets of downtown. So, the word was out. It had only been a matter of time.

He had thought she was going to die the night prior. He had almost taken her to the Watcher’s, but had then shied away from that alternative, knowing that she would be kept away from him for sure. Confused and dazed with unfamiliar worry he had brought her to the crypt and patched her up as best he knew how. He had paced the floor for hours, trying to make sense of himself. One moment wanting her gone more fervently than ever and almost running up to tear the wound open again, to hell with temporary explosions to the brain. The other moment trying to stay still and calm, for her, feeling as though she needed it more than anything else. Watching her sleep he finally had dragged himself up to the crypt and stayed there, only checking on her sporadically and hoping that the sudden longing within him would abate.

He got back to the crypt nearly four hours later. He had been in a brawl with two demons and killed both of them, but hadn’t been able to rid himself of the sudden sensation of not only doing it for the killing’s sake. This had made him go home as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Buffy!” he barked as he stumbled through the door. “Buffy!”

He looked around the room and felt like his stomach was imploding as his mind began to race with possible scenarios and reasons for her not being there. She had been abducted, she had been slaughtered, she had left.

“She’s left,” he repeated it to himself, very convincingly.

He walked through the empty crypt and climbed down the ladder, feeling relief mixed with a loneliness he wasn’t sure he could deal with. He slipped the duster off his shoulders and proceeded up to the bed, stopping at the foot of it as his eyes rested on her sleeping form. He smiled, tilting his head to the side before slowly walking around to get a better angle at her face. She looked peaceful. Not like last night, when she had been shaky and sweaty and weak.

“You’re not,” he said, sitting down beside her. “You’re not weak, love... I realized that a long bloody time ago. And you’re not weakened. This is a phase, one you’ll get out of. You’ll be back to your old self...”

He trailed off, eyeing her and then carefully lying down next to her.

“If I get you killed when you’re like this – the other you’ll come back to haunt me, kick me around the sodding crypt all day and not let me get any sleep. Make me put up those bleeding curtains after all...” He smiled a little at the thought, then it disappeared. “I’m not putting up curtains.”

“With cream,” she mumbled and he blinked, then the smile was reborn.

“What?” he whispered.

“Tea with biscuits and cream,” she answered sleepily. “And your mother was there saying ‘How lovely’...”

He reached out a hand and carefully brushed a few strands away from her face, but she moved a little at the touch and he retracted his hand swiftly, folding it against his chest and staring at her in anticipation of her eyes opening. They didn’t and he soon relaxed, feeling pretty dumb.

“What am I doing with you?” he murmured.

The next morning she woke up with his arms around her. Her own were folded between them, and as she looked up she could see his chiseled chin, the outline of his jaw, and she noted that he was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Then again, when did he ever wear anything but black jeans and a black T?

She drew in his scent, let it dance through her nostrils and go straight to her head.

She shifted slightly just to get the sense of what his body felt this close to hers.

Then she shut her eyes and let herself fall back asleep.

At six thirty-seven in the evening he opened his eyes and turned his head, expecting not to be alone in the bed for the first time in a very long time. When he in fact turned out to be, he brutally ignored the feeling of discontent and threw the covers off, getting up with a huff.

“Oh, stay in,” her voice rang from the ladder, and soon she emerged from the shadows, carrying a mug. “Made you breakfast in bed,” she added, trying a smile.

He smiled back, and she handed him the mug before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He did as well, feeling foolish and uncertain of what he should say.

“Thanks,” he finally murmured, vamping out and drinking his breakfast in a few hard gulps.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then looked at her, noticing that she was studying him carefully.

“Does it hurt, when you change?” she asked.

“No.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Muscle cramp. For a second.”

“And you can do it whenever you want?”

“Pretty much.” He put the mug down on the floor. “How’s the shoulder?”

She moved it a little.

“Better,” she replied. “Seems to be done with the achies... Guess I’ll have a scar.”

She whined.

“What now?”

“Just... the beach and every nice evening dress I’ll ever wear again and...”

She whined once more, this time it made him smirk.

“Take it from me, love, you don’t scar very easily.”

“Neither do you, but look at that,” she remarked with a nod to his eyebrow.

“This? It was done with a specially forged weapon... in the hands of a special lady... Otherwise, it wouldn’t have lasted.”

She looked at it, then asked:

“May I?”

He felt something not far from a twirl in the pit of his stomach, and then he silently consented to her request; having her slide closer and reach up a hand to softly touch the spot. His nose nearly brushed her jaw as she stretched to have a better look, his gaze traveling to her neck. One of his hands without intention moved to the small of her back and he carefully pushed her nearer.

The feel of his sudden grip around her made her shift her head back to rest her eyes in his. A throbbing appeared out of nowhere, a need that was stronger than she had ever felt it before, the passion behind her growing emotions for him unraveled itself in the blink of an eye and she pressed herself tighter to him as she parted her lips for the kiss.

Suddenly there was a loud bang from upstairs.

“What was that?” he asked, rising and making her slide off the bed with a squeal and a thud.

“Me breaking my ass,” she muttered, looking up at him accusingly.

“Bloody hell, the wankers should know better than to break in ‘ere!” he growled, stepping over her legs and heading for the ladder.

She got to her feet, rubbing her lower back and frowning at his behavior. Though was she surprised? Whoever was upstairs, she was more than ready to take them on. Walking in Spike’s footsteps she halted, running back up to the bed and bending down to dig out a stake from the stash he kept underneath it. Climbing up the ladder she stopped half way as she heard the punches being delivered suddenly stopping, an unknown voice exclaiming:

“Hand her over, Spike!”

“I don’t know what the hell got into your dish tonight, but walk it off!”

“She’s here. We know she is. Guess we shouldn’t expect anything else from you, though it’s pretty pathetic of you to protect her like this. Thought you’d at least still want her dead...”

Buffy poked her head out of the hole just as Spike slammed the fledgling against a wall, gripping its throat.

“Watch your mouth, mate. You don’t know a flaming thing.”

The other vampire smirked, then the expression was replaced with burning hatred.

“You got a way to get rid of her, so get rid of her!” it hissed. “If it gives you too much of a headache we would most gladly finish the task for you.”

Spike let the other go with a low growl, pointing to the door.

“There’s nothing here,” he stated. “I dunno if the sodding rumors are true, I haven’t seen the Slayer for weeks. Now get out.”

“They’re not rumors,” another voice said and as Buffy looked to the right she noticed two more vamps by the door. “I saw her run. And you’re lying, Spike, ‘cause you were with her.”

“Yeah? Got a big mouth on you, but if you saw her run, why didn’t you follow?”

“I was busy,” the vamp replied between clenched jaws. “She’s losing power. And the right moment is just around the corner. We’re gathering our forces, Spike. Adam is leading us toward glory, and the death of the Slayer will mark the beginning.”

Spike raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll remember that,” he assured half-heartedly as the three demons left.

He shut the door behind them, turning his head to Buffy as she stepped up into the room.

“Gee,” she said, “talk about doom’s day cometh.”

“Oh, it’s coming alright,” he nodded.

She held his gaze at that and after a while he smiled slightly, walking up to her. She was about to say something when he stated:

“You can’t go out tonight.”

“There’s no need to overreact!”

“Buffy, you can’t hold your own out there.”

“I can too hold my own! Spike, you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” He raised his eyebrows and produced a pout on her mouth. “You just pretty much said you still want me dead... Was that a lie?” He stared at her, his expression unreadable, and then she gave him a little push as she exclaimed: “You can’t seriously wanna lock me up. And don’t tell me it’s what’s best for me!”

“Wasn’t considering locking you up – especially since no locks I’ve got could hold you, if you put your mind to it.” He paused, holding her gaze before adding: “I can’t have you die on my watch, love.”

“Right,” she murmured. “Something happens to me: something happens to you. Only how can I kill you if I’m already dead?”

He merely smiled weakly and she shook her head.

“So train me,” she said. He did a double take, then he blinked. “What? It’s not the worst idea,” she continued. “Teach me. Like Giles did.”

“Have you gone completely off your rocker!” he sputtered and she took a step back. “I will not!”

“I can’t go to Giles now, you get that, right? He’ll... shoot me with a tranquilizer dart and chain me to the bathtub.” Spike was about to protest, but then he could do nothing but nod in agreement. “You’re the only one who can help me. Spike, please. Please.”

She gave him such an earnest look that he felt the tightness along his spine slowly melt away, and he began to relax.

“I am nothing like the poof, so don’t expect repeating whatever he managed to conjure up,” he grumbled and a smile spread on her lips. “We’ll spar. You and I. Briefly. That should do it.”

Her smile widened.

“And are you doing this because you don’t wanna be all lonely at the Bronze, or because...”

“To hell with the cause,” he interrupted. “This is confusing as it is, just change into something comfortable and I’ll move the sodding furniture.”

Nothing

She put on a pair of sweat pants and a top, arranging her hair up in a ponytail before climbing back up into the crypt. He was wearing another one of those tight T’s and she pictured his bare chest underneath it, how it had felt under her palm when she had touched it... That moment felt like ages ago now.

“So, what can you do?” he asked.

“You just wanna know ‘cause it’ll help you kill me later,” she said, a teasing glint in her eyes and he smirked. “I don’t get why you don’t take those vampires’ advice and get rid of me now, when you’ve got the chance. Blaming the chip or the wrath of a dead me doesn’t quite cut it anymore...”

“Mostly you’re attacked by fledglings,” he blatantly swept past that comment and she smiled a little. “They’re not the most skilled killers, but they...”

“Can hold their own?”

“This ain’t some kind of a joke, Slayer,” Spike grumbled. “I’ll tell you this once, understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Buffy.”

“Fine, where’d you want me?”

He gestured for her to come and stand before him, which she did. The candles were all blown out, and the only light they had to guide them was the bluish silver falling in through the windows and spread by the moon.

“We’ll do it slow at first. I want to see how quick your head is working.”

She braced herself and he gradually stretched out an arm, she raised her eyebrows and then couldn’t help but giggle. He brought the arm down, looking annoyed.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. Okay, I’m ready,” she said.

He glared at her, then repeated the movement, stretching his right arm forward and over her right shoulder, as though about to grab her neck. She countered it with her right hand and then turned around, stepping into him with her back to his chest and getting ready to throw him. His nose breathed in her scent and he pushed her away from him more brutally than he had intended as she stumbled a few steps and then turned back to him.

“Good,” he merely said. “Let’s continue.”

She furrowed her brow, but prepared herself for his approach. He still moved slowly, stepping up to her and then mimicking a blow to her stomach. She grabbed his wrist with one hand, stepping forward and into him, bringing his arm to the side before she placed one hand by the side of his neck, sliding one leg between his.

He cocked an eyebrow and she smirked slightly.

“Now what?” he asked.

She didn’t hesitate before she took a pinching grip on his earlobe, having him go down on his knees with a low:

“Oh, ow.”

Her smirk broadened as he looked up at her with an expression mirroring hers, then she let him go. He kept his eyes in hers as he stood; her form still close to his. Then she took a slight step back.

He nearly pulled her back again, but it passed as he forced himself to focus on anything other than her. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

“Let’s speed this up, shall we?” he murmured.

“Whatever you say, Obi-Wan.”

“Obi-Wan?”

“Whatever you say...” He gave her a look. “...love,” she finished with one of those bright smiles.

Without warning he delivered a punch for her chin and one of her hands immediately moved up, grabbing the fist and blocking it. Both of their eyebrows rose.

“Whoa,” she said.

“Let’s speed this up,” he repeated.

He kicked out one leg, aiming for her stomach. She blocked it with one of hers and punched him in the nose. He made a face, then rolled his eyes at her sorrowful expression. And on it went for nearly twenty minutes. They switched turns attacking and blocking, Spike wishing he could get bored by the fact that he couldn’t actually hit her, but it didn’t take.

Finally she stopped a kick of his and saw an opening, delivering one of her own to his cheek that had him fall to the floor with a loud thump.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, dropping to her knees next to him.

“Bloody hell, Slayer, don’t apologize!” he growled, and then her hands were softly gripping either side of his face, moving it so she could take a better look at the spot which had taken the hit.

He stared at her as she inspected it, her fingers moving over the place gently.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” she said, having her eyes in his.

She smiled a little, letting him go carefully and sitting back.

“You for the Bronze?” he asked and her smile quickly widened.

“Gilded Bronze for the lady,” Spike said, forty minutes later, standing at the bar of the club. “And I’ll have a beer.”

“You always drink beer,” she remarked.

“Not always,” he smiled.

She returned it, looking out over the gathered people and nodding her head to the music.

“Not as big a crowd tonight,” she said.

“Sometimes is that way on Tuesdays,” he shrugged, handing her her drink and taking his bottle with him as they headed for a table.

“So then you’re at Willy’s?”

“Not necessarily...”

“Depends on if you’ve managed to scare up some kittens?”

“Will you ever let that go?”

“Not unless you swear to leave them alone.”

“I swear to leave the kittens alone.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, not at all, like carving a hole in my head.”

She smiled, taking a mouthful of her drink.

“You know, owning a place like this would be pretty cool,” she mused, her eyes going around the room again. “I bet it’s a good income and it attracts all the cool clientele... ‘Course, I’d set it up someplace else. Morocco, maybe. Or an island somewhere in the Caribbean.”

“Any Hellmouths threatening to open over there, ‘cause otherwise I can’t see you putting little parasols in happy-color drinks, pet,” he pointed out and she sighed.

“Wow,” she then muttered, “now I know what I’m gonna be when I grow up. How weird. Wood carving as a hobby, my ass.”

He smirked at that, taking a swig of his beer.

A waitress came up with a fresh drink for Buffy; as the former put it down on the table she said:

“With compliments from the man at the bar.”

Spike looked skyward as Buffy casually turned her head to see a very fine young man raising his glass to her. She smiled, mirroring the gesture as thanks.

“I like the less crowded,” she stated. “You have a better view.”

Spike gave her a look.

“Please, save it.”

“What?” she asked with a smile.

“He buys you a drink and sends it over with compliments? His originality boggles my mind.”

She kept the smile on.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Buffy, cheap is something you should never go for, no matter where you are or why you’re there.”

“And he’s cheap? He just bought me an eight dollar drink.”

“I just bought you that drink, didn’t see you swooning over it,” Spike said to that and she eyed him for a moment.

“Straighten this out for me – you’re comparing yourself to him or you’re saying buying the exact same drink as he did is in fact better just ‘cause that drink came from you?”

“I am saying...”

“Want to dance?”

The topic of conversation leaned in over Buffy’s shoulder, offering her his hand, and Spike’s gaze darkened.

“We’re trying to have a bleeding conversation ‘ere,” he said, but Buffy smiled at the stranger, placing her hand in his and rising.

Walking passed Spike’s chair on the way to the dance floor she briefly whispered in his ear:

“You’re just jealous.”

Spike glared at her back.

I am not sodding jealous, he thought angrily. Specially not of that pip-squeak!

But as he watched the Slayer slowly begin to move to the soft rhythms of the music and grinding closer to the other male he started to have questions flutter through his brain of her actually being attracted to the uglified mortal, of her wanting him to touch her, be that near her. Was she enjoying his scent? Spike thought he could smell the stench of the aftershave even where he sat! Was her heart beating quicker? Was she liking it?

Buffy smiled as she was spun around playfully. However, the spin went only halfway as she came face to face with a now close Spike, a feet parting the two of them as he had just concluded his approach. Her eyes fastened in his and as always she found it virtually impossible to break away from him.

“Sorry, mate,” he said to the other male, without taking his gaze from hers, “lady’s choice.”

She had the hint of a smile on her lips, feeling a need begin to beat its power within her as the glittering desire she held for him easily spread through her. When he took a light hold on one of her wrists, having her step into him, her heart beat elevated and her breath caught.

They began to move to the music, her free arm placing itself around his neck, her forehead to his before his nose slid from her cheekbone and down to her jaw, her eyes closing and one of her hands taking an almost desperate hold on the leather of his duster, clutching it tightly.

She didn’t want the moment to end. She couldn’t have him snap out of it and look at her with bewilderment... with denial. She had seen it on him every time they’d gotten somewhat close to each other and now she felt like she might rip in half if he did it again.

Then his voice sounded in her ear, husky and low:

“Want to leave?”

Her heart slowed. In fact, everything did as she pulled back to meet his gaze.

She wanted him. So badly it nearly hurt.

She nodded.

“Yeah,” she answered.

He seemed to wonder what was happening for just one split second, and then his hand slid into hers, entwining their fingers right before he moved them both off the dance floor and up to the exit. They stepped into the chilled evening air and she stopped, having him do the same as he turned to her. She reached up the hand that wasn’t holding his and touched his cheek, her eyes suddenly catching movement down the street.

She looked over and squinted, then her eyes grew as she made out a girl being dragged away by two larger figures and she let Spike’s hand go, beginning to run.

She brought her stake out, the two vampires turning at the sound of her pounding feet and they dropped their unconscious victim to the ground as the Slayer attacked, kicking one in the stomach and then sweeping the legs out from under the other. The first one moved forward and she ducked skillfully, kicking it in the chin and sending it flying before she crouched together and then delivered another kick to the second vampire as it was back on its feet. It tumbled back down and she was on it in an instant, sinking her stake into its chest before throwing the weapon straight into the heart of the first vampire, the two assailants combusting simultaneously.

Spike was awestruck. The poetry of her movements; how easily, gracefully she delivered every blow, was something that had to be admired. The strength which rested within her petite form was never to be overlooked. He had seen it before – but wondered if he had ever actually allowed himself the quiet pleasure of truly acknowledging it.

No, he hadn’t.

The sudden power on her was drifting at him through the air. And there was no selfishness that had triggered this, it was the mere act of the slay, and the saving of that girl on the pavement. The heritage of the Slayer. The truth of goodness...

Bloody hell, he growled in his head, but something else could do nothing but stare at her.

This girl could accomplish this. Could step outside herself and become a warrior. There was an aura around her in that moment, of perfect peace.

He approached her cautiously. She was still on the ground, but as he got closer she stood, brushing the ashes off. And then she turned to him; her face beaming.

“Did you see that!” she exclaimed. “I rocked! I did it! It was like before: I didn’t even have to think about it, but this time it was just... there! It was incredible. I wish I could share this high with you, it’s totally outrageous! Wow!”

She was around his neck the following moment, hugging him tight and jumping up and down. He smirked as she let him go, turning to the girl who was just sitting up, disoriented.

“It’s okay now,” Buffy said, walking up to her and helping her to her feet. “How do you feel?”

“A little woozy,” the girl mumbled.

“Go home and get some rest. It’ll all be fine in the morning and don’t go with strange men at night, let this be a lesson!” she reprimanded and the girl smiled weakly before seemingly following the first part of the advice.

Buffy watched her go.

“Ah, yes, the Slayer’s work is never done,” she said in a dramatic tone. Then she began jumping up and down again. “God, I feel like running around in circles ‘till I can’t stand anymore,” she said.

Spike merely smiled at that, beginning to walk and Buffy followed him, bouncing around him making zig-zag patters across the street. He looked at her, thoughtful. It was all so problematic, wasn’t it? And he didn’t approve of this new sensation in his chest, this disgraceful and sudden understanding... of her. For the very first time he thought himself have actually seen what the slayer was.

It must be that I’ve spent so much time with her, he thought. Too much time. I’ve seen the Slayer kill dozens of vampires before, and every time it merely ticked me off. Why the bugger would this be any different if it wasn’t for the fact that...

That what? That he was seeing a recap? The early years – uncensored? That he was witnessing with his own eyes what the experience had been like for her. That he could nearly taste the absolute power on her, and that he could sense the light it held. But it also held darkness... Perhaps that was what attracted him to her. Because he sure as hell was attracted to her.

She’s just a child, he thought ruefully.

Suddenly she jumped up on his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and he merely reacted as he hooked his arms under her knees.

“I feel so alive right now,” she stated. “Like nothing can stop me.”

They arrived outside the crypt and he set her down before continuing inside. She followed, having calmed down slightly.

“You know, I never said thanks,” she said, “for the sparring before.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, fixing her with a look as he added: “Ever.”

She smiled self-consciously, suddenly dreadfully aware of where they had left off before.

Oh, God, why did I have to run off like that? she whined in her head. Saved a life. Saved a life, she then chose as a mantra.

“Spike...” she began, only he moved up to the ladder.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, descending.

“Sure,” she agreed. “You enjoy that now, while I crawl under the couch and die.”

“Did you say something?” he asked, sticking his head back up.

“No,” she smiled. “Nothing special.” He disappeared. “Only that I wanna crawl under the couch and die,” she hissed, hiding her face in her hands.

Finally she dragged herself over to the loveseat and lay down on it. It wasn’t late, but she felt exhausted. She closed her eyes and slowly drifted off.

Spike lay in bed trying to go to sleep, but unable to as he was waiting – for her. He lost his patience after fifteen minutes and kicked the covers off with a growl, still in his jeans he headed upstairs. Glaring around the room he stalked up to the loveseat and paused, having the oddest sensation of warmth in his chest as he looked down at her.

Dammit, he thought, but couldn’t stop himself from sitting down on the edge of the coffee table to watch her soft features.

His eyes went to her hand, resting right by her nose, and he moved his arm to let his fingertips softly grace her palm before he let his own meet it. Linking their fingers together he brought her hand away from her face, a slight smile playing on his mouth. He reached out his free hand and gently stroked her blonde locks to lie behind her shoulder.

I can’t, he then thought, letting her hand go and standing abruptly. I can’t!

He was about to walk back downstairs when his gaze caught on her and he hesitated, then made up his mind. Lifting her up in his arms he held her tight as he carried her down the ladder, placing her on the bed and pulling the covers up he eyed her for a few more moments before turning, going back upstairs to take her place on the loveseat.

She woke at noon. It took only a few seconds for her to be wide awake once she realized where she was, since she couldn’t remember how she got there. Looking under the covers she saw that she was still very much dressed, and she furrowed her brow quizzically. Turning her head to the side she noted Spike’s absence and she brought the covers aside, rising and stretching and walking up to the ladder.

Climbing it she yawned, stepping up into the crypt and immediately seeing his feet sticking out over one of the armrests of the loveseat. She felt herself melt at the mere insinuation of what he must have done last night and she smiled as she approached the place of rest. She walked around and kneeled next to him. He was on his stomach, his face turned to her and she reached up a hand, stroking his hair tenderly. Then she straightened up into a standing position, kissed him gingerly where she had just stroked him, and fetched her pocketbook. Checking how much money she had left she decided on breakfast; heading out she closed the door quietly behind her.

He was dreaming of fried eggs and toast and the scents followed him out of the dream as he opened his eyes, blinking sleep out of them before sitting up. His gaze landed on Buffy, who was partially out of sight in the so-called kitchen. She was dancing – to music. He frowned. Where was it coming from? Then he saw the small radio placed on one of the sarcophagus. She leaned back to get a better view of where he was seated and noticed that he was awake.

“Afternoon!” she greeted with a smile, flipping one of the eggs onto a plate and grabbing the mug filled with blood she had prepared.

“What time is it?”

“Sometime in the afternoon,” she shrugged. “Last I checked it was ten minutes passed two and I was on my way back with this beauty,” she added with a nod to the radio. “Someone had just thrown her out on the street, poor thing. Imagine that.”

“Yes, imagine that,” he said. “And who was it again that said picking stuff up off the street was something of an offense?”

“That chair’s still here, innit?” she countered, handing him the mug and coming around to sit next to him, grabbing the fork she had brought for herself and digging in on the eggs.

He drank his blood in silence, finishing half of it and putting the mug down on the coffee table; facing her as she was just putting the plate down as well, but as he opened his mouth to speak she suddenly jumped to her feet.

“You won’t believe what else I got,” she said, walking up to a corner of the crypt and making something, which had been rolled up and leaned against the wall, fall over with a thud.

He squinted, then rose as well, coming up to where she was kneeling, untying the thick string tied around – what he now concluded – was a rug. She got the knot open and rolled it out. He stared at it.

“You got...?”

“Oriental as they get, baby,” she smirked, standing. “Or at least for being made in Kentucky. And there’s three more of them. I think they’ll go nicely downstairs. Make the floor less cold when you wake up, you know.”

“When you wake up, you mean,” he remarked and she met his gaze with a small smile. “Buffy...”

“Well, who am I to decorate this place without your full consent?” she interrupted. “I can let the curtains go, that’s fine. But you live here and you need to have stuff that makes it feel like your home. I saw a few chests that I think might be good for keeping weapons in and... clothes or whatever you want. The guy selling them is leaving for New York and he doesn’t want them with him so he’s willing to take less than nothing for them...”

“Buffy.”

“Yes?”

“I can just go take them.”

“No,” she disagreed. “You can’t. He needs the money.”

“Then I have money. Don’t spend more of yours on me... ‘s not... right,” he murmured, looking away from her and turning, walking back up to the loveseat.

She watched him go, then followed, taking her plate and looking at the blood left in his mug.

“You’re not hungry?”

“It’s too early,” he muttered.

“So go down and go to sleep,” she said, heading into the kitchen. “I’m fine. I got some magazines and I was thinking about taking a better look at the town. I feel like I’ve only seen it at night.”

She put the plate and the mug aside, leaning against the counter for a moment catching her breath before she put on another smile and headed back into the room. She couldn’t get her nerves to act the way she wanted them to. Every time he looked at her she had a feeling of falling backwards come over her. She couldn’t stop the dizziness or the subtle ache which produced it. And she didn’t want him to go to sleep. And she didn’t want to leave the crypt again.

He looked at her as she took her previous seat, folding her legs under her and meeting his gaze calmly. Why was she so calm? He couldn’t get the image of her last night out of his head; for once he found himself speechless, the words pressing somewhere in the back of his throat, but his mind too entangled in her to be able to sort them out.

He wanted to go downstairs, fall asleep, and wake up with her gone. And really gone, this time. Her old self back to kick his ass if he so much as glanced at her the wrong way. That was clearer, simpler, easier to respond to than this.

“Why do you?” he asked silently and she looked questioning so he elaborated with: “You said you didn’t know why you bothered... What is it that makes you bother with me?”

She didn’t answer for a short while, eyeing him with a gaze that was gentle before she said:

“There’s good parts to us, and there’s bad parts. I’ve grown up with the bad parts... My parents fighting... ” She smiled, though it was sad, and then continued: “But then there’s been the good parts too... My mom and I have always been close, and I’ve always felt like I could tell her anything; even when she’s been arguing about me with my dad. I was barely surprised that he isn’t here, you know? We talked about it, her and me... but it’s like I told her, I never felt like it was my fault because neither of them let me.

“They made me realize pretty early on that there are different sides to everyone. Really different. I think it’s helped me a lot, when I make friends and stuff. I try not to get stuck on the cover. Like with you... The cover was...” He cocked an eyebrow and she smiled again, this time warmly. “... neat,” she finished the sentence and he smirked. “But I had to see what was... under it.”

His smirk widened and she beat back the blushing sensation on her cheeks with a laugh.

“You have this warped image of yourself,” she said. “And believe me, I’m a pretty good judge of character. You act like you don’t have a choice in who you are, but you do. I know there’s a demon in there, and it’s fierce and argh and makes with the blood; but there’s also a remaining human being, Spike. You may not think so, but I’ve seen him. I’ve seen you. ...That’s why I bother.”

He shook his head at her.

“That’s... the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he stated.

“Of course it is,” she said.

He was taken aback with her frankness, with her misled opinion of him. How could she say that? How the bleeding hell could she!

“Moving on,” she said: “Why can’t you wear something of the things I bought you? I know you like red ‘cause you have some of that already, and the sweaters would...”

“Don’t,” he murmured and she blinked. “Don’t try to change me. You think all you bleeding well have to do is bat your eyes at me? Doesn’t work that way, pet. So, don’t.”

“I wasn’t,” she replied softly. “I like you the way you are,” she assured, suddenly sliding over to him and before she could even think or react to what she was doing, she gently straddled him. This was what she had been waiting for ever since she woke up that morning, she realized that. An opening to be close to him. She rested her eyes in his as she continued her previous statement with: “Bleached.” A mischievous smile finding a momentary home on her lips as she buried her fingers in his hair, adding: “’Cause it does make you stand out in a much too dull crowd.” His hands slipped up her jeans-covered thighs and for a second she couldn’t breathe, but then she went on: “Scarred,” sliding one hand to his eyebrow and gently tracing the markings there, before pulling her head back slightly meeting his gaze.

Her heart was beating so fast, her thoughts were a faraway blur, all she could focus on was the moment. He could push her away, she thought; but she wouldn’t withdraw. She brushed the tip of her nose with his before she slowly moved her mouth to his. She paused, then let her lips meet his carefully.

He parted his slightly and she kissed him softly on first the upper, then the lower, before deepening the kiss. His hands had moved to her back and his grip on her hardened, his tongue meeting hers. The kiss was languid, her breathing slowing with growing arousal. She moaned quietly and he felt how the desire he had somehow kept at bay began to lick its flames through him, making him take a hold on her arms and pull her away from him.

He glared up at her; her gaze surprised and nearly pleading.

Then his mouth caught hers again and he understood that reason was no more an issue. Nothing was, nothing mattered. Nothing apart from her.

Buffy had never been kissed like that before. So that every movement he made sent pleasurable shivers through her whole body. He took hold of the hems of the top she was in and brought it over her head, her hands in his hair again as his mouth found her breast. She gasped silently. His tongue trailed up to her throat, to her ear, to her mouth and she met it with her own, the kiss still slow and deep. His thumbs teased her already erect nipples and she groaned right before he slid them together to the floor, placing her on one of the cushions and propping himself up on his hands, looking down at her.

She touched his cheek and then trailed her hand down his chest, her eyes not leaving his. She unbuttoned his jeans with deliberate movements and he smiled a small smile before kissing her cheek, continuing down to the side of her throat before pulling back to take off the pants. She swallowed, tingling all over, not really used to the explosiveness of this craving that told her to touch him, touch him, touch him!

She sat up as he got the pants off and her arms were around his neck, her lips kissing his shoulder, his jaw line and then he kissed her, tilting her back again. Their tongues were getting rougher now, his hands going to the button in her jeans and getting it open in a second, taking his mouth from hers to trail it down between her breasts, past her bellybutton and farther. Her eyes widened as her pants were done away with and she drew a sharp breath as his tongue found her clit, arching her back she grabbed the cushion, gasping and writhing from the unexpected sensation coursing through her.

When she thought her body was about to fall apart he moved up, entering her, and she moaned loudly. His lips were at her throat, her hands once more in his hair as she held onto him, meeting his thrusts as easily as if she had never done anything else.

She climaxed, but he kept moving within her, producing wave after wave of untamed ecstasy before he followed the same path, her mouth finding his and she kissed him fervently.

She was still breathing hard when they ended the kiss, her eyes were closed as he gently pulled out of her, and then she looked at him. He stared back at her, still in a daze as well, but distantly aware that he had just crossed a line he could never step back over.

Then she wrapped her arms around him, cuddling close to him, and he felt the most alarming tranquility settle over him. When she met his gaze he smiled, and she returned it. Then she kissed him, and he kissed her back, and the world was them.

Nothing more.

Eteralia Exis

Sometime during the night they had moved down to the bed. The covers were on the floor and they slept in a bundle of limbs, her hair spread out over his chest. As sunlight filled the city outside, they stirred at the same time. Buffy moved her head with effort to look up at him, and he met her gaze with one of those small smiles. She smiled brightly, though; pulling herself up to offer him a kiss.

“Wonder what time it is...” she said, putting her head on his shoulder as he absentmindedly played with one of her locks.

“Either really early, or very late,” he replied.

She smiled again, not able to keep her fingers from sliding over his stomach. Then she brought one leg up and slipped on top of him. He brought her hair away from her face and they looked at each other with sudden seriousness.

“We probably won’t remember it,” she mumbled. “Later, I mean.”

“Doesn’t matter now, love,” he said and she had the smile on once more.

“So we finally get there and Darla goes ‘Wait, wasn’t that supposed to be in the middle of the square?’”

Buffy nearly choked on her orange juice before she started laughing. He chuckled as well. She kept a smile on as she took the last bite of her toast. They had made breakfast and decided to have it in bed. Both still naked and neither minding, the covers having been retrieved but lying piled up against the headboard.

“So... Darla bit... Angel?” she asked, Spike nodding and she proceeded: “Angel bit Drusilla who bit you. Quite the family tree. What about your real parents?”

“My father died in an accident, when I was six, so for most of my childhood I only had my mum. Missed my dad a lot, but I still thought mum was enough... More than enough. They were good people. Decent, hardworking.”

“And they loved you.”

“That they did,” he agreed. “A long time ago.”

“But you must’ve had people who loved you since then. Drusilla loved you.”

“She loved me, pet, when it suited her. When she was tired of me she’d ask me to go away.”

“And you did?”

“It only ever meant leaving the room. When she got sick... She’d have these visions, yeah? They told her terrible sodding things, gave her nightmares. For the most part she didn’t mind them, but sometimes they frightened her and right before we came here she... I knew I was losing her, that’s why we came here. She didn’t even know where we were, at first. Then she felt the Hellmouth. Well, she got her cure. I got it for her, and did she thank me? Was she bloody grateful? She went back to Angelus as soon as he showed his bleeding face!”

“Calm down,” Buffy soothed, reaching out a hand and stopping him as he was about to rise. “What else?” she encouraged.

“Angel... bloody poof! Never liked him, you know? But the women in my life...” he murmured, eyeing her before looking away from her. “I left with Dru ‘cause of him. Took her as far away as I could bloody well manage. In Brazil things were good for a bit... But she was distant from the beginning. Looking at me strangely, like she didn’t recognize me anymore. And then...”

He trailed off and Buffy placed a hand on his cheek, making him meet her gaze.

“Then what?” she pressed gently.

“Then she asked me why I couldn’t kill you,” he murmured. “She told me all she could see when she looked at me, was you.” Buffy’s hand dropped, her brow furrowing with astonishment. “I thought it was ‘cause of this thing that happened before we left. I... I helped you. I had to. I couldn’t take on Angel and Dru together alone. So you and I...”

He trailed off again.

“Wow,” Buffy said.

Then she moved closer to him, kissing him on one temple before hugging him tight. He wrapped his arms around her as well, nestling his nose into the cranny of her neck and listening intently to the soft thumping of her heart.

“Ice cream,” she said suddenly and he pulled back to look at her. “You don’t happen to have any, do you?” He smiled, shaking his head. “Then I’ll go get some,” she said determinedly.

He held on tighter and she smirked, kissing him deeply before pulling away. He let her go with a disgruntled moan, rolling onto his stomach.

“Hurry,” he called after her and she laughed, climbing the ladder and retrieving her clothes.

Getting dressed still wearing a smile she grabbed her wallet and ran out the door. Rocky Road, she decided. And some vanilla. And some chocolate syrup. She could almost taste it on her tongue. She paused her step, thinking. It was close to two o’clock in the afternoon, which meant her mother would be at the gallery.

I could take a quick shower, she mused. Get back there smelling all fresh and irresistible. After last night I sure could use it.

That thought brought a wider smile to her already smiley face and she giggled to herself. She felt so good.

I’ll get the ice cream first, she nodded. Then I’ll run home, hop in the shower and be back before he knows it.

“Calor!”

The young god leapt out of his chair, facing the approaching elder.

“Yes, father?”

“Is it true what your sister is telling me?”

Ath appeared in the doorway and Calor gave her a deadly look before having his gaze back in his father’s.

“I am almost done...”

“You? Yes, you are almost done, alright. Shed the spell this instant. You have no inkling as to how it might effect...”

“Sir, with all due respect, I have been training with Grei for more than is necessary to know how to properly form a spell. Sir.”

“This instant,” his father merely boomed. “Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

The older turned and left the room, Ath lingering.

“Thank you, that was quite formidable of you,” Calor muttered.

“It had gone far enough,” she said silently. “And you would not listen to me.”

“Perhaps for once I was right and you were wrong,” he remarked. “I have no influence over what the outcome of this will be, just as I had no influence over the actions they have all performed to bring them to the conclusion. It is true: the spell has run its course. Had you merely prayed patience for a few more hours, sister, you might not have had to alienate me.”

“Cale.”

But he turned from her and she sighed, leaving.

He closed his eyes.

“Eterall exis,” he whispered. “Let it be lifted.”

Buffy let the warm water soak her head, pulling her fingers through it and reaching for the shampoo bottle. Putting some in her hair she massaged it into thick foam, liking the feel of it, enjoying every second of everything, it seemed. Even choosing the ice cream had felt wonderful. Paying for it, for crying out loud! She smirked to herself, stepping into the rays again, rinsing the shampoo out and hoping he would like the scent.

But then her movements began to slow down. It was as though she was blinded by a flash, leaning against the wall behind her she stared straight ahead until her sight cleared. She shook her head, feeling completely disoriented.

And then she began to remember.

He was just zipping up his jeans when he heard the door of the crypt open. He couldn’t keep the smile down, hearing her descend the ladder. As she entered the room, her gaze locking with his, his face dropped.

“Oh, bugger,” he mumbled right before she drew one arm back and punched him so hard on the nose that he flew back, landing on the bed.

She was on him the next instant, pinning him down as she straddled him, her fist connecting with his face three more times before she said, voice strained with emotion:

“Give me one good reason why you’re not dead yet.”

He stared at her, at the burning rage in her eyes, and realized why he had come back to Sunnydale. It was crystal clear. A revelation. And he was so screwed.

“You... don’t have a stake?” he offered as an answer to her question and one of her hands went to his throat, but she wavered and he saw it. “You can’t strangle me, pet,” he pointed out, her grip tightening.

“I can tear your head off, though,” she bit back.

She didn’t know what she was feeling. The anger was too ripe, and it spread through her too easily for there to be room for anything else. This creature had taken advantage of a situation that... She began to shake with fury and decided to climb off him, feeling as though she was about to ram her fist through his ribcage. Goddamn vampire! She got off the bed, crossing her arms over her chest as he sat up.

“How could you!” she exclaimed.

“It wasn’t only me, and you bloody well know it!”

“Oh, my God, this isn’t happening,” she shook her head, shuddering before glowering at him. “Dammit, Spike, how the hell could you! Oh, right, you don’t have a conscience. You can do whatever the hell you want, right? Well, I am telling you right now – if you’re not packed and out of this city before sundown tomorrow, you will be dead.”

“Slayer, I...”

“Shut up!”

She ran her hands through her still wet hair, taking a deep breath before meeting his gaze again.

“I mean it,” she stated, his expression growing solemn.

She turned, and left.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t get his muscles to function.

“Well...” he murmured. “That was expected.”

She nearly turned and went back in. After all, she knew exactly where he kept his weapons. It wouldn’t be very difficult.

But in the next moment there was another, but extremely bizarre feeling tugging at her, making her continue on her way faster than before as she fought it down with everything in her.

She arrived back at the house, dazed and out of sorts. Her whole being seemed suddenly drained and she closed the front door with a low click, wishing more than anything that her mother could be home. Just to give her a sense of familiarity. Everything felt foreign and far away. She walked into the living room and sunk down on the couch. It smelled nice, like home. She closed her eyes.

“Buffy?”

She eased her eyes open, resting them in her mom’s. The Slayer had no idea of how long she had been asleep, but was thankful that it had been dreamless.

“My God, Buffy. Oh, my little girl,” Joyce said, wrapping her arms around her daughter in a tight hug. “I was so worried about you. And how could you go back to that place! And you are grounded until...!”

“...I’m me again?” Buffy filled in, pulling back and holding Joyce’s gaze for a few moments. “I’m me again,” she then clarified and Joyce looked stunned before she smiled hesitantly.

“How?”

“The gang must’ve cracked it,” Buffy shrugged, her face then turning regretful as she added: “I’m so sorry, mom.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t my fault!”

“Well, it wasn’t. Was it?”

“I guess not,” the Slayer murmured. “I just...”

“What?” Joyce asked as Buffy didn’t continue, the younger glancing at the older before smiling a small smile.

“It’s nothing,” she then said.

“Has it got to do with...?”

“It’s nothing,” Buffy repeated, putting her arms around herself and looking away.

Joyce eyed her in silence, then patted her leg, saying:

“Of course, honey.” She rose. “Are you hungry? I’ll make you something.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and Buffy rested her head back down, curling herself up into a ball. Memories kept washing over her. Of easy conversation, even of laughter, and of a friendliness she could only believe had been dreamed up by whatever spell she had been under... And then there was... kissing... and touching... and...

She closed her eyes tight, willing the images away, willing the warmth away, willing it all away until the ache where her heart was missing him so badly she wanted to cry, softly pulled away.

“Mom. Mom, wake up.”

“What...? What is it? Is something wrong?”

Buffy sat down at the edge of the bed, shaking her head.

“No,” she said. “I can’t sleep. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I need to go see Willow.”

“Now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know; that’s why I wanted to tell you. So you don’t worry.”

Joyce smiled at that, stroking Buffy’s hair tenderly.

“Buffy, I trust you. I trust that you know what you’re doing out there. But when you were fifteen...”

“I know,” Buffy interrupted with a smile on as well. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“But you have school.”

“I can skip it for a few more days... I hope. Don’t think I could concentrate right now anyways. I need to... come back down.”

“Alright, you’re old enough to make that decision for yourself,” Joyce said with another smile and Buffy returned it. “But waking Willow...”

“Mom, don’t sweat it. I just need to ask her a question and then I’ll let her go right back to sleep.”

“They’re everywhere!” Willow exclaimed, sitting up and drawing a breath.

Realizing it had been a nightmare she let the air out with relief.

“Frog-dreaming again?” Buffy asked, seated on her own bed.

Willow turned her head to her friend, nodding.

“This time they were eating marshmallows and toasting their genius and hey – you’re not supposed to know about frog-fear.” Buffy smiled tryingly and Willow had a stunned expression on before she returned the smile happily. “Thank goodness! I mean, I didn’t dislike you at fifteen or anything like that, but... I’ve missed you! So this means you’re back... completely? To normal? Well... the normal that is you.”

Buffy nodded.

“Do you remember anything of... what happened? Because when you woke up, the way you were before, you couldn’t remember anything of... anything.”

“Oh, I remember, alright,” Buffy said, the tone of her voice making Willow raise her eyebrows. Buffy noticed and waved one hand. “Never mind, it’s not... crucial. I just want to know what it was that did it. I need to know, Will. Was it a demon? That I can slay? Please, please, tell me it was a demon. That I can slay.”

Willow grew hesitant and Buffy felt her hope sink like a rock.

“We still have no idea what caused it,” the redhead said, expression apologetic.

Buffy frowned.

“No idea? How’s that possible. You guys... made it go away, right?”

“We really didn’t,” Willow replied. “I’ve been researching my brain numb and I couldn’t find anything that might indicate what or who did it. I guess our last bet is something divine, but it’s so rare that they ever intervene that I don’t...”

Buffy’s expression was growing more set by the second and she interrupted by saying:

“No. I know who our last bet is.” She walked up to the drawer holding her weapons and grabbed a stake. “I’ve been waiting for a good enough reason to kill him. Last bet: he loses,” she added, walking out the door.

Willow stared at it as it closed, still not entirely sure of whether she was awake or still dreaming.

“At least there are no frogs,” she told herself, pulling her legs up as she anxiously glanced around the room.

I want it to go away.

It was all that she could think as she stormed her way through Sunnydale.

I want it to go away.

Her pulse was racing as she reached the door of his crypt, the stake in her hand felt fragile and strange. She swallowed hard, allowing herself a moment to brace herself before she kicked the door in and stepped through the doorway.

Of course he’s not here, she thought. He’s at the Bronze... Or maybe he’s at Willy’s. Probably eating kittens and cheating badly at poker!

She glared around the place, noticing the loveseat and having a rush go through her stomach that made her turn away from it. She rubbed her forehead tiredly, trying to make anything out of the different signals flashing on and off. One for stop, one for go. But she didn’t know which one she was supposed to follow... Which context they applied to.

“Buffy?”

She swirled around, for no apparent reason hiding the hand holding the stake behind her back as she faced him. He looked questioning, and sleepy.

Oh, of course he could sleep like a baby! No guilt there!

“Just tell me why,” she demanded.

He stared at her, seemingly growing more awake by the second.

Good.

“Hey, you seduced me, Slayer, not the other sodding way around,” he then stated, taking the steps dividing them and with a harsh tug bringing her arm out from behind her, huffing before letting it go. “Sneaking up on me, are we?” he muttered. “How’s that for unfair?”

She clenched her jaws together, meeting his gaze and feeling the oddest tingle up her spine. She loathed him in that moment. So deeply that she wanted to scream. Instead she exclaimed:

“This is all your fault!”

“My fault!”

“Yes! If you’d just sent me on my way when I first came here then this would never have happened! God, why couldn’t you just act like your normal self and kick me to the curb! What the hell did you care if I couldn’t stand being babied! This is so your fault!”

“You didn’t come here because you couldn’t stand being babied; you came here because you were told not to see me! I didn’t encourage you in any bleeding way and you still saw fit to drop in uninvited and claim a space in my bed!”

She hit him at that.

Hard.

He stumbled to the side, regaining his balance with a growl as he vamped out.

“That’s right,” she nodded, taking a tighter hold on the stake, “make this easier.”

He seemed to settle down, straightening his posture as he held her gaze and then shook his face back into humanity.

“I know,” he murmured, “you’re asking yourself how something like me could dare touch something like you. Something so pure and fine. Something so holy and sanctified. Something that’s everything I’m not, yeah? Maybe what you should be asking yourself is how something like you would want to touch something like me.”

She raised the stake with a look of fury and he smirked, holding his arms out.

“It’s never this easy.”

“It was all a game to you, wasn’t it?” she asked, lowering the arm again, her gaze cold with detest. “See how far you could take it? Well, you sure took it all the way, didn’t you? Are you proud of yourself? I know you’ve wanted me dead forever, but I had no idea just how warped you actually are!”

“Slow down,” he said, furrowing his brow.

“Don’t look so clueless! How long did you plan it!” she exclaimed, throwing the stake at him, though it didn’t hit point first and merely fell to the floor with a low clank. “How much did it cost you! Who helped you do it! I want a name, Spike, not a shady description of a house or an alley or...”

He suddenly smiled.

“You think I did this?” he interrupted her and she rested her eyes in his. His eyebrows rose high. “You think I did this!” he barked. “I was perfectly happy before you tumbled through the bleeding door setting up camp! Look at that couch! Look at those cushions! That’s all you! The sheets in my bed are you, Slayer! They even sodding smell like you! You think I invaded your privacy? What the hell did you do to mine? I didn’t want you here, love, and I tried to make that clear; but you wouldn’t take the hints. You barged right through them! You can’t blame any of this on me! You’re the one who did it. All of it! And if you’re so buggering stupid as to think I’d conjure up this situation, I wish I could hit you as hard as you bleeding well just hit me.”

“I didn’t do this!”

“Then who did?”

“Not me.”

“Of course not you. Has to be me then. Only I have no sodding idea how!”

“Then find out!”

“I didn’t do it!”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You should’ve taken me to Giles,” she said.

“Bleeding right I should’ve,” he huffed.

“You should’ve let them take care of me! Instead I was stuck here with you learning how to play poker and suck a chicken wing dry! You have so many talents, Spike, I am in awe.”

“I thought I’d get some money off of you or I wouldn’t have taught you how to play poker and I don’t want to hear another bad word about those wings, Slayer!”

“Hah!”

“Hah what!”

“Hah, get some money off of me! Your schemes sure do come back to kick you over the head, don’t they? You bleach the brain cells right out of there, don’t you? I feel sorry for Drusilla, having to put up with your idiocy for such a long time. I can’t even imagine having that sort of patience. Look at you! I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let you...!”

She trailed off, gaze still scolding. His was beginning to burn as well.

“That’s fifteen for you,” she grumbled. “Thinking you know exactly what’s best for you while very simply ignoring everyone else.” He cocked an eyebrow. She gave him the look of death. “Have you packed?”

His eyes turned a darker shade of blue.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he stated.

“Yes, you are – to hell, if you decide to stick around.”

He didn’t want to show how much that comment actually scathed him, his expression growing harder.

“Buffy, you can’t make me leave just ‘cause you’re not comfortable with having me close by,” he said.

“I’m comfortable. Very. But I don’t want you here.”

“Oh, I see. And since you own this town and everything in it I should immediately leave, is that what you’re saying?”

“Pretty much.”

“Slayer, you’re not going to kill me.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because, love, you’re not as high and mighty as you may think. You know you can’t chuck all the blame for this on me. You know that that’d be... wrong.”

She gritted her teeth.

“I was here first,” she tried feebly and he smirked. “Please,” she then added slowly. “Spike, can’t you just go?”

He tilted his head a little, eyeing her.

“No,” he then said. “Not before the chip’s out.”

She glared at him, annoyed once more.

“Right, so you can kill again. That’ll make me feel the need to let you skip town.”

“It’s not just about the kill, you know?” he murmured. “It’s about being whole...”

“Yada, yada, save it. I’m so not in the mood for it. You know, a part of me does wish that I could pity you, Spike; but I can’t even do that.”

She turned, but with a growl he was right behind her, twirling her back around to face him.

“I never asked for your bloody pity, Slayer, or your understanding. But you still saw fit to step into my world and rearrange every last bleeding thing, didn’t you? I shouldn’t ‘ve let you... I shouldn’t ‘ve listened to anything you said, but it was out of my control the moment it started. I never was as weak as when I was with you. I don’t ever wanna feel that way again.”

She was staring up at him, taken and confused. Cornered. Finally she said:

“Good,” and stepped back.

“Don’t forget this,” he reminded, holding up her stake and she blinked, trying to gather her thoughts, then she took the weapon with a bleak smile, which she killed off the following moment before turning and heading out the door.

Love Me, Just Leave Me Alone

“You look terrible,” Joyce said the next morning as Buffy entered the kitchen.

“Thanks, mom, you always know just what to say,” Buffy replied and Joyce looked sympathetic.

“Sorry,” she apologized, but Buffy merely shrugged.

“I feel terrible, so...” she sighed, sitting down on one of the stools as Joyce poured her a cup of coffee, concerned.

“Did you get any sleep last night? What time did you get back?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the Slayer murmured, massaging her temples. “Sleep is overrated anyways.”

Joyce removed the cup, then said:

“Go back to bed.”

“No,” Buffy shook her head, sliding off the stool and to her feet, “I have things to do, places to be. Have to go.” She gave her mother a peck on the cheek before sluggishly heading for the door. “See you tonight.”

Joyce furrowed her brow.

“Want me to drive you?”

“Nah, I can use the fresh air. Bye.”

The door closed and Joyce looked at her two cups of coffee.

Buffy reached the dorm, only wanting to see Willow. She knew that if she could just talk about this abnormality she was suffering from her friend would tell her what to do about it. The Slayer stepped through the door of her dorm room, finding it empty. She wanted to cry, needed some form of release, but kept it at bay and sunk down on the floor with her back against her bed. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her knees.

It felt like forever, but then the door clicked open and Buffy raised her head as Willow entered.

The latter closed the door and turned around, taking a step back in surprise as her gaze met Buffy’s, and then she smiled.

“Hi!” she said, coming into the room, putting her books down on her bed and turning back to the blonde. “Did the heavens fall down?” she asked and Buffy’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, no, don’t do that!” Willow pleaded, going down on her knees next to her friend. “It was a bad joke. Awful! What with the heavens and the falling.”

Buffy had to smile at that, trying to hold the tears down.

“It’s not that. It’s just sleep-deprivation and... confusion... and frustration!”

She exclaimed the last word, swiping at her tears.

“I’m guessing it was Spike who ‘lost’ last night?” Willow asked.

“Well, yeah,” Buffy confirmed.

“And you went to see him?”

“I did! But I don’t wanna talk about it,” the blonde stated, getting to her feet and pausing before turning to the redhead, adding: “Except I do. So... I’m talking about it. I’m gonna talk.”

She trailed off and Willow looked at her with eyebrows slowly rising.

“Buffy.”

“I’m getting there! Don’t rush me – please!”

Willow waited tolerantly.

Buffy fidgeted, scratching her forehead, biting her lips nervously, glancing at Willow and then away.

“It’s like I had a lucid dream,” she finally began. “I mean, it was me that was fifteen again, I didn’t go anywhere. I mean... it didn’t change anything that’s happened in my life up until this point since the fifteen year old version of me didn’t leap back to its own timeframe remembering the past few weeks or anything. I remember it, but like it just happened.”

“I get it,” Willow said with a trying smile.

“Sorry, of course you do,” Buffy said, running her hands through her hair and beginning to pace. “It’s just... It’s the weirdest feeling. All these views and ideas and thoughts that I had... I mean, me at fifteen actually liked Spike, can you believe that?” Willow didn’t reply, but the expression on her face seemed to be enough as Buffy continued: “I know! I... Well, it’s just that I... God, I lived with him! I slept in his bed, I bought sheets for his bed and then I slept in them! And I talked with him; I even got to know him.”

“Talking would do that.”

“Yeah, but see, I never asked for coherent conversation! Bantering is fine. A few wise-ass comments and a hit to the nose, send him on his way. But now all these... Oh, God! All these things are stuck in my head and I can’t get rid of them and they’re driving me crazy!”

“What things?”

“Annoying, irritating, aggravating things!”

“Those words all mean the same thing.”

“So much for the sarcastic!”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry!” She stopped, drawing a breath and steadying herself, meeting Willow’s gaze as she said: “He told me things that made me see him as... not him. But all of it’s the spell’s fault! Being young and blind and stupid out of your mind can be dangerous for more than one reason, it seems. And I was so young; and so blind and...” She whined, hiding her face in her hands.

“Buffy,” Willow said silently, “what are you trying to tell me? That you actually liked Spike for a couple of weeks? It’s okay! You weren’t...”

“No! No, that’s not what I’m trying to say!” Buffy stated, looking at Willow again. “I’m trying to say that I understood him, Willow. That everything about him made complete sense to me. That I was falling in love with him...”

Willow stared at her.

“In love?”

Buffy sunk down on her friend’s bed, near tears again.

“Not me! I mean, I remember him the way he is and not how my hormonal, fifteen year old brain wanted him to be! At least I think I do. I’m so confused, I can’t get my head straight. And all these feelings, they’re still there. I felt them, and they haven’t just gone away. All these... memories just tie up into a huge knot somewhere inside and I can’t get it undone! I don’t know what to do, Willow.”

At that her tears spilled over and Willow got to her feet, taking a seat next to the Slayer before wrapping her arms comfortingly around her.

“It’ll be okay,” was all she could think of to say. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

“How?” Buffy demanded, pulling back and looking at her friend. “How can it be when... when I miss him? I really miss him!” She suddenly laughed. “It’s so funny when you think about it. I hate him, but I miss him. One moment I wanna kill him, the next I just want to...”

She stopped herself, glancing at Willow and then rising, drying her tears again and shaking her head.

“There has to be some logic to it,” she said determinedly. “Some way to cure me.”

“Cure love?”

“It’s not my love!”

“Oh,” Willow merely said and Buffy faltered, then found her resolve again.

“And it isn’t even love yet. I’m pretty sure it’s just a mild crush. You know, in a few days I’ll shake it off.” She was beginning to feel better about it, growing more confident by the second. “I will! He’s a demon, Willow. That’s all he is in the end. Something that’s nesting inside a dead body. That’s how I’ll see him from now on. There’s nothing real in him. None of it was real.”

The last sentence came out quieter than its predecessors and she seemed to grow thoughtful before she smiled at Willow, who was observing her.

“Guess I should go see Giles,” Buffy said.

“He’s out of town ‘til Friday. I tried to get a hold of him this morning but it was a no-go. He went to see an old friend whom he thought could help with the whole spell-breaking.”

Buffy’s eyes locked with Willow’s.

“Mystery solved,” Buffy smiled. “Good old Giles; can always count on him.”

“Then I suppose he might be back early.”

“I’ll go check his apartment tomorrow,” Buffy said, pausing before she continued: “I’m not sure I’m all there yet, so I don’t know if I can come back to school... right away, but how much in the doghouse am I when it comes to catching up with my classes? What have you told the teachers? That’s all I need right now, all my professors branding me Slacker Girl.”

“Don’t worry, I talked to your mom and we thought up a brilliant cover.”

“Which was?”

“You had to go visit the farm where your childhood horse Wilbur was drawing his last few breaths. The farm is conveniently located in Arizona.”

“Hah. I’m taking it it’ll be a hoot catching up with people around campus. And wasn’t Wilbur a pig?”

“Not for you.”

Buffy smiled at that, then it faded and she sighed.

“What a mess.”

Willow adopted an encouraging expression and Buffy tried to let it transfer into her, give her a spot of hope that everything would work itself out. But it sure looked dark, didn’t it?

“So, what else is new around campus?” she asked, searching for a distraction.

Any kind of distraction.

“Well, Illuminatus are playing at the Bronze tomorrow night, and then we have a math test on Friday. And on Saturday there’s the party at Riley’s fraternity, which...”

Buffy’s eyes grew round before she exclaimed:

“Oh, my God! Riley!”

The next moment she was out the door, Willow staring at it as it slowly slid closed.

“Now, that was just a bit too familiar,” she said to herself.

Riley looked up as Buffy knocked on the doorframe of his room, the door standing open as he was packing a bag, about to head out. He straightened his back, eyeing her for a long moment. She was hesitant. And damn well should be.

She was actually a little bit more than hesitant, she was uncertain of what she wanted to say to him. Her emotions were a mixed up jumble right now, and she knew she cared about him so very much, but would it be fair to him to push this relationship between them when she was still so torn about her feelings toward another man.

She checked herself as that thought ran through her head, sudden dread appearing as she realized how easily it had just passed through. How simple it had seemed to admit that she had feelings for an evil, undead, self-involved, idiotic, wanting-her-dead thing!

She bit her cheek as she wanted to reproach herself for being too harsh.

He may be demonic, he may lack self-control, he may use the word ‘bloody’ for purposes it doesn’t seem intended for, but he’s not a thing, the side to her, still holding way too much empathy for him, stated with a simplicity still hard for the Slayer to fully get.

She waved it away and focused on her boyfriend.

Boyfriend?

She supposed he officially wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing how it was far from enough. “My world is of the freakish kind and freakish occurrences do... occur,” she added, but he didn’t return her smile.

“I did notice that,” he then said. “But seeing you with him...”

“Oh, God, you don’t have to think about that anymore, I promise you it’s so over I hardly think... about it. Which isn’t true and I don’t wanna lie ‘cause frankly that’s a bad way to start. I do think about him... Not as in him, I mean as in what happened ‘cause it was one of the freakish things. The freakiest, even, and I can’t not think about it ‘cause I might lose my mind and you know what they say – a mind lost is lost forever. Usually, at least and... I’m rambling. I know it. So I’m stopping.”

She took a small breath, standing back and awaiting his reaction. He clenched his jaws together, which was never a good sign.

“I don’t know what happened, and I don’t think I wanna know,” he finally murmured. “I get that you weren’t yourself. Willow had a pretty long explanation for your behavior and I heard it, but I don’t know if I bought it. The last spell that had you be with someone who wasn’t me, that was with him too, wasn’t it? I just feel like maybe...”

“Riley,” Buffy shook her head. “Please. I don’t wanna tell you that I’m back to normal, that I’m ready to go for picnics and stay over and be like it never happened. If I told you that – I’d be lying; and like I just said – bad way to start. But you have to believe me when I say that you mean too much to me to lose over something like this. Just give me a few days; will you do that for me? I’ll come to the party on Saturday and we can talk more then, okay?”

He was about to say something, but changed his mind and simply nodded his agreement.

Spike was in a room, heavy chains binding his wrists to the wall behind him. He was standing, trying to see through the thick blackness in front of him, but there was nothing there.

“This is where I’ll keep you,” Buffy’s voice whispered in his ear.

“Don’t trust her,” Angelus said.

“Kill her,” Dru demanded. “Kill her for me.”

“She’ll make you feel things,” Angelus picked up, a silky sleeve stroking Spike’s right arm and he turned his head to the side, but shadow was still all he could see. “She’ll make you regret things. She’ll make you believe in things.”

“Why can’t you kill her!” Dru’s voice exclaimed.

Spike tried to tug at his restraints, but they barely budged.

“When I look at you... all I see is the Slayer.”

He growled, feeling his face vamp out.

“This is where I’ll keep you,” Buffy repeated, a sudden ray of light appearing from the ceiling and falling down a few feet from him, hitting the form of the Slayer, his gaze resting on her blonde locks, her face soft as a smile rested on her lips. “You’ll always be safe here. You know that.”

He strained his arms, putting every last muscle into trying to tear loose, but nothing happened and she stepped out of the light, through the dark until she was right there, her hands sliding up his torso, her mouth meeting his gently. The demon retracted as the kiss was met, his bonds suddenly slacking and he pulled her tight to him.

He woke at that, sitting up with a frustrated snarl and grabbing his pillow, throwing it across the room with a louder growl.

“Buggering bitch!” he cursed under his breath.

If he could have he would have clawed himself away from these feelings of helplessness and depravation; but as bravely as he had fought them, as obvious had his final succumbing to them been to him. A long ways coming... Ironic, but there none the less. Taunting him, laughing at him, not leaving him alone. And these sodding dreams!

He hadn’t dreamt for years and now they had to plague him?

He made up his mind, getting up and getting dressed he walked upstairs, finding the crypt surprisingly enough in total dark.

Must be later than I thought, he grumbled.

Considering Willy’s he still found himself steering his feet towards the Bronze.

“Can’t you at least try to have fun?” Willow asked Buffy, who sat twirling her cup between her hands absentmindedly.

“Yeah, Buff,” Xander agreed, smiling at her. “What’s with the rain on our parade?” Both Wicca and Slayer gave him a look. “What? ‘Cause of the return and the joy and there would be trumpets flaring if the band had supplied them,” he said, giving a half-nod to the stage.

“Sorry, Xand,” Buffy muttered. “Not into the groove tonight, I guess. And the flaring of trumpets are done well without,” she added and he smirked.

“Alright, I bow to thy will. But you should be smiling as widely as I am, is all I’m saying,” he stated, spotting Anya entering across the room and raising one hand to wave her over. “The nightmare’s finally over! You’re out of the clutches of the evildemonicsadistichatefulfiend and hopefully you’ll get around to staking him any time soon!”

“Xander!” Willow said, glancing at Buffy, whose face hadn’t shifted.

“What?” he asked. “We’re all in this club together, Willow, it’s not like this is news. Vamp is bad. Vamp is slain. Vamp will never rise again.”

“Wow,” Buffy said, “we should have that put on our T-shirts.”

“And our stickers,” Willow nodded. “We can spread this message to anyone who ever needed something to believe in.”

Xander gave them both a friendly glare as Anya arrived at his side, linking her arms around him.

“Hey,” she said, receiving greetings from the other two. “Anything happen?”

“The Scoobies are raising money for T-shirts and stickers,” Willow replied.

“We’ve officially entered the twilight zone,” Buffy added. “Where evil is black and good is white and there never is anything in between.”

Xander frowned.

“I get the feeling that comment was dropped on my behalf,” he said, but Buffy rose, granting him the first bleak resemblance of a smile that evening and excusing herself.

She walked up the stairs taking her up to the mezzanine overlooking the dance floor. Leaning against the rail she drew a slow breath, letting it out in the same manner.

She didn’t know how to deal. Her pep-talk she had had with Willow the day prior had been efficient for about half an hour – until she stood before Riley – and then all the doubt crept back through her defenses. It was a struggle, first being so sure of one thing to then be convinced of the complete opposite. She had forgotten how willing she had been when she was younger to forgive, to sympathize, to listen. How important it had been to her to keep an open mind. How she had told herself that as long as she was willing to walk in somebody else’s shoes she should be totally comfortable walking in hers.

Now she shook her head at herself.

I’ve done a lot of growing up since then, she thought. The old rules don’t apply anymore.

And still the old mindset seemed fixated on sticking around. Turning everything she threw at it, as a righteous reason to forget about what had happened with the evildemonicsadistichatefulfiend, into a whole other angle and adding a but-what-if to every last sentence.

Suddenly her gaze caught on the top of a familiar head and her heart instantly raced in her chest, butterflies dancing in her stomach in a rush that she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. She straightened her posture, taking a step back, into the shadows, afraid that he’d single out her breathing, her movements, her pulse, and look up.

God, you’re silly, she told herself.

And still she couldn’t help but like it.

The sudden thrill was of a new kind.

Forbidden, unwonted, tingly.

Okay, stop, she instructed, turning and walking back down the stairs.

She reached the last step, moving her gaze up and halting as her eyes met his. And he was close. Very close. Reach-out-and-touch close. She crossed her arms over her chest, adopting an expression which she prayed was as annoyed as she felt with herself.

“Thought I made you weak,” she said.

He gritted his teeth.

Bloody hell, this was gonna have to be done the drop-down-to-the-center-of-the-Earth-and-get-scolded-alive hard, wasn’t it?

“Not under just any circumstance,” he then smirked, his gaze running down her form and her eyes were sharp as he rested his in them once more.

“Thought you hadn’t exactly acquired a taste for the feeling,” she remarked and he clenched his fists together tightly.

“Think I’m here to see you, Slayer?” he asked coolly, stepping up and passed her as he continued the way she had just come.

She kept herself from turning her head and watching his ascent, stepping down and walking back up to Xander, Anya and Willow.

“You okay?” Willow asked as Buffy sat down on her former chair.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Buffy replied, grabbing her unfinished drink and swallowing it in one gulp. “I miss alcohol,” she muttered, then brightly added: “Let’s fun it up, guys. Next round’s on me.”

Spike watched from above, wondering for the hundredth time what force had possibly been able to bring him here tonight.

Buffy got to her feet, walking up to the bar as confidently as she could. The bartender turned to her and she opened her mouth to order at the same time as he said:

“I.D.”

She closed her mouth again, pouting slightly.

“Oh, now you ask for it? Is it ‘cause I don’t have a lethal looking, leather wearing male by my side, is that it?”

The bartender looked her over, then simply repeated:

“I.D.”

“I’ll have a beer,” Spike said right behind her and she shut her eyes briefly.

“Again with the beer?” she asked, turning around and locking her gaze with his.

“It has its charm,” he replied.

“You wouldn’t feel the need to keep a clear head, would you?” she wondered teasingly and he cocked an eyebrow.

“Change that to whiskey,” he told the bartender and Buffy rolled her eyes at him.

He merely smirked in that self-confident, infuriating way; grabbing the glass at it was put on the counter, the arm of his duster brushing her bare skin and she was seconds away from grabbing him and latching herself to him permanently when he stepped back and turned from her, walking away nonchalantly.

She leaned back, seeking support on the stool next to her.

So, she seemed to still be a bit attracted to him, so what! It wasn’t like it was beyond control. She hadn’t actually grabbed and latched, had she?

She ordered and went back to the gang, needing desperately a diversion.

Half an hour later she laughed at one of Xander’s anecdotes, feeling very relaxed and out of any thoughts relating to anything having to do with anything bleached. She had known she could do it. It’s a phase, it’s just a phase, she kept telling herself.

“Hi,” a voice said to her right and she looked at the guy standing next to her. “Here alone?” She still couldn’t quite place him and he smiled pleasantly, adding: “Joe. Remember? From the other night?”

Of course, Joe! Whom she’d been dancing so beautifully with before bleach came and interrupted.

“Oh, hi,” she smiled. “’Course I remember.”

“Yeah... I have to admit I’ve been waiting for the opportune moment, and since the dude you were with...”

“Isn’t here, with me, tonight,” she filled in with another smile. “He is so not here with me.”

“So... Wanna dance?”

“Finish what we started?”

He smiled warmly and she returned it easily, grabbing his hand and heading for the dance floor.

Spike’s gaze followed them.

There was a ripple inside of him that he couldn’t ignore. This was a bad thing from many aspects.

Firstly, because it was stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. Secondly... because it verified every last suspicion he had had about what exactly bad been going on within him for the past few days. Yes, he had realized it when she attacked him, back to her old self and eager for a slay – especially his. But had he admitted it? Seen the truth of it in the eye and tackled it? No.

So when the jealousy now rose powerfully within him at the thought – and full view – of another man’s hands on her; when it made him feel blinded by it, when it made him get that this was real, what had happened between them had been irreversible and that for better or worse it had dug down deep and had no intention of ever going away, he didn’t follow his first instinct.

Which was to drag her out of there if it so cost him his head in splinters.

He went with the second one. Finishing his drink he then descended to the floor of the club again, choosing a spot and leaning against the wall behind him as he quietly observed the dancers.

He wanted her. He wanted her to want him as badly as he did her. He wanted it to drive her out of her head, this... desire. He wanted her to see it on him and not be able to help herself. He wanted her to need him. He wanted to torture her with it and break his way into her life until he was so deep in that there was nothing she could do when he finally got to cross her out.

I’ll taste you, he thought darkly.

He stared at the mortal holding her, at his hands touching her, and had to dig his feet back against the wall to keep himself from stalking up to them. She smiled at something the human said and suddenly there was a pang inside the vampire, the envy reached a new level and he growled silently, pushing away from the wall and walking right at the edge of the dance floor, his gaze finally catching hers and holding it as he slowly made his way passed them, releasing it as he went for the exit.

Buffy watched him disappear, numbed by the look of silent fury in his eyes.

He hates me, she thought.

Blinking she took a step away from Joe, smiling slightly, though she knew it was distracted as she said something about air and left him there, heading for the backdoor and the alley. She entered it, putting her arms around her and closing her eyes, drawing deep breaths and trying to get herself from shaking.

He hates me, her mind repeated and then she opened her eyes, glaring at the brick wall before her. Dammit, get a hold on yourself! He’s always hated you! He hated you right through the passed two weeks.

She turned abruptly and went back inside, walking up to the table to grab her coat.

“Leaving?” Willow asked, disappointed.

“I tried for the fun,” Buffy said. “I’m just not up for it tonight.”

“We’ll go soon too,” Xander put in and Buffy gave him a smile.

“No, stay,” she encouraged. “I’m patrolling so I might be late,” she added to Willow.

“I could come with,” the redhead offered.

“No, I need to blow off some steam. Not that there’s any steam to blow off. I mean, literally. I mean...”

“Going to kill something?” Xander interrupted helpfully.

“Yes.”

And at that, she did.

Kicking up her leg she hit the vampire square in the chest. It stumbled backwards and she frowned.

“That’s supposed to make you topple over,” she grumbled. “Now I’m starting to get cranky.”

It met her hits, delivering one of its own to her side and having her fold with pain. Something struck her on the neck and she lost her balance, rolling over she grabbed the stick the creature was swinging at her head and fought to keep it away from her face as it kept pressing it down. Then she got the better grip and tore it out of its hands as she flipped herself to her feet, spinning around and kicking a foot up, hitting its cheek and making it fly through the air. She was on it as soon as it touched ground, raising the stick still in her grasp and driving it through the demon’s ribcage. It burst into ashes with a growl and she blew a stray lock out of her forehead as she watched the dust settle.

“Any last wish?” she asked, then crinkled her nose up. “Oh, right.”

“Bollocks,” Spike’s voice sounded and she turned around, eyebrows rising as her eyes landed on where he had stopped, cigarette between lips and frown safely secured on his brow.

He hadn’t expected to see her, and this unexpectedness wasn’t appreciated, because suddenly all the seething anger he had been relishing in was carefully pulling back, making way for a strange curiosity, silent and resting it lay right beneath the surface, making him wonder why she was there, now, when she should be clubbing with her little posse. Making him want to query her motives for showing up at all hours wherever he found himself; even in his sleep.

He clenched his jaws together.

Bloody hell.

She ignored the swivel in her stomach.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked and his eyebrow rose even higher.

“I live here,” he replied with a nod to his crypt, located close by.

She looked perplexed, and then she seemed to realize exactly where she was. He tilted his head a little to the side, eyeing her in the silence. Then she reached down and grabbed her stake, lying on the ground by her feet, tucking it in the back of her pants before walking passed him.

“Can’t you choose any of the other eleven cemeteries to haunt?” he asked, making her stop and turn to him. “Must you kill my kin in my backyard?”

“As far as I know you don’t mind killing your kin yourself these days,” she remarked testily.

“Yes, but being slain... by a girl... is such an undignified way to go,” he sighed.

“Facing the Slayer isn’t undignified,” she bit back and he smirked. “And stop looking at me like that.”

He dropped the fag to the ground, stepping on it before coming up to her.

“Take it you’re back to full capacity?”

“Wanna find out?”

He merely smiled again.

“How’s the shoulder?” he inquired and she looked at him for a moment, then answered:

“Fine.” He stepped passed her, on his way up to the crypt when she said: “Why didn’t you let them have me?”

He paused, glancing back at her and meeting her gaze.

“Who?”

“The dozen or so demons knocking at your door.”

“There were three,” he pointed out, “and I wasn’t about to hand you over to some fledglings out for an easy bite.”

“They weren’t fledglings,” she said. “Why didn’t you let them...?”

“Does it matter?” he cut in, turning to her fully. “It doesn’t,” he then added. “It’s done.”

“You hate me more than anyone. You’ve wanted me dead for ages. It matters. ...You thought the gang’d be after you? Thought you’d have to leave Sunnydale?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

She observed him.

“Why did you sleep with me?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “In retrospect I can safely say I slept with her.”

She looked quizzical.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re not fifteen anymore. That you’re nothing like you were two days ago. That I really don’t like you.”

“I’m not two people,” she stated.

He looked at her in that inquisitive way again and she swallowed.

“You were different,” he then said.

“Yeah, well, I’m not fifteen anymore. Buffy then only had to worry about boys and getting the latest nail polish to put on her shelf. She could go to the mall and pick out an outfit without wondering if it’d get ruined in her next fight for her life. She could spend her allowance on shoes instead of new weapons! She knew who was who in Hollywood and she knew where to look for the best moccachinos, but I can’t do that, okay! I have to beat the bad guys and save the day and I don’t have time for hair and make-up! If I’m lucky I’ll spend a few dollars on me each month, but I can’t be selfish! I can’t just run off from school or from friends or from life just ‘cause I feel like it and oh, my God, I did it.”

She stopped her talking with one hand by her mouth, looking startled. He frowned.

“Did I miss a part?”

She stared at him.

“I did it,” she repeated. “I made it happen. ...I made a wish.”

He stared back.

“A wish?”

“I wished that I could be fifteen again! That I could be back before any of the Slayer stuff happened! It was...”

“...your fault,” he filled in, a satisfied expression taking its place on his features.

“Are you gonna rub it in now?”

“Bloody right I am,” he nodded.

“Yeah, because you had such a terrible time, didn’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I have had a terrible time?”

“Why! I cooked for you...”

“Hah, cooked. You got me takeout – very classy.”

“Hey! I made breakfast! I heated your blood for you! I sure as hell helped with the interior design and did you even thank me? No, it was bloody curtains this and bloody cushions that! Well, those cushions sure came in handy when we...! When... When we...”

She trailed off and he raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, they worked good as buffers, but what am I supposed to do with ‘em now?”

“Aren’t you still gonna use them as... buffers?”

“You know, Summers, you brought stuff in there that I didn’t have any say in, you migrated the bloody spiders – which I’d grown pretty fond of – and you even added to my wardrobe, but I still don’t think that gives you the right to ask about my need for buffers or no.”

Her eyes widened.

“No,” she murmured.

“Further more, you owe me an apology.”

“An apology? For what, blessing you with some style?”

“For dragging me into the mess in the first place!”

“I didn’t drag you into it! You left the door wide open and pretty much asked me to come right in!”

“’Pretty much asked you’!”

“You didn’t throw me out!”

“I told you to leave! What was I supposed to do!”

“Telling a fifteen year old? Oh, please. You shouldn’t have taken no for an answer! I can’t believe you took no for an answer!”

“Is there any reason why we’re even having this discussion! I can’t rewind time and throw you out now, can I? Or, if you’d like, we can step into my humble-but-poshed-up abode and I can throw you out now! Would that fit milady? ...Or would you rather I turned down the bed for you?”

“I wasn’t in your bed, remember?”

“Thought you weren’t two people.”

“Shut up,” she murmured. “And where do you come off anyway? You weren’t exactly apposed to the scenario once it happened, were you?”

“Scenario?”

“You even liked it.”

“I always like it.”

“So you did like it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you wanted it,” she answered, though her tone was taunting and he could barely stand it.

She approached him slowly, wishing that she didn’t need to hear this, but knowing that she did; so very much. She continued quietly:

“That you enjoyed holding me. That you’d thought about it before...”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” he grumbled, looking down at her where she stopped before him.

She wished she hadn’t gotten quite so near him, but it was too late for that now.

He stared into her eyes, feeling everything sift into oblivion.

“It was temporary,” he mumbled and she furrowed her brow again.

“What was?” she asked.

“Everything but this,” he murmured, his mouth meeting hers the following instant and her arms went around him without her telling them to.

The passion their tongues were building made her knees grow weak, his hands pressing her to him and her whole being responding to him with a sensitivity which astounded her. She clung to him, the heat she felt rising, as the kiss grew more passionate, being blinding.

He couldn’t believe how the feel of her under his hands could drive him clear cross any border he had ever known.

And then she pushed away from him, drawing a breath and trying to get away fully, unable to as he grabbed her wrists.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Then let me,” he mumbled, another moment of objecting from her before she let him pull her close again, meeting his kiss and wrapping her arms around him. “Come inside,” he said, mouth still to hers.

She kissed him and then replied:

“No.”

“Come inside with me,” he said, a near plea in his voice which he was unable to prevent.

He put his hands on either side of her face, making her meet his gaze. She held it, knowing that she was about to give in. And then she kissed him quickly, stepping back and away from his touch.

“No,” she repeated. “I can’t. I won’t,” she added the last when he was about to say something more. She began to back away from him. “Just... stay away from me.”

“Buffy.”

“I’ll stay away too, I swear,” she said. “No more backyard slayage. No more Bronze. We need to... not ever do that again. Ever.”

“Why are you still talking?” he asked, taking a step forward and she swirled around saying:

“I’m leaving,” and then she hurried away, beginning to run and soon being out of sight.

He sighed.

Damn.

Addiction

“Buffy?” Giles said, surprised, even more so at the haggard expression on the Slayer as she stepped through the door of his apartment.

She walked up to the couch, throwing herself down on it with a whimper.

“I feel like I haven’t slept for days!” she said. “Oh, that’s right,” she then muttered, “I haven’t.”

Giles closed the front door, coming up to her wearing a wondering expression. She noticed the still-packed bags on the floor and got to her feet, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

“Thank you!” she said. He blinked in marvel and she stepped back with a smile on. “For what you did! It was all your doing. If it hadn’t been for you I’d still be making out with Spike. Making with The Spike. But thanks to you... I’m really not. I’m a big fan of you.”

Giles blinked again.

“Buffy?” he then said again, looking more closely at her and she stood straight, her smile widening. “Good lord, how did this happen?”

“Did you miss the tribute to your greatness? I can do it all again. And why do you have Confused written all over your face? ...You didn’t? Make the spell go away?”

“No,” he answered. “No, my friend couldn’t locate its origin, as I had hoped... Perhaps it was for it having already been lifted. When did you... come back?”

“I never left.”

“What do you mean?”

She went back up to the couch, having a seat and gathering her thoughts before beginning to try to explain.

“I reverted back to fifteen; me at fifteen wasn’t somehow brought into my body. When the spell was lifted it was like I woke up from a dream. A detailed, remember-every-second sort of dream, but still a dream. Well,” she smirked, “nightmare, I guess is the right word.”

“This is intriguing. I truly would like to know how it came to pass. I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

She looked guilty, glancing up at him, and he paused, then asked:

“What?”

“I was how it came to pass.”

“You?”

“I made a wish.”

“Buffy, you know better than to play around with the darker arts...”

“I didn’t! There was no playing! Especially not with darker parts! Arts! Giles, I just remember saying that I wished I could’ve been fifteen again, that I could be back before being the Slayer took over every aspect of my entire life! I was exhausted after being on Adam watch for a billion hours, and everything with Riley and I went a little nuts, but I didn’t think that just throwing a wish out there could make it come true!”

Giles observed her, then took off his glasses and began to polish them.

“You never can know who’s listening,” he finally said.

“Oh, come on, you can’t be serious.”

“No, I suppose I can’t,” he smiled slightly, replacing his glasses. “But this is quite the tale, Buffy.”

“Willow mentioned divinity,” she said, Giles’ eyebrows rising.

“Yes... that would be plausible,” he nodded, getting a thoughtful expression on his features as he walked up to one of his bookcases, kneeling down and beginning to search the titles. “It is very rare... Extremely rare, I would say. They’re not allowed to meddle in our affairs. As far as I know they are punished severely if they take it into their own hands to interfere in this world...”

“Ergo rarity of willingness to poke nose in,” Buffy commented.

“Yes,” Giles said again, absentmindedly.

“If they’re not supposed to leave their mark, then maybe all of this’ll go away,” she murmured.

“All of what?”

“Might be just residue,” she mumbled sleepily. “Temporary... insanity.”

“Yes, quite right,” Giles said, sliding a book out and beginning to flip through it. “Or, what did you say?”

Turning his head to her he smiled a little as she was out cold.

She was standing in the dark, and in front of her Spike was chained to a wall made of stone. He couldn’t see her.

“This is where I’ll keep you,” she whispered.

His gaze searched the space for her, but couldn’t find her. She furrowed her brow, looking at the heavy bonds tied to his wrists before she took in his chest and then his face. Without warning he vamped out.

“This is where I’ll keep you,” she repeated; light from the ceiling suddenly flowing down around her, an invisible spotlight directed straight at her scalp. “You’ll always be safe here. You know that,” she stated, meeting his yellow eyes.

Then she began moving forward slowly until she was right before him, hesitating for a second before she reached out her hands and slipped them over the taut muscles of his torso, stepping into him and tilting her head back to look up at him. And then, she let her lips meet his. For a few moments his fangs scraped her skin, and then they drew back and his arms were suddenly around her, holding her tightly.

The chains were gone.

The kiss deepened.

Then she slowly ended it, pulling her head back to meet his gaze. The warmth in his eyes made her feel safe, and she knew that he loved her.

She woke with a sharp breath, scrambling to her feet the next instant and looking around the room. It was empty, Giles had left. She moved her hands through her hair, then rolled her shoulders back and straightened out her sweater.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re fine!”

She chewed on her lower lip, then came to a decision.

“Buffy!” Willow said. “With books,” she added, looking questioning.

It was right after lunch and the encounter was taking place in one of the hallways of the college.

“Yes, I thought I should embrace the studying. Anything to root out all the thinking.”

Willow smiled as Tara joined them.

“Hi,” the latter said, smiling at the redhead and then at the blonde. “Hi, Buffy. How are you doing?”

“Overload on the thoughts.”

“Oh.”

Buffy smiled.

“I’m okay. I’m fine! I just need to get something else in my head other than what’s stuck in it right now.”

“’The only way to rid yourself of an addiction is to give into it.’ From what famous writer comes this quote?”

Buffy sunk down in her chair, a pout quickly placing itself on her mouth as she pretty much glared at the professor. What the hell did she have to do! Was there no escaping this? Was this her sudden curse? Did the entire universe now work solely for her to run straight back to the bleached fiend and tell him...

“Oscar Wilde, people!” her professor stated. “Wake up! Do you agree with Mr. Wilde’s insight, or might you perhaps have an opinion of your very own?”

A few students raised their hands.

“Yes, Lily?”

“Giving into an addiction isn’t really ridding yourself of it. I have a... bordering on ridiculous, I’ll admit it, liking of grapes.” There were scattered laughs and she smiled. “I’m serious, though. I eat them all the time, but that doesn’t make it go away; it only keeps the need alive.”

Buffy nodded her consent to that.

“But I think Wilde didn’t mean it literally,” a guy in the back spoke up. “That is, he was being sarcastic. An addiction is something that you can’t ever make go away, no matter what you try.”

“That’s not true,” a girl said. “I used to love my mom’s wheat cookies, I thought I could eat a hundred of them, but then she made me about a hundred and when I’d eaten half of them I never wanted to eat another wheat cookie again! And I haven’t since.”

“There we have a story that proves Mr. Wilde to be absolutely correct, then,” the professor said with a smile. “But what of a deeper addiction? Not that the suggested ones aren’t valid, but if we try we might find a few that hasn’t got to do with sweets or... fruit.” Scattered laughs around the room again. “Think of drugs. There are many different kinds. Caffeine. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Pills. Narcotics. If you had to pick, which one would be the worst?”

“Cigarettes,” Buffy stated without really thinking.

“And why is that, Ms. Summers?”

“They... smoke,” she said; her fellow students laughing and she smiled as well. “What I mean to say is that they affect other people in a really annoying way.”

“Doesn’t a drunk father or mother abusing their child because they’re too gone to realize what they’re doing affect their surroundings in a most annoying way?” the professor asked, addressing the whole class as he continued: “Doesn’t someone taking an overdose of pills affect many of those around them disturbingly? And doesn’t a seventeen year old so desperate for a fix that he robs his grandparents for a few dollars affect others as well?”

“Yes, addictions are bad,” Buffy agreed. “But what about Mr. Wilde’s quote? I mean, all the things you mentioned as an addiction are things people just have to learn to live with, if they’re stupid enough to indulge in them once, right?”

“Exactly what I believe, Ms. Summers,” her professor nodded. “The only way to rid yourself of an addiction – don’t indulge to begin with.”

“But if you’ve crossed the line,” a girl said, “and it’s too late, then what?”

“What did Ms. Summers say? If you’re stupid enough...”

The girl thought for a second, then filled in:

“You’ll have to live with it.”

“Ah, she even took it one step further than that. She said you must learn to live with it. It’s the hardest thing for anyone to learn the valuable lesson of abstinence, but even being able to practice self-control will never make the need for what you crave go away. It may lay dormant, for years, but then it might rise unexpectedly and you’ll have to deal with it again.”

“What’s the moral of it all?” another guy asked, this one in the front. “Don’t have coffee, don’t enjoy a drink, don’t touch cigarettes, stay away from aspirin and don’t ever get high?”

“Marvelous, Mr. Greer,” the professor applauded. “You picked this up without me having to put it up on the blackboard, very good! The moral of this lesson is: always rule yourself, never allow something to rule you.”

He’s a demon, Buffy told herself firmly, staring at her reflection later that evening. He’s a demon and I won’t let a demon rule me. I won’t let this rule me! I only want him ‘cause there’s no way I can ever have him, the sooner I understand that, the sooner he’ll be out of my head. So, he doesn’t have a soul. He acts and walks and talks and moves and looks like a human because he has the memory of William... That’s a nice name, isn’t it? I’ve always like that name. Hmh, he has the same nickname as Willow... Will. Might get confusing. Why would it get confusing? They’re not going to be anywhere near each other. Moving on. ...Where was I? Oh, right. He only remembers William’s life, he didn’t live it. So there’s nothing of William in him. Nothing. That dream wasn’t a Slayer dream, anyways. It was a residue dream. So I’m forgetting about it now. Click-click-deleted. ...And he’s not funny. ...And he’s not important. And he can’t kiss.

The door opened and she rose to her feet, turning to Willow as the latter entered.

“Hi,” Buffy said.

“Hi,” Willow replied. “Did it work?”

“Huh? Did what work? I haven’t been trying to work anything.”

Willow looked wondering.

“The getting the thinking to stop,” she then elaborated, eyeing her friend before adding: “I’m gonna go out on a not too wild limb – ‘cause I’m scared I might fall off – and say that it didn’t?”

“Actually I think it might’ve. Made it stop, I mean,” Buffy said optimistically. “I might’ve found my cure.”

Willow couldn’t think of anything to say to that, but she tried not to look too sympathetic as she couldn’t stop herself from thinking: denial, denial, denial.

The Wicca didn’t know exactly what was going on with the Slayer and the Vamp, but it sure wasn’t nothing. She had noticed it at the Bronze the other night. She was worried, but didn’t know how to approach the subject. Was the Slayer actually developing warmer feelings for the vampire? Was that even possible, or was it just a passing lapse of... concentration? Perhaps it would go away.

If it doesn’t do it soon, Willow thought, Buffy’s going to have to face it... and that can only lead down the path of ugly.

God, I hate her, Spike thought, glaring at the television and then at the whiskey in his hand.

“I mean hate,” he stated. “Really, really hate her. She keeps on screwing up my life... Keeps on... making me bloody think about her!”

He drank up the whiskey, then looked at the glass again, which she had bought for him, and he growled, throwing it to hit the wall beyond the TV. He rose, kicking the loveseat over, stepping over it and walking into the kitchen, staring at the collection of glasses neatly standing on the counter. He moved his arm forward, about to sweep them all to the floor when he stopped himself. Gnashing his teeth he let the arm fall to hang along his side again, sighing he shook his head.

Unbelievable, he thought.

Then he reached out a hand to gently touch one of the items before smiling slightly to himself before turning and slowly walking back into the other room. Straightening the couch upright again he leaned on his arms, hanging his head and wanting the wanting to stop. Because he missed her.

But she’s not... the same now. I’m missing someone who’s... dead.

The grief at that thought was too great and he grabbed his duster, choosing to ignore it all and go somewhere that wouldn’t have every corner reminding him of her. Well, some corners might.

“I’ll deal with that when I get there,” he told himself.

The following morning he woke up at the base of the ladder of the crypt; concluding that he must’ve fallen down it the night prior. He was bound to remember how he’d gotten there, as long as he could get to his feet. He groaned, rolling from his stomach to his back.

“Well, this is a pathetic sight,” Buffy’s voice sounded and he turned his head, watching her legs come walking up to him.

She stopped to lean down over him and he looked up at her, frowning questioningly.

“Honey,” she smirked, sinking down with her feet on either side of him, straddling him softly, “how many times do I have to tell you, don’t drink and climb. One of these days...”

“I’m gonna get seriously injured,” he filled in, sitting up with her hands placing themselves on his shoulders as the smirk stayed on her mouth. He added: “I’m a quick healer.”

“So am I,” she stated, tilting her head to the side, exposing her neck and two fresh puncture wounds. “How’s that for breakfast?”

Before he knew it he had vamped out, parted his lips and let his teeth sink through her flesh.

He sat straight. Soon understanding that he was in bed, in his bed, and that he was alone.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Willow asked and Buffy cocked an eyebrow.

“Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?” she retorted.

“No, not at all. You look nice!” Willow assured with a smile. “It’s just... Well, if you wanna get Riley back maybe you should use something more... alluring.”

Buffy gave her a look and Willow laughed.

“Sorry, I’m backing off now. I just miss seeing you guys together, you know? I really want you to work this whole thing out.”

“Right. And it has nothing to do with the confession I laid on you or the fact that there’s a vampire hanging around in the wings just waiting for an opportunity to...”

“No,” Willow interrupted, “it has absolutely nothing to do with that. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

“We will. ...At least we can be positive to be in the last place Spike would ever show up.”

Buffy walked into the large house hosting Riley’s fraternity, orienting herself quickly and spotting the table with refreshments. She headed up to it with Willow and Tara, all of them grabbing some punch before last two went to find Xander. Buffy looked around the room, seeing Forrester she gave him an awkward nod which he barely returned and after that brush-off she decided to simply mingle.

Fifteen minutes later she’d walked through every room of the place and couldn’t find Riley anywhere. She was beginning to grow annoyed when a hand touched her shoulder and she turned around to face the namesake.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied.

They stood without saying anything for a while, both trying to pick it up at the right place. Finally he asked:

“Wanna sit?”

She nodded and they found their way to a partially occupied couch, squeezing down and facing each other tentatively. Buffy ventured a smile and as he returned it hers broadened.

“I miss you,” he confessed.

“Riley...”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I miss you too,” she said, linking her fingers with his. “And I’m sorry that we’re in the middle of all this... stuff. My stuff, to be exact. If I could I’d make it all go away... It’s not like I haven’t tried. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“It’s that hard?”

“No, not hard... just complicated,” she said, raising her gaze to have it land on two forms entering through the front door. Both blonde. One demon, the other ex-vengeance. Buffy had truly been counting on not seeing the bleach-head tonight. She felt a swirl of shock at seeing him with Anya. “What the hell?”

Riley furrowed his brow, turning to where she was looking. She felt him stiffen and she rose, pulling him with her. She wasn’t about to let this ruin the connection she felt building between her and him. She wasn’t going to let anything do that, not even this sudden swivel of common jealousy and alarm rushing through her at the sight of the vampire with the mortal.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere... more private,” she said.

He seemed to hesitate and she tugged his arm encouragingly. He followed her when she began to move through the crowd. She kept her eyes from going to Spike, wondering if he’d noticed her, if he’d noticed where he was.

Idiot, she thought. And what is he doing here with Anya anyway? When did they get so close? It’s the demon club, is what it is. All exclusive. And stop thinking about it. Shrug it off. It doesn’t bother you. You have a gorgeous guy whom you’re taking to Somewhere Private. And you miss Riley more. More than what!

Spike was just beginning to relax – since no one seemed apt to hit him over the head or tackle him to the ground – but listening to Xander’s yapping was beginning to give him a headache. He was about to cut into the bantering when he spotted Buffy. He felt himself grow cold when he noticed who she was with. Then he was fiery hot, the sensation rising through him in a flash. He wanted to pave way through the crowd and step between those two, give Soldier Boy a good, brutal push into a wall somewhere... But of course, he couldn’t do that. Especially here. That would make the lax turn into howling football team protecting one of their bloody quarterbacks. Or whatever Riley would be.

“Right then,” he said to Xander and Anya, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Then he stepped down and began to move through the crowd.

Riley made Buffy stop and she turned to him, wondering.

“I wanna stay here,” he said and she was about to offer her objection when he continued: “If we go to my room I’ll want to be... close. And we can’t be that right now. If we were, tomorrow I’d wake up and ask myself what it meant, and I don’t ever wanna do that with you.”

She looked at him, wishing so badly that she could make it easier on him.

“Tell me what you do want,” she said.

“I want one dance,” he smiled.

“Just one?” she smiled back.

“Just one,” he then confirmed before stepping into her.

She closed her eyes as his arms went around her.

This was so nice; a living, breathing, healthy young man who was in love with her. Instead of an undead, still-hearted killer who was so much older than her she couldn’t even grasp it. And the icing on the cake with that one was, of course, that he couldn’t stand her. He could kiss her. But he couldn’t stand her. He could take advantage of her. But he couldn’t stand her. And it was the same for her, naturally, so it didn’t matter. She could look at him, have her eyes in his since he was standing right across the room nonchalantly glaring at her, and not feel even the slightest of a buzz.

She struggled with her heart beat. And she had some trouble with the pleasant shiver running over her shoulders as she couldn’t get her gaze out of his, and his was growing more intense by the second.

Damn it!

She cuddled closer to Riley, and then realized what she was doing; Spike raising one eyebrow, obviously not oblivious to it either. And had it worked? He didn’t seem to be standing knee-deep in a raging sea of envy, now did he? She swallowed, forcing herself to hide her face against Riley’s shoulder, drawing a breath to steady herself. When she casually glanced up again Spike was gone.

Good riddance, she thought. Hopefully he was taken down under and zapped a few times for even showing up here.

She felt Riley’s grip tighten a little and had guilt pour itself into her. What was she doing?

The music ended.

They stepped apart.

“What now?” she asked silently, wanting him to save her from it all; from herself; knowing that he couldn’t.

“I know what I need – and that’s to be apart from you ‘til I can be with you.”

She smiled tryingly and he smiled back, though his was tainted with melancholy.

“Soon,” she promised, meaning it with all the care she held for him; standing on her toes and kissing him on the cheek.

They parted slowly.

Buffy hesitated, contemplating what to do next. Finally deciding on going to look for Willow. She couldn’t spot her anywhere. She searched the crowd and came up with nothing, growing more and more frustrated. Just a sight of red hair would suffice. What, did she leave? Just like that? Without saying hello? ...Or good-bye? Where would she be?

Buffy paused, thinking. Then decided to go find the nearest keg.

She almost turned and went the other way when her eyes landed on Spike’s back. But as he looked up and straight at her it was too late and she resigned to merely crossing her arms over her chest. He raised the plastic cup to his lips, eyeing her. She glared back, not amused by the sudden twinkle in his blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she finally asked.

“What are you doing here?” he responded. “Shouldn’t you be making it comfy-cozy with Captain Cardboard?”

“Comfy-cozy?”

“This party lacks life. And what’s with the music? You helped plan it, didn’t you?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t get all huffy, love... Décor’s nice. Then again, we both know that is your strong suit. And hey, if all this grinding and groping does it for you, I’m not one to bloody judge. All’s end that end’s well and all that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Soldier Boy.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that clears it right up! God! You just couldn’t keep to your side of the fence, could you? You had to come and... show up!”

“I didn’t show up here ‘cause I longed to jump the bloody fence, Slayer. Anya brought me here. Bint’s mad. But then, seems like her insanity showed me how slack the boys really are. And free beer – not to mock. I kinda like it here. Maybe you should try out my side...?”

“Spike, just...” She trailed off. “I’m done trying to reason with you. Can’t you get that I don’t want you anywhere near me?”

His gaze was hurt for one moment and she felt a wave of sympathy near her heart for no apparent reason , accompanied by a swell of regret. She’d just lied him right in the face. But then his eyes turned cold.

“Fine then,” he grumbled, turning from her and leaving the spot as well as the room.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, indecisive. Then she followed.

Spike spotted an empty chair and headed up to it, having a seat and taking another mouthful of his beer, wanting desperately to not care what the blonde whirlwind of death for all that was dear to him said. But her words were still stinging. Even more so the look in her eyes as she’d said them. He could do nothing but believe them. And she was actually getting back together with that... that... poof! Captain sodding Cardboard out to save the world?

“I did that once,” Spike muttered to himself. “Didn’t even get a pat on the back for that one.”

Suddenly she sat down next to him and he turned his head to her.

“This whole nowhere-near-you speech would have a more lasting impact if you didn’t come find me five minutes after you delivered it, pet.”

“Since when do you listen to anything I say?” she shot.

“Buffy...”

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like... it means something.”

He stared at her and she held his gaze before suddenly looking away, then rising to her feet. She disappeared out of sight and he sat still for another few minutes before finishing his beer and standing as well. Heading for the front door he was torn between on the one hand needing to find her, to confront her with all these things he couldn’t quite comprehend that were still manifesting themselves within him – he thought that perhaps, if he could say them out loud, they’d leave him alone; and on the other hand wanting to lock himself in his crypt for as long as it might take all those incomprehensible things to go away.

The way she had looked at him just now. It had soothed all those worries...

Why do I even have worries! She’s nothing. Nothing but a killer. A shell hosting something that feels nothing but hostility towards you and your whole race. She means it alright, when she says she wants you as far away as bleeding possible. Don’t think that she is what she was, ‘cause she’s not.

But then he felt like it didn’t matter.

And that was the worst feeling of all.

“Will, I’m leaving,” Buffy said, Willow looking surprised.

“But it’s still early. The music’s just picking up. Can’t you stay a little while longer?”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy replied. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Going home?”

“Yeah... I need to.”

“I get it. Take care.”

They hugged before Buffy grabbed her pocketbook and headed outside.

Leaving the house behind her she was greeted by quiet. Her feet hitting the pavement echoed across the street, but she didn’t mind. The lonesome sound actually made her feel a bit better, and the steady rhythm of her shoes against ground helped her clear her head.

Who did this to me? she wondered for the thousandth time. Who could’ve done this to me? Why? Why take a simple little wish so literally? Who could have thought I meant it? ... Okay, so maybe a part of me meant it, but... still! What could anyone possibly have to gain from me...? I can’t even think it, how am I supposed to deal with this? I can’t! I can’t do this.

She ended up walking around aimlessly for another hour, finally arriving outside the door of her house and looking up at it. All the windows were dark. Her mother was asleep. The Slayer smiled to herself, walking up to the tree standing below her bedroom window and beginning to expertly climb it. It may have been a few years since she actually saw this entrance into her room as a necessary part of patrolling, but the skill hadn’t abandoned her. She reached the sill and pushed the window up, not very surprised that it was open. She always forgot to latch it. Slipping inside she had a surge of memories erupt and she stood still in the darkness for a long while. Thinking of times passed, and wishing they didn’t feel so far away and so near at the same time.

Angel.

She frowned, walking up to her bed and sitting down.

She had a sudden urge to call him. To tell him what was going on. Ask his advice. He knew Spike better than anyone. He could tell her...

She stopped that train of thought right there. First of all, Angel and Spike weren’t exactly the best of pals, and as far as she knew they never had been very close. So, Angel would flip if she told him; and Spike would explode over her telling his grandsire. Not that she in any way cared what Spike thought.

“Stop,” she whispered to herself, closing her eyes. “God, just stop. Please.”

She lay back, desiring nothing but sleep. Then she felt a familiar sensation at the nape of her neck and sat up again, furrowing her brow. Rising she walked back up to the window, gazing down and grumbling as she pushed the window up again, climbing outside with determined movements and quickly descending the tree, jumping to the ground and straightening up to face Spike.

He didn’t want to feel insecure, but all of a sudden that was all he could feel. What the hell was he doing there? She was pissed as a rabid dog and if she bit him he was bound to scream bloody murder because if anyone was to do any sort of biting it should be him.

That brought the dream from the night prior back and he took a slight step back, observing her.

She really did look pissed off.

“I need this to end, right now,” she said, glancing at the house as if expecting the lights to flicker on in her mom’s bedroom.

“I’m sure she’s sound asleep,” he murmured and she took a step forward, her whole being tensing.

“I mean it,” she said.

“Buffy!” Willow’s voice sounded and Buffy jerked, practically jumping three feet away from the vampire as she looked at the approaching redhead.

Willow seemed completely freaked out.

“What’s wrong?” Buffy asked.

“Haunting... Poltergeist. Xander and Anya are trapped. You have to come. Now!”

Willow glanced at the vampire, then turned and began to head back the way she’d come.

Buffy turned her head to Spike, not even sure what she wanted to say. He didn’t seem to be either, and then they simply got moving at the same time. As they caught up with Willow Buffy forced herself to focus on the matter at hand.

“Exactly what happened?”

“People began to act weird. A fight broke out between a few of the guys... There were a bunch of arguments. It was this presence and it was angry, Buffy. Really, really angry. We did some research, and it turns out the house wasn’t always a fraternity. Kids lived there. You know, runaways, juvenile delinquents; kids with issues and they were taught to suppress everything.”

“What’s with Xander and Anya?”

“They’re locked in a room and won’t open the door. I could hear them screaming at each other and... Buffy, I’m really scared. It sounded like it could get violent.”

They hurried their step, soon arriving back at the fraternity, now empty. Giles was waiting for them.

“Thank goodness,” he said. “Did Willow fill you in?”

“Sounds pretty basic. Get in and get them out. Any weapons for me?”

“Only you, I’m afraid.”

“That makes you afraid?” she asked, then smiled, taking off her jacket and tossing it to Willow before heading for the door.

She opened it and stepped inside, being met by a harsh wind which almost made her take a step backwards. Almost. She fought it, and after another three – hard-earned – steps, the wind stopped. She paused.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m curious,” Spike replied, standing right behind her.

“I don’t have time to argue,” she muttered, moving forward. He followed. “Keep your eyes open.”

There was a sudden blinding light coming flaring through the rooms and they both closed their eyes tightly, the wind starting up again and Buffy felt Spike lean against her, pinning her to a wall as the force of the gust began to move furniture around. Again it stopped, as suddenly as last time, and Buffy realized she was holding onto him for dear life.

She stayed in his embrace for a few more moments, and then grew aggravated in an instant, the feeling so powerful that she pushed him away from her harshly. He stumbled back, surprised.

“Get off me, Spike.”

He stared at her, then felt the unfolding rage in her stance mirror in his own chest.

“What is your problem! I bloody well wanna know!”

“You wanna know?” He merely gave her a look. “Fine. This situation we’re in, that’s my problem. That it doesn’t just miraculously disappear, that’s my problem. That you’re a demon, that’s a huge problem! I liked it before. I enjoyed our seething hatred and random, uncommitted encounters. That was fun. Now, all of a sudden, we have to use the phrase ‘Remember the good old days?’ for days that aren’t that old, but that we can’t get back to. They’re gone. And now... what!”

“You’re asking me! I’m as lost as you are, Slayer. ...Can’t you’re little gang get together and figure it out? Isn’t that what you do?”

“Right there, that’s why I hate you!”

“Was it something I said?”

“You’re completely self-involved. You don’t see or care to see anything outside your own world. You despise everyone else, but always expect everyone else to fix whatever the hell’s wrong with your life.”

“What?”

“Angelus came knocking, stealing your precious Dru-zilla – you came to me.”

“Hey, they were about to kill us all. I helped you out, Slayer.”

“Excuse me!”

“What would you have done? You were losing, and would’ve lost if it hadn’t been for me.”

“You took Dru, slung her over one shoulder and left town! You left me fighting Angelus.”

“I knew you could take him!”

“You hoped he’d kill me, you mean.”

He opened his mouth to insist he hadn’t, then changed his mind.

“Yeah,” he agreed and she clenched her hands into fists.

“Drusilla ran for the hills and where’d Spikey go? Sunnydale, for reasons unknown, to kidnap Willow and make her fix it for him.”

“Hey... I gave the idea up...”

“Spikey gets chipped and where does he seek help? Once again, me.”

“You think I wanted to come to you?”

“I think you did.”

“Talk about self-involved. Since when have you ever tried to step out of your safe little cocoon of righteousness and notice that the world is a mess? We live in the pit of it and I agree, it does attract the worst of the lot; but you think demons are the only bad force on Earth? We’re not. The human race is a bloody disgraceful excuse for the greater good. You’re capable of evil that is unspeakable, and you dare sit on your high horse and judge me!”

“Spike, I know the deal! I know humanity is growing less humane by the minute, but know what, it’s not my turf. Demons are what I have to fight every single day until it kills me; and surprise, I haven’t met a vampire yet that didn’t deserve a stake through the heart.”

“Not even Angel?”

She froze, her eyes turning chilly.

“Don’t bring him into this. He has nothing to do with it.”

“Nothing to do with it?”

“Angel was different. He had a soul.”

“Oh, bloody stop with the soul! It made him weak. And... broody.”

“It made him stronger than you’ll ever be,” she stated. “You can’t love.”

Spike’s face grew set at that.

“I want it to be over,” Buffy murmured.

“Want what to be over?” he muttered, his eyes sharp in hers and she swallowed.

“Every time I see you now I can’t think of anything but...”

She trailed off.

“What?” he asked silently.

“This,” she said with a slight gesture to the both of them. “Tell me it was all a lie.”

He held her gaze for another moment, then said:

“It was...”

The sound of breaking glass from upstairs made them both turn their heads that way.

“Xander!” Buffy exclaimed, racing up the stairs to the second floor and down the hallway in search of the origin of the noise.

She could hear raised voices and soon found the right door. Spike was on her heel and when she stepped back he stopped beside her, watching her kick the door in and step inside. Anya was holding a heavy award made of crystal, about to throw it at a cowering Xander. She looked over at Buffy and seemed to slowly wake out of whatever craze she’d been under, looking questioningly at the Slayer and then over at Xander, who was bleeding from a cut on his forehead.

“Oh, God, Xander,” Anya said, dropping the award to the floor and rushing over to him.

Buffy let out a breath of relief. Turning her head to where she expected Spike to be. He was gone. She felt her heart sink. She really hated when he did that.

Disaster

He poured himself a cup of blood, squeezing the last out of the bag and throwing it unceremoniously aside before bringing the cup to his lips. Drinking he reflected over what he had said to Buffy, and what she had said to him. He wondered why it was suddenly so important to him what she thought of him. Why it scratched him when she said that she wanted it to be over. And why it stroked him too gently when she stated that she did think of him...

“Stealthy exit,” her voice sounded and moments later she stepped into view.

He swallowed the last mouthful of blood, taken aback by the sight of her.

Lately she seemed to be seeking him out. Why was that?

“Didn’t do much good, me being there; thought I’d just go,” he murmured, putting the cup down without taking his eyes off her.

“You’re right – it didn’t do much good, you being around never does, so why’d you come in the first place?”

His gaze turned into a glare and he moved it out of hers, beginning to potter with the cup. She watched him patiently for a minute, then she sighed loudly and he faced her again.

“I’ve spent a lifetime killing, and you came in here obviously thinking it’d be simple for me to turn my back on all of it! God, why couldn’t you just have shut up about it!”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I don’t have to prove myself to you,” he stated. “To anyone. Least of all myself. I know who I am. I’m comfortable with what I am. As long as I get the sodding chip out, I’m happy. I won’t trade that for...”

He trailed off, still glaring at her. She could see how upset he was, but she still had no idea what his point was.

“Neither of us want this,” she finally said; the objection within her being silenced effectively. “Can’t we forget it? Go on like it never happened? If we agree on this one thing... maybe it’ll make it possible.”

He looked at her then, in such a way that she felt she could do anything for him if he’d only tell her that he could never do that, he could never forget. Not her, not what had happened... But then the Slayer in her stood towering over those emotions, made them fade to give way to a conviction so deep it wouldn’t crumble.

He was a vampire; a vampire was a demon incapable of goodness, tenderness... and love.

“I don’t know about your head, pet,” he now said, “but mine doesn’t work like that. I can’t just forget.”

She felt the corners of her mouth begin to curl into a smile and damned them both before holding the expression back. Then she said:

“You could try.”

“You think I haven’t?”

“So try harder!”

“You know you can’t either. What happened; happened. We’ll have to learn to live with it.”

She felt tears stinging her eyes, rising out of frustration.

“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t do this again. I refuse to do this again. Whatever made this happen can take it back. If a god was playing with us, he should be able to start over again. Reset everything to nil and have us...”

“Buffy,” Spike interrupted her, “that’s not gonna happen.”

“How do you know? We’ll say a prayer, make another wish, go to bed and wake up tomorrow...”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Don’t tell me how it works; you don’t know any better than me how it works! I guess you’re just fine with it, aren’t you? You can sleep, you can eat, you can go on without feeling anything while I have to...”

“I’ve just about had it with you!” he interrupted, voice raised. “For someone who’s so clear on some points, you don’t have a clue about other ones, do you? Demons aren’t one-sided creatures, Buffy. Perhaps that’s what your poof of a Watcher has drilled into you to make the slay easier, but it’s not the truth. We can feel and we can long and want and we can love just as well as you can! You think the definition of me is the demon and not the soul – that’s how you keep Angel on a pedestal, yeah? What is a soul made of, then? What makes a human a human? I remember everything about my life. I remember every nuance of my mother’s eyes and the sound of my father’s laugh. I remember the room I stayed in at nan’s. The first girl I cared for. I feel all those things I felt when I created those memories, Buffy. The demon in me is blood-thirsty, vicious, raw... it hungers for murder and I’ve let it lead me willingly wherever it wanted to go for the past hundred-and-twenty-years. But it’s not all there is to me, Slayer. ...It’s not.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “Angel...”

“Angel,” Spike again cut in, “had a demon in him so bleeding strong it made the Powers quake in their boots. The soul makes it easier to tap into your sappy, sorry, soft human side. It makes the demon easy to control, because your conscience is clearer in your head... I’m surprised you haven’t turned this over and over yourself, after what Angelus did to you.”

“I have,” she murmured.

“When a soul claims a demon... a vampire... most of them take their own life within a month. The guilt is too much. Angel... I don’t know what he did to stay alive for so long without an anchor, but I guess there were reasons for it.”

“Acathla,” Buffy mumbled, feeling like she needed to sit down and taking a few trying steps backward until she reached the back of the loveseat, resting against it as Spike approached. “He was supposed to open Acathla. It was part of a prophecy...”

“Buffy...”

“I loved him,” she said and Spike felt a dagger twist itself into him as he could see on her where this was going. “So much. But he had to go and I had to let him. And I have Riley now, Spike. I love him, I do. And he loves me. If I ask him, I know there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. If he agrees, will you leave?”

He stared at her.

Not where he had thought this was going.

“Am I supposed to believe I’m safe on the operating table under your boyfriend’s scalpel?”

“He won’t be holding it,” she said with a weak smile. “And I’ll be there the whole time. You have my word.”

He contemplated it.

“The chip comes out,” he finally murmured, “and I promise you, I’ll leave.”

No, a voice said inside her. No, don’t do this!

But she knew she had no choice.

She gave a nod, her tears having dried. Rising to her feet she walked passed him and up to the door, not looking back as she exited.

“This is a disaster!” Grei exclaimed. “Tell Bortha at once.”

“I have already heard,” the large god stated, coming into the room. “Ask Calor to meet me in the parlor. I wish a word with him.”

Grei wanted to say something to that, but held his tongue and scurried off to find Bortha’s youngest son.

“Ath,” Bortha said with a smile at his daughter, who was seated at a table playing Dwindle. “Won’t you join me?”

Ath stopped blowing air on the small figures before her, smiling and rising.

“Certainly, father,” she said, following him into the large room posing as a parlor.

It wasn’t really; it was a large rectangle shaped room. In the ceiling were painted all the constellations, the dots glimmering against the darkness of their backdrop. The floor was made of white marble and the walls were made of crystallized air – which made it possible to walk through them if you were born on that plane of consciousness. Soon Calor entered through the south wall, looking as controlled as always.

“Have you heard?” Bortha boomed, the might of his voice filling the space.

“I have,” Calor nodded, stopping by his parent and sibling.

“And what to you find befitting an occurrence such as this? You realize what very well may happen if he leaves that town, do you not?”

“He will not leave,” Calor replied simply.

“How can you be so certain of that?” Ath asked and Calor smiled gently.

“It is quite obvious.”

“You are overstepping boundaries that are older than the sun,” Bortha stated. “I am glad to see you have faith in the objects with which you wish to play this dangerous game – but I do not have as much faith in your abilities anymore. This is why I am sending you there.”

Calor paled rather rapidly.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked.

“You will become human, Cale, for no more than fifteen days – I like that number, it has a nice ring to it – and you will make absolutely sure that what has been foretold is not damaged in any way.”

“Father, Fate would not let herself be tampered with...”

“Fate is a fickle thing. A few wrong choices and you have evil inconceivable taking over the entire planet. I cannot stress enough how important this is, my son.”

At that he touched Calor’s head and the young man disappeared in a twirl of blue light.

“Very good, father,” Ath couldn’t help but smile.

“You enjoyed that, did you?”

“I must say I did. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“And did you come to me the moment you realized what your brother was up to?”

Ath paused.

“Well, no... but...”

“Exactly,” Bortha said, and before Ath could react he had placed her in a blue-light-twirl as well.

“I’m sorry, I just have to bring this up. Was that really necessary?” a boy asked his date as they walked home.

“Was what necessary?” she wondered, at once annoyed.

“I was only talking to her,” he said, on the offensive.

“I’m sorry if I can’t be more supportive of your interest in your ex.”

“Hey. She’s not my ex, alright. And there is no interest, except for what she’s been up to. She hasn’t been back here for a while...”

“Please. I saw your eyes undressing her as soon as she entered the room!”

“I did not do that! What do I have to do to convince you! Really. The only circumstance that’d make me see another woman without her clothes on would be if she dropped from the sky and just happened to land at my feet!”

There was a swooshing sound and then a thud as a naked female form landed a yard away. She was shivering.

The boy stared, mouth agape, and so did the girl until she realized that he was doing the same.

“Nice prank, jerk! If you didn’t want a second date all you had to do was tell me!” she exclaimed, turning abruptly and beginning to march down the street.

“Jess!” he called after her. “Jess, we can’t just leave her there.”

“If you’re such a gentleman, why don’t you take care of her! Asshole,” Jess called back, disappearing into the shadows.

The boy stared at the body, then glanced around insecurely.

“Oh, wow...” he mumbled. “Miss? Are you alright?”

Buffy dragged herself out of bed as the doorbell rang for the second time. She nearly fell down the stairs, regaining her balance and yawning as she reached for the door handle.

“This’d better be good,” she muttered, opening the door and having a frown on her brow as she stared at the young man supporting an unconscious woman wearing an ill-fitting knee-length cardigan. “Jonathan?” she then said and he smiled a strained smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go... This... person sorta... fell.”

“Is she hurt?” Buffy asked, opening the door wider and stepping forward to help Jonathan with his cargo.

“She doesn’t seem hurt. At all, actually. You should see the spot where she landed though,” Jonathan replied.

Buffy carried the girl to the couch of the living room, putting her down and checking her for any sign of obvious injury. Being satisfied she straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest.

“She seems fine,” she said. “How far did she fall?”

“I didn’t see. We were kinda close to a house, but... I don’t know, she seemed to come out of nowhere.”

“You did the right thing, bringing her here. Was she wearing that?”

“No... that’s another thing. She was... in her birthday suit.”

“Naked?”

“Very. All over.”

Buffy smiled a little.

“If you come back tomorrow... or, later today, I guess... I’ll give you your sweater back. She can stay here tonight. When she wakes up she’ll hopefully tell us what’s going on. I’ll let you know, of course.”

Jonathan smiled back, then nodded and they walked back up to the door.

“It’s been a while,” Buffy said and he nodded again.

“Been working,” he shrugged.

“Where?”

“Here and there... Mostly here,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s alright.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Well... I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” he said, heading out the door.

She closed it behind him and walked back into the living room. Finding a blanket she brought it over the sleeping girl, sitting down on the table and eyeing the beautiful face. She felt like she’d seen it before somewhere. And still she knew she couldn’t have. It was finely shaped, but the Slayer wasn’t sure what nationality it held. The girl’s hair was raven black, and she had traces of Chinese around her eyes, but... it didn’t add up.

“Weird,” she said. “Fits with everything else that’s going on.”

Thoughts of Spike ached too much at the moment and she rose, clearing her head decisively and walking back upstairs.

Five hours later the Slayer woke. She threw the covers off and rose, stretching as she made her way downstairs. It was nearly eight o’clock on Sunday morning, and she felt surprisingly alert. She knew she had to go see Riley; perhaps that had something to do with it. She headed into the living room, leaning over the still sleeping stranger. She seemed fine. There were no bruises whatsoever. Buffy moved into the kitchen, fixing some breakfast and getting the paper. Nothing special. A few attacks, nothing fatal. Nothing about the party the night prior. Late-night shooting stars sighted. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She finished her pancakes, drank her juice and headed upstairs to get dressed; meeting Joyce on the top step.

“Mom,” she said.

“Buffy!” Joyce smiled, hugging her daughter. “What a delightful surprise. I didn’t expect you to be home.”

“No,” she mumbled; then added: “I felt like sleeping in my old bed.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m... getting there, I think. But, there’s something else.”

Buffy told her mother what had brought the unknown girl to their doorstep and Joyce’s eyes grew rounder and rounder.

“My goodness,” she said. “Well, of course she can stay as long as she needs.”

“There might be a perfectly good explanation,” Buffy said. “But given where we live...”

“Of course,” Joyce smiled. “Should I make us breakfast?”

“I already ate.”

“But it’s only eight-thirty.”

“I know. I thought I’d go see Riley, need to talk to him about something, but I’d better wait ‘til Miss No-Name wakes up. Since we don’t know who... or what she is.”

“Do you think she’s a what?” Joyce asked, a little worriedly.

“No,” Buffy replied. “She seems human straight through. But... that doesn’t say a lot.”

She muttered the last, stepping passed her mother and continuing down the hallway.

“If she fell she may have a concussion,” Joyce said. “If she has one she shouldn’t be sleeping.”

“Try and wake her then,” Buffy called to her as she entered her room. “Something tells me there’d take a lot more to give that girl a concussion,” she added to herself, walking up to her closet and opening it.

Sighing she remembered that all the good clothes were at the dorm. Choosing a brown sweater and blue jeans she put her hair up in a ponytail and walked back downstairs.

The couch was empty and as she entered the kitchen the girl was sitting on one of the stools, staring at the toast in her hand as though it was about to attack her. Buffy stopped in the doorway.

“I know it doesn’t look it,” she said, the girl jerking her head her way and her bright, blue eyes growing wide, “but my mom’s actually a pretty good cook.”

“I don’t know if that was a compliment or an insult,” Joyce smiled, Buffy returning it.

“I wouldn’t insult you!” she said, coming into the room and meeting the girl’s still shocked gaze again. “Hi,” the Slayer added. “I’m Buffy.”

The girl swallowed, putting her untouched toast down.

“You’re Buffy,” she then said, voice cracking and she coughed dryly.

“Here, honey,” Joyce said; thrusting a glass of juice in the girl’s hand and helping her put it to her mouth.

She swallowed in gulps that seemed almost unused to the taste, and then she brought the glass down, licking her lips and looking at the orange liquid, fascinated. Buffy furrowed her brow, exchanging a look with her mother.

“How do you feel?” Buffy asked, the girl suddenly smiling so brightly it lit up her whole face, her blue eyes sparkling to life.

“Wonderful,” the girl said. “This is orange juice.”

Buffy smiled hesitantly.

“It is,” she nodded. “Goes well with that toast.”

“I’m sure it does,” the girl nodded. “It’s just I shouldn’t eat solid foods for at least another few...”

She trailed off at the questioning looks on the two women before her; then she smiled again, putting the glass down carefully before gently sliding a hand over the surface of the island she was seated at.

“Do you have a name?” Joyce asked.

“Ath,” the girl said.

“How pretty,” Joyce commented.

“Thank you.”

“So, Ath...” Buffy said, “do you know where you’re from? What you’re doing here? Why you were jumping off a building last night? Naked.”

“Buffy,” Joyce protested, but Ath smiled again.

“It is quite alright,” she stated. “I didn’t jump, I fell. And the clothes... I was streaking,” she said. “It was a silly dare.”

“So you were with friends?”

“Not really,” Ath replied, growing unsure of where she should take this. “I was trying out for a sorority... I’m hoping to transfer to UC Sunnydale and needed somewhere to live, so I... Oh, I feel so stupid now.”

“They made you streak?” Buffy asked.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about where you’re going to live for right now. I know we’re not close to campus, but...”

“No, I couldn’t accept more help after all you’ve already done for me. Please.”

“Please schmease,” Buffy smirked. “And the sorority is a part of UCS?” she added. Ath nodded tentatively. “Hmh. Didn’t know we had sororities.”

“There’s just the one, I believe,” Ath said. “And it’s... almost a secret society. Well-hidden.”

“Oh. Okay, I’m sorry, but I have to go out for a few hours. I’ll be back this afternoon, though. Maybe, if you don’t have to be anywhere, we can hang. Do the girl thing. Eat ice cream and put cucumbers on our eyes and all that. Might be just what I need.”

Ath smiled a little again, watching the Slayer walk out the door.

“Your daughter,” Ath said, turning to Joyce, “she has an old soul.”

Joyce smiled her agreement.

Calor woke from an itch on his inner thigh. He scratched it and at the sensation he sat up, looking around and realizing where he was. What he was. An earthling. He grumbled, noting that he was stark naked and located in some sort of high shrubbery. How lovely.

The sun was up, filing through the trees standing spread out around wherever he was. He tried to ignore the silent beauty of it, but couldn’t. The scent of the wind, the air, the grass and earth. He closed his eyes.

“Oh, my God! Dude!” a male voice exclaimed, making the god’s eyes snap open again. “You alright?”

“Absolutely,” Calor replied with a smile. “Might you tell me where I could find clothing?”

“I might,” the guy said hesitantly, frowning. “You need, like, the whole deal?”

Calor looked down at himself again, then nodded.

“Sure thing, dude... Just stay down.”

Buffy straightened her posture as she entered the fraternity house. People were cleaning up the mess left from last night, putting furniture straight and picking up trash. She looked around for Riley and when she didn’t see him she headed upstairs for his room, receiving a few odd looks from some of his colleagues.

She stopped outside his door; diffident.

You can’t go back, if you do this. You’ll start the wheels churning and they’ll crush all those unwanted things and it’ll go away.

“He’ll go away,” she mumbled.

Blinking she cleared her throat and raised one arm, knocking on the door. It didn’t take long before it opened.

“Buffy.”

“Riley,” she smiled. “Can I come in?”

He nodded, closing the door as she stepped inside.

“I need to ask a favor,” she said as he turned to her.

Buffy walked down the steps of the fraternity half an hour later. She decided she was going to feel light as a feather thanks to Riley’s immediate concurrence to her suggestion. That heaviness inside would have to float with it. She walked down the path to the sidewalk and bumped into the shoulder of a student. His dark hair was a mess, his clothes were even worse, but his face was extraordinary. It looked sculpted by a master, and for a second she thought she was suffering déjà vu. Then it passed and she said:

“Oops, sorry.”

“No need,” he smiled, perfect white teeth in two neat rows. “I’m sorry, is this the way to the dorms?”

“Yeah, you go straight and then you take a left and follow the road until the trees part and you’re there.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled and nodded, heading the other way.

Calor observed her casually. All he had to do was find out where she lived and then he was sure he’d be able to come up with a plan to get closer to her.

First thing’s first, he thought, heading for the dorms.

Last Wish

Buffy arrived at home, having bought ice cream, stubbornly ignoring the memories the isle had given her of that last morning before her memory came back to her. God, she had been high on pure energy and happiness. “Stubbornly ignoring” it was. Now she put the ice cream in the freezer and headed into the living room, where she found Ath sitting on the couch with her eyes closed.

Buffy stopped by the table, waiting for a reaction. It came in the form of Ath’s eyes opening, her gaze meeting Buffy’s calmly.

“I do feel better,” she said with a smile.

“I’m glad,” Buffy replied, returning the smile and coming to have a seat next to her.

“I lied before,” Ath stated and Buffy raised her eyebrows. “There’s no sorority.”

“Yeah. I actually asked someone about that and he said that there’s never been any of those at my college so I figured there was something you... didn’t wanna tell me?”

“Can’t,” Ath corrected.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Buffy wondered and Ath smiled broadly.

“No,” she confirmed. “Not exactly.”

“Did mom give you the grand tour?”

“Complete with basement and all bathrooms,” she nodded, making Buffy smile again.

“I have the strangest feeling we’ve met before,” she said.

“I’ve never been to Sunnydale,” Ath replied. “Have you lived here long?”

“A few years,” Buffy shrugged. “Where you from?”

“Oh, all over.”

“Really? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

Ath smirked, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them.

“Why did you say we should put cucumbers on our eyes?” she asked, Buffy laughing.

“Bad joke,” she said. “Then again...”

Two hours later they were smeared with Reddi Whip all over their faces. Towels on their heads and cucumbers just being cut. They were in the kitchen, the ice cream standing on the counter to thaw out a little. Buffy was laughing, telling Ath about one of hers and Willow’s earlier adventures at the Bronze. Excluding the vampires, of course.

“Willow sounds like fun,” Ath said, grabbing a slice of cucumber and – as with everything else she touched – turning it around and around between her fingers, holding it up to get a better look and then slipping it into her mouth.

“Willow is fun,” Buffy replied. “I guess we’ve just been busy lately. With various things. Haven’t had that much hang-out time.”

“Oh?”

“We will, though. Things are brightening up.”

Ath’s eyes went to the Slayer’s.

“Oh?” she repeated.

“I don’t wanna bore you with details.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Sorry, that was code for Really-Don’t-Wanna-Talk-About-It.”

Ath smiled, though her gaze didn’t leave the Slayer’s face as the latter turned back to the cucumber.

Calor muttered to himself as he gazed toward the front door of the dorm he had been told hosted a certain Buffy Summers. It had been dark for an hour. It was getting chilly.

“Dear darling little brother.”

“Oh, great,” he sighed, turning his eyes skyward as he added: “Checking up on me, Ath? I do not need your input or your opinion. I feel you’ve done quite enough.”

“I apologize,” she said, coming up behind him and having him jump high with surprise. “I’m here to do a lot more.”

“What! Father did not tell me of you falling from grace... Interesting.”

“I didn’t fall... Well, not from grace, anyway.” She smiled, looking him over with a frown. “Your clothes don’t fit you.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

She giggled.

“I am still upset with you,” he warned, making her give him a friendly shove.

“I’m still getting used to the five senses, myself,” she stated. “How about you?”

“I’m marvelous! A bit cold. A little agitated. And I have the strangest stabbing feeling in my stomach, but other than that.”

Ath furrowed her brow.

“Have you eaten anything today?” she asked.

Calor looked wondering for a few moments, then his face brightened up.

“I forgot about eating. Have you eaten?”

“I have.”

“What’s it like?”

“I can’t describe it, you have to try it.”

“You speak as an earthling.”

“I know. Isn’t it delicious? Come on.”

“Come where?”

“There’s someone I want you to meet.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

“I’m waiting for the Slayer. She lives right over there.”

“Ah,” Ath said.

“Is that supposed to tell me something?”

“No. But I can tell you that the Slayer won’t be walking through that door tonight. She’s staying with her mom for the weekend and will trot back to school tomorrow morning.”

“Please, do not have this end with you having met her,” he muttered and she smiled widely, merely pulling him along.

Buffy approached the entrance to Spike’s crypt. She made herself focus, and felt every last insecurity slip away. At least every other last. She drew a breath and walked through the door. The crypt was empty, dark. She looked around and then headed up to the nearest of the three candelabra, striking a match and beginning to light the candles. When she was done she moved over to the niche, lighting those as well. Finished with the task she paused, wondering why she had bothered.

Heading up to the loveseat she gently touched the fabric; images, sensations of the first time she had kissed him trickling through her... She squared her shoulders.

Where is he? she thought, turning from the piece of furniture and walking up to the ladder.

“Spike?” she called down.

He might be sleeping. And if he is I can yell till I’m hoarse... Better climb down.

And she did, continuing into the room on light feet.

“Spike?” she whispered. “Are you here? Why the hell am I whispering?”

“Yes, why the hell are you?” he asked, making her twirl around as he came up to her.

Her mouth nearly fell open. He was wearing one of the sweaters she had bought him. It was light-blue. A bold choice on her part, since he never wore anything light in color and since he had specified no pastel – she nearly smiled at that memory, but willed it down promptly – the color had been such a perfect match with his eyes that she hadn’t been able to resist. Now, that part to him looked at her with such a vacant expression it sent a shudder through her.

“You’re... wearing...” she mumbled and he cocked an eyebrow. “That,” she said. “I... bought that.”

“No, you didn’t,” he replied.

“Yes, I did.”

“No. I got this,” he stated and she crossed her arms over her chest, beginning to get irritated.

“Spike, I bought that for you. It took me twenty-five minutes to decide whether I should or not, whether you’d wear it or not, but then I pictured you in it and I knew I had to...”

He tilted his head a little to the side.

“Buy it?” he filled in with a sudden familiar twinkle in his gaze and she couldn’t keep down the emerging pout on her mouth.

“Yeah,” she muttered.

She despised the rising satisfaction at having him look at her in that way again. The coldness had evaporated; there was life there once more.

Damn it!

“It’s done. Riley agreed,” she said and he grew serious in an instant.

“Great.”

“Isn’t it?”

He eyed her; then smiled a slight smile.

“Yes, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She glanced at him before she headed for the ladder saying: “I should go.”

“Patrolling beckons.”

She turned to him, looking him over before she replied:

“I have a rep to rebuild.”

He smirked at that and she beat her response down before ascending the ladder. She walked outside, feeling the lightheadedness dissipate as she got some fresh air. Air was good. And then Spike came up at her side. She gave him a look.

“What?” he asked. “Don’t I get a last wish?”

“Your last wish is to go on patrol? With me?”

“There’s something I need answered,” he said.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea...”

“What? Killing things together? Isn’t that what we do best?”

She pushed back the smile, again threatening to occur, and looked away from him; fastening her gaze straight ahead.

“What is it you need answered?”

“When it’s answered – I’ll tell you.”

“I hate it when people do that! Say something like that and then say that they won’t tell me what it is. You really shouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Etiquette! What if it isn’t answered?”

“Then I won’t tell you.”

“But...” She stopped herself, not able to find the words that could persuade him he was wrong. “Fine. Let’s find something and kill it and then we can finally have some sort of closure.”

He cocked an eyebrow, observing her for a moment before asking:

“Is that what you need, Slayer?”

“It’s what I’m getting,” she replied, tone laced with a warning not to push it and he smirked, backing off.

There was something else there now, when he looked at her. Something soft somewhere that he didn’t particularly enjoy. But then she looked at him and the softness spread like rings on water and it turned into pure desire, making him want to grab her and get every last piece of clothing off her and... then it changed again; her profile making him grow thoughtful as he remembered watching her fall asleep. As he thought of having her in his arms as they danced at the Bronze. As he could practically feel his fingers slipping through her soft locks.

“Demon,” he said, breaking away from further musings and she turned her head to where he was looking; then moved her gaze to the opposite side of the clearing they were in, saying:

“Vampire.”

“I’ll take the larger one,” he said.

“Yell if you need help.”

He was about to respond to that, but she ran off, meeting the attacking vamp and he muttered before approaching the oversized demon. They sidestepped each other a few times and then went head first into battle mode.

Buffy met the punches of the vampire easily. It was a fledgling and as such was pretty much done for. However, reaching for her stake she received a massive blow to the chin, which had her spin around and fall to the ground.

“Ow,” she murmured, spotting her dropped weapon lying a few feet away and beginning to crawl towards it.

The vampire landed on top of her heavily, pinning her down. She fought to get loose, reaching for the stake and being only an inch or so away from it. Making her hands into fists she beat them upwards and back, hitting the vamp in the face. It growled with pain and she smiled to herself. Good. Then its fingers slid over her neck, moving her hair away and she clenched her jaws together.

“Don’t think so,” she said, rising on all fours and shrugging the demon off of her. “But thanks,” she added as she grabbed the stake and spun around, “that gave me the adrenaline I needed.”

“Buffy!” Spike exclaimed behind her, her arm getting ready to throw the stake into the heart of her assailant.

She turned her head to the bleached just in time to see a large chest take up all her view. She frowned, looking up at the demon Spike was supposed to be getting rid of as it pushed her to the ground with one large paw of a hand. With that it took off into the trees, the vampire close on its heel.

“Bloody...” she muttered, sitting up and spitting a few strands of grass out of her mouth, looking up and meeting Spike’s gaze as he came up to her. Holding her hand up, showing off a brand new cut, she said: “Bloody.”

He smiled a little, reaching out a hand and she took it, letting him help her to her feet.

He kept her hand in his, turning it over to get a better look at the wound.

“It’s deep,” he said.

“It’s a scratch,” she stated.

“It’s bleeding.”

“Thought you’d like that.”

“You got it for me? Shouldn’t have,” he said and suddenly she smiled.

He stared at her, not prepared for it whatsoever. Seemed she hadn’t been either as she pulled her hand out of his grasp and took a small step back, growing self-conscious as her face became serious.

“Did you see what I saw?” she asked.

“The demon helping the vamp? Yeah, I caught that,” he nodded, eyeing her.

“I need to talk to Giles. I’ve been so out of it I barely know what’s what... with Adam and everything.”

“Right,” Spike nodded. “Adam. Big Bad and all that.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean... you could come with, but...”

“Alright then.”

She paused.

“Alright then,” she agreed, both of them beginning to walk.

“But my crypt is closer. I have some stuff there; I could...”

“What are we doing?” she stopped him, halting and facing him as he did the same.

“Getting you fixed up; is what we’re doing. You’re dripping all over this nicely paved path here,” he said, gesturing to where they were standing before grabbing her by the arm and leading her back the way they’d come.

Soon enough she brought her arm out of his grip; still, succumbing to the idea of stopping the blood-flow and kept walking aside him, glancing at him once in a while, trying to straighten herself, him and this whole thing out. Failing miserably, at that. She was thinking that if she could only somehow know exactly what she felt around him, then maybe... But it was all a blur. A warm, fuzzy, chilled, creeping, terrified, subdued, upfront blur that made her head spin. And her knees weak. And every time he looked at her... she didn’t want him to stop.

Stop! she hissed at herself. Thank God I won’t have to deal with this for much longer. Oh, what am I doing with him? What am I doing going to his crypt? His crypt! The man lives in a crypt, for crying out loud! And he wears that idiotic leather thing and he bleaches his head white! His age sure doesn’t show in his taste. ...Hmh, doesn’t show anywhere.

She smirked to herself, then blushed just as fast and drew a slight breath to stop the trail of thought from progressing.

They reached his abode, and he entered it. She hadn’t noticed how far they’d gotten. Shaking it off, she followed him inside.

“Take a seat,” he instructed, slipping the duster off as he went into the kitchen area.

Where does he come off, with all this self-assured smiling and directing and taking-charging? she grumbled, walking up to the loveseat and sitting down with a sigh.

She looked at her hand and grimaced.

“Dripping’s the word,” she mumbled, pressing her other hand over the wound and making a face of pain.

“Not for long,” he said, having a seat beside her with the supplies.

She looked at his face as he gently made her move the hand covering the cut. He glanced up, noticing her questioning expression.

“I won’t bite,” he assured and traces of a smile appeared in her eyes.

He began the cleaning; her jaws tightening being the only sign of the stinging she was suffering under. Her gaze didn’t leave his face. He was concentrated. His hands moving to grab the tape he needed to keep the lesion closed. Fastening two pieces he grabbed the square piece of bandage and some more tape to stick it on with. Finishing he softly stroked her palm with his fingertips, meeting her gaze. She felt a strange tremor go through her. Its force beckoning to be reckoned with.

Then he let her go, looking away.

She stared at him, her heart beating heavily in her chest.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He rose, giving a one-shoulder shrug, gathering up the stuff left over and taking it back to where it belonged. She got to her feet as well. He came back, stopping as he saw her get ready to leave. She rested her eyes in his, hers narrowing as she observed him for a moment, then said:

“I don’t understand you.”

“Asking me to explain?”

“Drop it,” she snapped. “You walk around being all Slayer-gonna-get-it and when push comes to shove,” she held up her hand, “this is what I get?”

“I’m thinking I should stay on your good side, since you’re holding the bloody key to my release and all,” he retorted, her eyes widening.

“That’s not why you came patrolling with me,” she disagreed.

“You’re right, it’s not.”

“So did you get your answer?”

He glared at her, loathing filling his gaze before it slowly dispersed and left was only defeat. She couldn’t recall ever seeing that expression on him before.

“Suppose I did,” he muttered, his eyes going to her hand and then he suddenly smiled, shaking his head.

“So tell me,” she urged.

He met her gaze again, holding it so intensely that she could barely keep her eyes in his.

“Fine,” she said, “don’t tell me. I have to go...”

“So do I, apparently,” he stated. “Why is that?”

She cocked an eyebrow; then merely crossed her arms over her chest, impatiently.

He felt annoyance bubble to the surface. She could wear that indifference as easily as she’d like, but he could tell there was more underneath than what met the eye. If he so had to pry it out of her, he would get to it.

“Why should I leave?” he asked again.

“Because I can’t. I’m bound to this town. Find a way to break my shackles and I promise I’ll go,” she replied.

“Why should I leave?” he repeated.

“Well, why the hell shouldn’t you? Is there anything tying you to this place?”

“No, nothing. I’ll miss it, though. You’re robbing me of my home; you do realize that, right?”

“This isn’t your home,” she said.

“It isn’t? I live here, I eat here; I bloody steal, lie and cheat here... I consider this my home, Slayer. I have all my friends here. Some of whom you’ve met, some of whom you haven’t. I’m not sure how to part with them.”

The memory of him sharing a deep kiss with a vampiress came before her eyes and she blinked it away, sudden jealousy rising without warning as she drew conclusions of exactly what he was talking.

“Send a card,” she said, her eyes growing hard.

He tilted his head a little to the side, wondering how far he should press this.

“So impersonal,” he replied.

“Call them up.”

“From a phone?”

She merely gave him a look and he smiled a sleek smile.

“Throw a party, whatever is the demonic way,” she said; his smile widening.

“Might be a good idea,” he nodded. “Invite all the special people who’ve enriched my stay in Sunnydale. We could have a sleepover, my bed’s large enough.”

She clenched her jaws together.

“Thought you didn’t need buffers anymore,” she remarked icily.

“Thought you agreed that was none of your business,” he shot, feeling his self-control slipping as the agitation was gaining.

“Oh, so what? You decide to parade all of this in front of me? Parties and sleepovers and beds!” she exclaimed.

“It was your idea!”

“Not the last two! Then again, I’m sure you’ll have to have many pajama parties to cover all the special friends you’ve made. God knows you kept me up an entire night, how many wouldn’t it take to saturate your hunger for a year!”

“You kept me up, Slayer. I never had someone so eager between the sheets.”

“Shut up! Shut your mouth or I’ll do it for you!” she screamed, stalking up to him.

“I’d actually like to see that.”

“And to think – I did this. It’s the biggest mistake of my life and in a week it’ll be erased for good! You’ll be out of my life and I’ll never have to think about you ever again! I’m going crazy! I can’t buy ice cream without thinking about you!”

“You think it’s easy for me? Everywhere I’m used to going to get away from you – you’ve been! With me! I’m bloody sick of it and yeah, it’ll be good to get the hell away from this town when every time I see you I feel like I’m waking up from a really bad dream.”

“Oh, that’s nice!”

“My life, Buffy! My existence that ended being familiar the moment you stepped through that door that night. God, I resisted you. I resented you. I didn’t want any of it and still you managed to make me weak to the point of wanting to stop time, if it meant you wouldn’t go away. I don’t know when, but I fell for you like it was the easiest thing in the world!”

He said the words, and moments later grasped the truth of them.

He had.

He had fallen for the Slayer, for her, for Buffy.

He was in love with her.

She stared at him. Stunned. Then doubt crept over her.

“It wasn’t real,” she said, voice lowered. “It wasn’t me.”

“It was,” he replied, still processing and yet feeling as though he finally understood what this was all about. For him, at least. “It was always you, love.”

“Don’t call me that,” she objected, voice strained.

A part of her couldn’t believe it, another was a knot so tight she was scared it might splinter into a thousand pieces, and a third wanted to smile at him. Really smile. But she couldn’t. The shock was too new, the art of mastering the situation not yet hers to own. And she was suddenly furious. He had no right! He had no right to tell her this, to actually claim that he...!

“You can’t love,” she got out, her gaze growing colder by the second and he stared at her.

This again?

“Is that what you need to believe?” he asked.

“It’s what I do believe,” she stated. “A week with me and a night in the sack won’t change you,” she added. “You’re a killer.”

“So are you,” he pointed out, his face setting into the same quiet disdain she was showing him.

“Not that kind.”

“What kind is that?”

“I don’t feed off of Innocents!”

“Is that what this is about?”

“No, it’s not. It’s about me not trusting you. I could never trust you.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“You think?” she asked, one of his eyebrows rising. “I’m leaving.”

And then he was before her, grabbing her and pulling her close. She drew a breath, her head tilting back so that she could look into his eyes. With her hands against his chest she felt a longing start that was so deep it made her legs quake.

“This,” she murmured. “What I’m feeling. It isn’t love.”

“You’re feeling,” he said. “That’s a start.”

“Let me go.”

“Mean it,” he urged, eyes attentively in hers.

She wanted to demand it once more and mean every word, but couldn’t.

He waited another few moments, and then his lips found hers, kissing her harshly, his tongue finding hers and her hands grabbing fistfuls of his T as she pushed herself closer to him. He backed her slowly up against one wall, her hands moving to his upper arms as she wanted him nearer. Then he slid one hand over her stomach and down, snaking it inside the hem of her jeans and in the next moment her eyes shot open, her mouth leaving his as she tilted her head back. She moaned, his lips against the side of her throat as his fingers kept moving inside of her.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, feeling her tremble as the climax began to build. “Tell me this is what you want!”

She drew a sharp breath, then opened her eyes and met his gaze.

“Yes,” she breathed, her mouth catching his again.

He yanked her pants open as she tore at his T, getting it over his head. He got her pants off her, his eyes now in hers as he unzipped his pants, pushing her against the wall and grabbing her legs, making her wrap them around his waist as he pressed against her. Then he entered her, his mouth finding hers as he kissed her again.

It was rough, and quick, their groins grinding together and then reaching the peak at the same time. Cascades of pleasure pouring through them as they met each other’s gaze once more.

She clung to him, staring down at him and wanting to tell him about what torment she was under, what confusion, what uncertainty of everything she knew being right.

“Buffy,” he murmured and the craving was reborn.

She kissed him then, deeply, hungrily.

He got her sweater off her, licking his way down over her left collarbone, removing her bra and having his tongue circle one of her breasts. The rush of rapture was back, her hands burying themselves in his locks as she stood on both feet, him kicking his pants off fully and then twirling her around, dropping them to the floor where she landed back first on one of the cushions. He was inside her again, her hips meeting his thrusts and their mouths exchanging breaths as their bodies unraveled their secrets.

She woke up five hours later, having slept for no longer than thirty minutes and feeling completely dazed. Something had woken her, but she wasn’t sure what. What day was it? She racked her brain, but couldn’t answer the question. Then she realized that she was cold, and that was what had woken her. She looked down at her naked frame and frowned before she remembered. Closing her eyes she cursed herself silently, sitting up slowly and turning her head to look over her shoulder on the sleeping vampire next to her.

This is insane, she thought for the thousandth time. What you just did is sick! You had no excuse this time! He’s a liar! There’s nothing good in him, Buffy; he’s just playing tricks. Look what it got him – he’s having the chip removed! He’ll be back to slaughtering as fast as you can blink. He doesn’t have a conscience. He doesn’t have a soul. He’s just a mirage, all of him. Nothing about him is real. He’s a reflection of someone else.

Her mind kept on churning this speech through her head, but her eyes took in the subtle sculpture of his cheekbones, his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip and the scar at his left eyebrow. A face she had feared, and loathed, and which had repulsed her with all that it stood for. And now she didn’t want anything to happen to it... she just wanted to look at it.

You need to get your butt out of here, her mind declared, having her rise slowly. Look away from him and you’ll see it’ll be easier.

So she did, and in a way it was.

In another, it made it harder.

She gathered up her clothes, putting them on carefully. Her pants were busted, but stayed up. The thought of why they were in that state sent an urge to wake him through her so powerful she almost jumped over the loveseat to land on him.

But the voice of reason was stronger, and it pointed her feet in the direction of the door.

She exited, feeling evil.

He doesn’t love you, her mind said practically. Perhaps something in him believes it knows what love really is. Perhaps he’s twisting it around. Whatever it is that’s within him – it isn’t love like you know it. Don’t even begin to believe that it could be, because then you are lost.

She felt more and more miserable the closer she got to Revello Drive and when she finally climbed in through her window and splayed herself on her bed it was as though she had gone completely numb.

Things Unspoken

Buffy sat up with a jerk as her alarm went off. She looked at it and whined. She’d slept for two hours. Great. This should be a fun day. Practically falling out of bed she dragged herself into the bathroom, turning the shower on and waiting for the water to heat up. She didn’t even want to look at herself in the mirror, knowing she would look at least half of the equivalent of how she was feeling.

She didn’t want to be there.

She wanted to go... no, scratch that, she wanted to run back to him. She had a billion questions she needed answered and he was the only one who could answer them.

But she couldn’t run back to him. She couldn’t even walk at a leisurely pace.

She had to go to school. She had to face her responsibilities. She had to pretend as though last night hadn’t happened.

He’s in love with you, a part of her kept chanting.

No, he’s not, another kept answering.

She stepped into the shower, turning the water from hot to cold and drenching herself in it. Getting out she was shivering, but ignored it, brushing her hair with harsh movements, skipping makeup all together and wrapping a towel around herself she headed back into her room. Putting on a skirt and a top she grabbed her jacket and headed downstairs. She was surprised to hear laughter at seven o’clock in the morning.

Ath looked up as Buffy entered the kitchen, a smile still on her face. A young man turned from where he was seated, smiling as well. Buffy furrowed her brow. The two of them bore a remarkable resemblance.

“Morning,” Buffy greeted, still unsure of what to make of this.

“Buffy,” Ath said. “Please, I would like you to meet my brother, Cale.”

The young man got off the stool, reaching out a hand and she took it, shaking it slowly.

“Anything the matter?” he asked as she kept eyeing him.

“Sorry... I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

“You did,” he replied, letting her hand go. “Yesterday. You told me where the dorms were.”

The pieces fell into place and she smiled.

“Right,” she nodded.

“I didn’t know he was showing up or I would’ve told you sooner. He came here last night... Your mother was kind enough to offer him half of the couch.”

“An offer I could not refuse,” Calor filled in, Buffy’s smile widening.

There was something about those two that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Cereal?” Ath asked, grabbing the box and a bowl, but Buffy shook her head.

The last thing on her mind was food.

“I’ll just have some juice,” she said, pouring herself a glass.

“You need to eat something,” Calor said. “One of the things I find most important for well-being on this... continent... is a healthy meal. Breakfast is said to be crucial to the rest of your day.”

The Slayer cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, I’ve already crucially ruined the whole of this day, so there’s no use trying to repair it,” she said. “I have to get off to school,” she added, putting the finished juice down and grabbing her pocketbook. “It was nice meeting you, Cale. Ath, need any help snooping around campus for the best candy-machines or least quiet study-halls, I’m your gal.”

“I’ll remember that,” Ath smiled.

And with that Buffy left.

Calor sunk back down on the stool.

“Nice going,” Ath remarked.

“What?” he asked innocently.

“I know you worry about her sometimes, Cale, but do you have to be so obvious? In this realm strangers are obtuse and often glaring, you can’t be so blunt.”

“Blunt?”

“Quote-un-quote: ‘Breakfast is said to be crucial for the rest of your day’. What is that?”

“She’s troubled.”

“And who does she have to thank for it?”

“I did not mean for her to be troubled.”

“No... You meant for her to see that if her circumstances had been different she would have fallen for the vampire she has sworn to want eternally really-dead. Not troubling at all.”

“Alright, alright,” he muttered sullenly. “She has always risen from the ashes before, this will be no different.”

“Honey, once love burns you... Actually, I don’t know how to end that sentence,” Ath said, getting off the stool as there was a knock at the door.

Calor gave her a dark look, but she merely smiled, opening the door and being met by the sight of a short mortal, oozing nerves-on-end. His eyes grew slightly when they landed on her.

“Hello,” she said.

“H-hi...” he replied, glancing over her shoulder. “Is Buffy in?”

“No, she just went to school. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry. I mean, I’m sorry. I told her I’d be coming over yesterday, but I didn’t get a chance to. I just wanted to see... if you were... okay.”

She smiled suddenly.

“You must be Jonathan! I’m Ath,” she said, shaking his hand. “Buffy told me I have you to thank for a lot.”

“I should be thanking you,” he shook his head, smiling a little as well. “Not for dropping at my feet all... the way you were, but for scaring away a girl that I’ve learned is absolutely crazy. By crazy I mean... mad.”

“Really?” Ath asked. “You’re welcome, then.”

“Yes. I know it’s early, I need to go... Have a meeting.”

“Sure. Come by later, if you want. I’m attempting to bake cupcakes today; perhaps I can treat you to one if I succeed.”

“Sounds... great,” he said. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

She closed the door, turning to meet the raised eyebrows of her brother.

Spike reached out for the one who was supposed to be lying beside him, or so his memory was telling him; becoming fully awake as the spot next to him was vacant. He sat up, looking around, perplexed.

“Buffy?”

He saw her clothes were gone and put one hand over his face.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, voice muffled. “Bloody hell!” he repeated, rising to his feet and beginning to pace.

What did I do? What does this mean? Nothing. It means nothing. It means I’m loving someone who can’t ever love me back.

He stopped at that, his gaze catching at a speck of dust slowly drifting through the air.

How could I fall for that sniveling, half-witted, goody-goody! How the hell did this happen!

And then he remembered her smile from the night prior, that brief moment of what seemed as nothing but honesty. That was who he had seen glimpses of for a long time... The girl he knew he had desired since he first laid eyes on her. But this love...

He pictured her before him, angry spitfire of a young woman. Or with that look of pure passion in her gaze. Or with that smile...

It was there alright, the wanting to be near her that was so strong he felt he should be able to touch it.

Fool, a voice taunted. You think she’ll ever see you as anything but what you are?

“She did once,” he stated defiantly.

Beginning to get dressed he glared at the sunlight falling in through the large windows. What wouldn’t he have given for a rainstorm, or an eclipse; or someone making the sun set early, just for this one day? He could take the tunnels, but that’d only get him so far. She’d be in school and there were hardly any spots there shaded enough for him to seek shelter in.

He had to see her.

Patience, a new voice urged. Be patient. If you rush this, you know what you’ll do. You’ll get impatient, like you always get, and bloody well ruin it.

He clenched his jaws together, finally giving in and heading downstairs. Crawling onto the bed he lay on his stomach, closing his eyes and willing himself back asleep.

“Yes, it is sad when a pet dies, it is,” Buffy nodded, listening to the stream of sympathy pouring from her math professor. “Well, thanks,” she said as the teacher finally wiped the hovering tear from the corner of her eye and went back to her desk. “Jeez,” Buffy mumbled.

“Hey,” Willow said, coming up to walk beside her down the hall.

“Hi,” Buffy smiled wearily.

“You okay?”

“No, not really.” Willow waited for her to elaborate, and Buffy sighed. “Last night...” She trailed off, meeting her friend’s inquisitive expression. “I couldn’t fall asleep,” the Slayer finished.

“I hate it when that happens,” Willow stated. “You up for lunch?”

“No, I think I’ll grab an apple and go sit outside. In the sun.”

Willow raised her eyebrows, then smiled.

“I’ll join you.”

“Okay,” Buffy nodded and they headed for the cafeteria.

Ten minutes later they were seated on the grass. Willow took a bite out of her sandwich, Buffy eyeing her apple suspiciously.

“I hear they drench them in acid, to keep bugs off,” she muttered.

“Well, not acid,” Willow smirked.

“You seem chipper.”

“I am. I am chipper. Everything’s just... coming along quite nicely, I’d say. School, magic... Yesterday Tara and I met up and tried to work this mojo, but it didn’t work, so instead we did this other thing, and it totally worked and it was so exciting.” Buffy blinked; eyes still on her apple; Willow furrowing her brow. “Earth to Slayer.”

Buffy turned her gaze on her friend and looked regretful.

“Sorry, Wills... I’m having difficulty with the concentrating today.”

“’Cause of the lack of sleep,” Willow said, Buffy feigning innocence and nodding a little. “Buffy, what’s wrong? Don’t think I can’t tell when something’s wrong, since when could you resist a green apple?”

Buffy grumbled, putting the apple down and running her hands through her hair; frustrated.

“Spike’s getting the chip out and then he’s leaving Sunnydale for good,” she stated, Willow stopping her chewing to stare at her. “I set it up with Riley. It’s decided.”

“You’re going to de-chip Spike?” Willow asked. “Won’t that make him able to... bite?”

“Yes.”

Willow’s stare grew a few degrees hotter and Buffy had to look away, down at her hands, her fingers not able to stay idle as they began to pluck at one corner of the magazine she had brought with her.

“You’re setting him loose?”

“He’s not an animal, Willow, don’t talk like that!” Buffy said.

“Buffy!” Willow exclaimed.

“I can’t kill him,” Buffy murmured.

“No, not with the chip in his skull, but if you get it out...”

“Willow!” Buffy exclaimed.

Willow grew quiet at that, her gaze turning searching and then her eyes widened.

“I see,” she said silently.

“No... it’s not like that either,” Buffy mumbled.

“What then?”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“I.e. setting him loose.”

“I can’t have him here. I can’t have him around me.”

Willow put her sandwich down.

“It’s that bad?”

“Worse.”

“Buffy, sending him on his way might work in theory, but don’t you think if he goes away and you haven’t put it behind you before he goes... that it might be really hard for you to do it if he’s gone? I mean, you’ll always wonder.”

“Wonder what? When he’s out of my life I won’t be reminded of him...”

“Honestly, do you actually believe this’ll help? And if you do let him go, what’ll it do to you to know that you sent him out there again? He’s dangerous. And I know you. It’ll eat at you until you have to track him down and then what?”

“I’m not going to look for him!”

“This isn’t the way.”

“Then what! What am I supposed to do!”

Willow looked at her for a long moment, then said:

“You told me you were falling in love with him...”

“I am not in love with Spike!”

“Then what’s this all about?” Willow smiled in that patient way, which suddenly made Buffy feel stings of aggravation all over. “You know how I feel about this. Spike’s tried to kill all of us more than once. But there must be a reason for you acting like this. Find out what the reason is, Buffy, before it’s too late. That’s all I have to say. Eat your apple.”

Buffy sat back against the large trunk of the tree they were under, picking up the apple and once more eyeing it before she took a large bite out of it.

She sat in her English Lit. class trying to be objective, letting all the different things she had seen and heard and felt over the course of the past two and a half weeks interplay. She let herself remember the slow but steady opening up of him which she had successfully established when she had been the younger version of herself. All the emotions she had held for him then were still in constant motion within her now, battling furiously with those that resided there from years of seeing what he could do, what he would do to her if he ever got the chance.

The younger her had trusted him, she realized this. The younger her had seen him save her life too many times to believe that he actually wanted her dead.

Her hand went unintentionally to her shoulder and she wondered if there was a scar, she hadn’t checked.

The current her brought up the fact that him not hurting her was no reason to trust him. There were sides to him darker than anything she could even imagine. He was vicious, calculating and for certain smarter than he seemed. He had most probably taken advantage of the situation as much as possible just to spin her head around.

But why would he do that? He would gain nothing from it; as apposed to leaving her to bleed to death would have gotten him plenty. Then again with the chip... And last night, he had patched her up as well, after saying that he needed to stay on her good side since she possessed the power to free him of his bonds... But then he had said he was in love...

She glanced at her hand, the only thing showing for it now being a quickly fading white streak on her skin. It would be gone by evening.

He’s a demon, her mind stated.

That he is, she thought.

“Hi,” she greeted Giles at five o’clock in the afternoon, shoving a box into his chest as she entered his apartment, saying: “I brought the doughnuts.”

“Lovely,” he said, closing the door and following her up to the couch, where she took a seat. “Tea?”

“No, thanks,” she shook her head. “It’s not really a social call. I have something to tell you and also something to ask you. Which one do you want first?”

Giles sat down on a chair, looking around for a place to put the box and finally resigning to placing it on the floor next to him. Buffy waited for him to reply.

“I suppose the former.”

“Last night I was out on patrol and nearly killed a vampire, but a demon jumped in and saved it.”

“A demon?”

“Overly large, horns everywhere, demon by birth.”

“And... you say it saved the vampire from being slain?”

“That it did. Then they merrily took off into the woods together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, the merrily might have been exaggerating just a tad – but together they were. I don’t know if they were together as in the biblical sense, I think they were both male. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, just seem like an odd couple.”

“Buffy.”

“I’m sure.”

“This is quite extraordinary.”

“Adam’s behind it.” Giles raised his eyebrows. “When I lived with Spike, a few vampires came over to say hello, wanted to knock me around and all things nice. They were babbling about gathering their forces, Adam being about to lead them to glory. Very grand.”

Giles stared at her.

“And you saw it fit to tell me now?”

“I didn’t put it all together until now,” she replied calmly.

“We need to locate Adam.”

“No kidding.”

“We should round up everyone right now and have them come over here so that we can formulate a plan...”

“Adam’s been silent for a while... Riley’s out of town for the next few days, I say we should wait for him. He knows the Initiative like the back of his hand. We may not be as tight as we were before, but I know he wants to stop this just as much as I do.”

“You’ve had a falling out?”

Buffy smiled a little, giving a shrug.

“We’ll work it out,” she said, clearing her throat.

“Well, this is a large step forward. We may know what Adam’s design is.”

“War.”

“Do you think?”

“With him having inside access to the Initiative... Who knows what sort of weapons he can get his hands on?”

“In light of that, is it truly wise to wait for Riley?”

“Perhaps not. But we need him. He’s the only link we have to Adam. And he can answer any question we may have about the Initiative.”

“I guess you’re right,” Giles murmured, taking his glasses off and beginning to polish them thoughtfully. “And what was it you wanted to ask me?”

She hesitated, then gave a shrug and said:

“Spike said something to me that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind... We were talking about demons... and humans... and how humans have a soul where the demon... doesn’t.”

“Yes?”

“Well, how does that work, exactly?”

“It’s not an exact science.”

“I realize that,” she replied, “but widely scoped. I mean, a vampire remembers the human’s life, right?”

“Yes, it does, but its feelings are twisted around. It cannot feel remorse, Buffy. It is driven by its need to take life in order to preserve its own existence. There is no humanity left in a demon. They see the world as their own territory to dominate and if anyone oversteps their boundary they will make sure to get rid of them. They are selfish creatures.”

“But...” Buffy said, regretting it as Giles fixed his gaze in hers questioningly. “Well, it’s just... they can find a... mate and stay with her... or him... for a long period of time.”

“Yes, of course. They often shun loneliness.”

“But...” Buffy said again. “Well, isn’t being lonely one of the deeper human emotions?”

Giles frowned.

“Where is this going?” he asked and Buffy smiled.

“I was just wondering. ‘Cause I argued the side you’re arguing and Spike... Well, he argued another.”

“And which was that?”

She shrugged.

“I think I might like some tea,” she said and Giles got to his feet.

“Of course,” he said before heading into the kitchen.

She sighed, leaning back against the couch and knowing that she had to make a phone call.

“Angel Investigations.”

Buffy bit the inside of her cheek hard, then she smiled, saying:

“You should spruce that up a little, answer like that and people won’t know what to reply.”

She heard him smile and hers widened.

“Buffy.”

“Angel.”

“This is unexpected.”

“Interrupting anything? Any important investigation going on?”

“No, not right now. The lines are busy, though, it’s just a matter of time.”

“I’m glad things are going well. ...They are going well, right?”

“Absolutely. And everything’s well with you?”

She grew tentative, not exactly sure where to start.

“’Course,” she finally said, choosing the easy way out. This wasn’t something you spoke of over the phone anyways. “I was just having a conversation with Giles and I felt I had to call you to settle the argument.”

“Okay... What was it?”

“Well... We were talking about demons and humans and ways of life and things like that and... he claimed that a vampire doesn’t have feelings. None whatsoever. That they’re sociopaths with no care in the world, except for themselves – don’t take any of this personally.”

“I won’t,” he assured, smiling again. “And what’d you say?”

“Well, things have been... a little crazy lately and I really need your perspective on this. We never talked about it. I was never... curious before, I guess, ‘cause you had your soul and I didn’t have to think about it. But now... I’d like to hear your side. I always figured you weren’t linked to the demon. Are you... linked to it?”

There was a long silence and she almost asked if he was still there, but then she heard him shifting in his seat.

“It’s very complicated,” he murmured.

She slowly sat down; being in her bedroom at the dorm she had a seat at the edge of her bed.

“Could you try?”

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Buffy. When I lost my soul... all the things I did to you...”

“This isn’t about that,” she cut in. “Please, Angel, I know you. This won’t give me the wrong idea. Hopefully it’ll give me some idea. Don’t worry; just tell me.”

Another pause, and then he said:

“When the demon enters you all your problems go away. They suddenly seem like nothing at all. You feel completely free. Everything’s new; everything’s an adventure, even the hunt, the feed. You’re reborn. You don’t care about caring because everything tells you not to, and why should you have to? Taking what you want, getting what you want, going where you want, being whomever you choose... It’s incredible. The demon of a vampire is a dark creature, Buffy, you know that. Some are more twisted than others. ...They want blood, seek it, and the vampire depends on it.

“When I was cursed with my soul my conscience came back and everything I’d ever done as the being I now was... It was horrific. I could barely move. The soul is stronger than the demon, and I don’t know why. ...It keeps the demon in check. But they are linked. Angelus knew everything about Liam’s life. When I came back I knew everything about the demon...To be honest, though, I don’t know if it varies from vampire to vampire what happens to you. A human with a soul as thirsty for blood as the demon is, might not change at all just ‘cause the soul reenters him. And a demon that is as strong as I know mine is might not be capable of wanting any emotion close to it...”

He trailed off and Buffy swallowed.

“Did you ever feel anything as Angelus?”

“I did,” Angel said. “The feelings I chose to let in. Loyalty... pride... a need to be honest with those I kept close... Not Spike, necessarily, but you can’t blame me for that,” he added, laughter in his voice and she smiled weakly.

“No...” she mumbled her agreement. “...Did you love?”

“As Angelus? No. Not like Spike loved Dru. I couldn’t. I desired, had to have... needed to own. But I detested the feeling that came with love. That clingy, have-to-be-where-you-are situation. I depended on me and wanted to be able to come and leave at my convenience, not someone else’s.”

He stopped there, being met by silence.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase it then,” she finally said, voice lowered. “Do you think you could’ve loved someone... like you loved me later... if Angelus had wanted to?”

“If he’d given into it, yes,” Angel said without hesitation and she blinked.

“You’ve thought about this a few times, haven’t you?” she then asked.

“A hundred years or so,” he confirmed.

“Right,” she mumbled.

“You have to understand, though, that a demon is in no way... stabile. Any emotion it suffers, it suffers to its bitter end. Love is no different than hate in that context. Treated unwisely... it will, without a doubt, spin out of control. I guess, for that reason, I’m grateful I never chose to feel it as Angelus.”

“But, then, if there’s no trust... And how could I?”

She trailed off, blinking and squeezing the phone so hard it creaked in her grasp.

“Buffy... is everything alright? You sound strange.”

“I feel strange,” she murmured. “I have to go. Study.”

“Buffy...”

“Angel, I’m sorry. I can’t talk right now. I have to go.”

She hung up.

She wanted to focus on the last part of Angel’s disclosure; but the statement, that had verified what the younger vampire had professed, weighed heavier.

This doesn’t prove anything.

It was the first thought that came into her head, and it faded just as quickly.

Oh, my God.

That was the second one, and it stayed on a while longer.

Why had she never discussed this with Angel before? For years she’d been so sure of her view being the only way to go. That light was light and dark was dark and there was no middle-ground. Just as Giles had said: they think they feel something, but they really don’t. Or they even might, just so far from reaching what humans would feel that it couldn’t even be called a resemblance. Why hadn’t she asked Angel? It was something that should be important to her...

No, it had never been important to understand the other side, she concluded. Demon equaled bad ninety-eight percent of the time, so ninety-eight percent of the time it was a no-brainer. But now those two percent were glaringly obvious.

Angel should know. If anyone should know and be honest about it with her, it was him.

She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It just clicked over to show 06:55 p.m. She looked out of her window. It had been dark for nearly half an hour.

She got to her feet, not yet sure of what she intended to do, but knowing she couldn’t stay inside any longer. Patrolling would help. Grabbing the doorknob she opened the door and halted as her gaze landed in Spike’s. He lowered the arm which had been about to knock.

“What’re-what’re you doing here?” she stuttered.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m not here for class, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he replied dryly.

“Then you shouldn’t be here, should you?” she said meaningfully, her eyes following a girl who strolled past them, arms full of books and a frown occurring on her brow at the sight of the leather-clad bleached blonde.

“Would you believe it if I said I was in the neighborhood?” he wondered, the trace of a smile tryingly appearing around his mouth.

“Spike! You think I don’t have more important things to do than fight with you? You think this is the peak of each day – see you and throw insults at each other until one of us explodes or...”

“Or?”

“Stop it!” she hissed, glaring at him. “Go away.”

“Mh, like you did,” he mumbled and she paused, feeling guilty.

“Fine, won’t you come in,” she said, grabbing his coat and dragging him in through the door as a second girl was giving him an odd look. “Exchange student,” Buffy smiled at her. “Thinks I’m an R.A,” she added, shaking her head and the girl smirked.

Buffy closed the door and turned to him.

He smiled a little. She didn’t like the smugness on him. And she didn’t like how she liked having him in her room, nor did she enjoy the creeping anticipation overcoming her as he eyed her softly. He thought he knew exactly where he had her, didn’t he? Well, she’d show him.

“Now go,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow, then sighed, heading passed her to the door.

“Not that way,” she protested, taking hold of the lapels of his duster and making him stop, their noses practically touching as he looked down at her. Oh, God... “Through the window,” she murmured.

He studied her, then moved a hand up to her cheek, brushing his fingers up over it and into her locks. Her grip on the leather hardened. He could hear her heart beat quicken. He brought his thumb to her chin and made her tilt her head to the side, moving his head forward slowly to let his mouth connect with her thumping pulse. She drew a trembling breath as he parted his lips, kissing the spot softly.

“Oh, my God!” Willow’s voice suddenly exclaimed, the redhead having entered the room without the two taking any notice, and then a heavy book connected with Spike’s head. “Get away from her you dirty, low-life, scoundrel of a vampire or I swear I’ll beat you into a bleeding pulp!”

He let the Slayer go, trying to avert the blows, but that was one ticked off Wicca.

“Willow!” Buffy exclaimed. “Will!” she repeated, grabbing the book in midair and taking a hold on the redhead.

Willow met her gaze, saw that there was no blood running down her friend’s neck, and began to calm down. Then she looked at Spike.

“Well, I shouldn’t have to say sorry. Chip or no chip, one never knows with you.”

“I guess that’s fair enough,” he muttered, moving one hand to rub his sore scalp.

Buffy massaged the bridge of her nose, not sure whether she wanted to burst out laughing, or if she just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again. Finally she looked at Spike, meeting his gaze. He seemed as though he wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

“I should...” he then murmured with a gesture to the window.

“No, no, we’re not inhospitable,” Willow said. “And the book-to-the-head treatment is reserved only for special guests. Please, use the door.”

He hesitated.

“Please,” Buffy said, “use the door.”

There was a streak of warmth in his eyes and then he walked up to it.

The streak of warmth stayed with Buffy long after he had left.

“Willow...” she began.

“No need to explain,” Willow intercepted.

“I wanted to say thanks.”

“Who said Math and Science never comes in handy?” Willow quipped with a smirk, patting the book. Then her face grew solemn. “Buffy, what are you doing?” she asked.

“I...” Buffy tried, but she couldn’t get any further than that. “What are you thinking?”

“I think you’re about to break the heart of the sweetest, most generous and caring guy you’ve ever known. Riley loves you, Buffy. How can you do this to him?”

“It wasn’t my doing! Spike came in here and... and...”

“I saw the look on your face.”

“What are you talking about?” Buffy asked, blushing, though she tried to beat it back.

“You were completely rapt! And don’t give me that expression; you didn’t even hear the door opening. I’m beginning to agree that getting Spike out of town might not be such a bad idea after all. You can’t trust him, you know that, and why would you get yourself into something you can’t trust? The whole thing is volatile, and sure to blow up in your face. So snap out of it already!”

Buffy gritted her teeth, sidestepping the need to argue the point.

“I don’t know how,” she then muttered silently.

“It’ll reveal itself,” Willow said. “Hopefully in the nearest of futures. I’m going to Tara’s.”

“You’re spending a lot of time there.”

“Well, she has a single room and Miss Kitty’s there...”

“How is Kitty?”

“Cute and cuddly and playful. We made this ball of yarn float around the room. She loved that.”

Buffy smiled.

“I’m glad you have Tara. I know I haven’t been around much lately.”

“Yeah... I’m glad I have Tara too. But I do miss you sometimes.”

“Girl’s night in. We’ll plan it this weekend,” Buffy decided, Willow smiling her agreement.

Buffy put on her jacket and grabbed her stake.

“Patrolling? Isn’t it a little early for that?” Willow asked as they headed out the door.

“I need to walk,” Buffy replied. “Clear my head.”

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

They parted, Buffy walking downstairs and out through the front door.

“I’m bleeding,” Spike’s voice stated behind her.

She didn’t even turn her head, merely kept on walking.

“Serves you right,” she said.

“For what?”

“Showing up unannounced. At my dorm.”

“It’s college! People are used to oddities.”

She turned around at that, looking him over.

“You, my friend, are not an ‘oddity’. An ‘oddity’ is a girl dressing like Marilyn Manson and listening to pop from the sixties. You are like a poster-add for the eighties.”

With that she spun back around and commenced walking.

“If you think hearing you insult my appearance is my idea of a day’s peak, Slayer... you might be a little right; that was kind of...”

“What are you doing following me around?” she stopped him. “Don’t you have anything better to do than this? And can’t you see I’m working?”

He walked ahead of her, blocking her path and making her stop again.

“You’re a coward,” he said.

“A what now?”

“You can’t admit it, can you?”

“Admit what?”

“That this...” he said with a look between them, “it’s been coming for a long time.”

“You are so full of yourself,” she shook her head. “Now, get out of my way.”

“I’ll move when you tell me last night meant nothing to you.”

She clenched her jaws together.

“I don’t know what last night meant,” she mumbled. “I don’t know what the past two weeks meant!”

“You do know,” he said. “You just haven’t made up your mind yet.”

“And I suppose you have. Boom, just like that, you go from hating me to loving me?” she asked.

“Maybe it’s that simple.”

“Nothing’s that simple.”

“Buffy...”

“Don’t,” she stopped him as he was moving a hand to touch her again. “I’m messed up as it is. I can’t see straight when you... do that.”

He smiled then, backing off.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said, turning and walking away. “You know where I live.”

She watched him go.

Was he right? Had it been coming for a long time? No. She hated him at first sight. Well, he scared the hell out of her at first sight. Not that he was so scary to look at... but that air of self-assurance. The cockiness. The lack of fear of failure. He had always had a strength surrounding him that didn’t come from recklessness, but from the fact that he didn’t consider it to be that. He saw it as rebellion, as setting his own limits and then breaking them. She wondered if he had ever practiced any form of self-control.

Wasn’t that what he just did? she asked, glancing the way he had gone and suddenly, inexplicably, smiling to herself.

A walk, she then instructed, to clear her head.

Reaching

I am not going to have gone through everything I did with Angel and have it all end up with me developing some sort of morbid infatuation with another vampire! Those three years I spent with Angel taught me how to love, how deep in love a person can actually be. If I’m gonna turn around and decide I wanna be with a vampire after all, I’ll go to him. I’ll go straight to L.A. and tell him...

Her train of thought paused there.

She had been walking for two hours. Clearing her head had turned into bringing up every possible reason she could have to never go near Spike again. And now she had finally gotten to the top of the list, bringing out Angel...

What am I doing? she asked herself for the millionth time.

She pictured herself arriving in L.A., the large building hosting Angel Investigations being right there, before her. She walked in through the door and Angel was there, looking up and spotting her he would grow wondering, and she would simply run up to him, hug him tight, be near him...

And then she thought of going there, to then come back to Sunnydale. Entering the crypt, now abandoned. Spike gone.

She tensed, and with that small sensation she knew she couldn’t do that.

Angel will always be there, she told herself. He’ll always be a part of my life. But...

Everything was so different with Spike. Every touch, every look, every gesture was so different. The man that he was, was so different.

And so, for this night, she made up her mind; hurrying her step as she began to near Revello Drive. There were a few things she’d need.

“Buffy?” Joyce said, coming into her daughter’s room.

Buffy turned around, smiling at her mother.

“Hi, mom.”

“My, I’m sure seeing a lot of you.”

“Not tonight you’re not. Can’t stay. Just realized I forgot my comfy pj’s,” Buffy explained. “And what’s with the raised eyebrows every time I come home? I thought after Faith we agreed to see more of each other.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Joyce laughed. “Of course I love having you around, but you keep showing up at the oddest hours, without telling me.”

“Spur of the moment homesickness.”

“Sounds more like pj-sickness.”

Buffy smiled, nodding.

“Where’s Ath and her brother? Is everything alright? I’m sorry that I just sort of dumped her... or them, I guess... on you, but...”

“Don’t worry about it. They’re both delightful! Cale and I had the longest chat earlier about the different epochs of Egypt and what impacts living by the Nile had on those inhabiting the city and area close to it. Truly intelligent young man.”

“Well... that’s great,” Buffy smiled. “I know we don’t usually invite complete strangers into our home.”

“They’re not strangers anymore,” Joyce said simply, smiling again. “Ath made cupcakes today. Delicious! A boy from your old high school came over for coffee, actually. John-something.”

“Jonathan?”

“That’s it. He took them to the movies. They should be home soon, if you’d like to hang around...”

Buffy’s smile appeared again.

“I should get going. I’m sorry.”

“Not to worry. I’ll see you this weekend?”

“I might have to study... I have so much catching up to do.”

“Naturally. So... I’ll see you on your next spur of the moment drop-by?”

“You bet.”

Buffy grabbed her pillow and walked up to her mom, kissing her on the cheek before exiting. Joyce frowned, but as she heard the front door open and close she didn’t get a chance to voice her question.

Ath grabbed another handful of popcorn, swallowing them greedily and smirking at her brother, who looked disgusted. Jonathan picked up on it, too.

“You don’t like popcorn?” he asked.

“White, fluffy, tasteless things,” Calor muttered. “And still I feel as though I have a razor blade down my throat when I swallow one. I don’t like them, no.”

“Wow,” Jonathan said with a glance at Ath. “Heavy.”

She smiled brightly at that and Calor rolled his eyes at her, sinking further into the seat and glaring at the large screen before them. He hadn’t thought he would have such a hard time following the events of man – after all, he had been doing just that since the dawn of time – but being down here, up close to it, made it into a confusing blur of events that he couldn’t straighten out for himself. Like the concept of movies. What was the use of making movies about happy people when so many people were miserable? Why waste energy and money on creating something into which the unhappy people could flee for but an hour or two, instead of making something more lasting? Something that could make unhappiness a thing of the past? No, humans were a troublesome species. They truly were impossible to understand. They were complex in all their simplicity.

He did like Joyce, though, she seemed as though she could see what he meant when he spoke to her. As apposed to his own sister, who seemed to constantly be smirking at him. He didn’t like how he felt lesser than her on this plane. She seemed to have taken to this humanity a lot easier than he, and he felt as though he was always stumbling to keep up.

And then there was the Slayer business.

How was he supposed to stop her from removing the vampire’s chip? How was he supposed to prevent the vampire from leaving? How were these two beings supposed to coexist, if they couldn’t see the only way for them to do so?

Buffy, Buffy, he thought sadly. This was not how I meant for it to be. It was never supposed to be this hard. I thought I knew you... Thought I knew how you would react. I didn’t. I don’t.

So how was he to figure out how to fix this?

He sunk further into the seat and closed his eyes.

Moments later he was facing his father, who turned to him with impatience.

“Cale, stay where I put you. If someone were to find your body they would take you for dead.”

“Yes, I presume Ath never visits you.”

“Your sister does not visit me for selfish reasons.”

Calor grew silent, observing the elder. Then he said:

“I cannot do this.”

“Chaos is your only alternative. Will you leave the world to a demolition of your making?”

Calor wanted to throw something, but merely found himself opening his eyes again, back in mortal form and sitting next to his sister in a movie theatre showing pictures of what was supposed to be normal life, when it only seemed to him to be a pale reflection of it.

And so how shall I teach you to live, Buffy? To embrace life and all its quarks and happenstances?

Spike splashed some water on his face, rubbing the skin dry with a towel and throwing it aside before he walked up to his bed. He looked it over, then thought it too empty and turned from it, heading upstairs.

‘Boom, just like that, you go from hating me to loving me?’

Her words kept ringing in his ears. They sounded true. The situation felt obscure and comical; ironic. He should know better. He should forget the buggering chip and leave now, while he still had a chance at a clear escape.

He smirked at that.

Well passed that point now.

He had felt longing much like this before, but not in one-hundred-and-twenty years had it scorched him from every possible angle. It was so wrong, and still felt so right. A beacon in a much too dark night. A ray of sunshine in a shadowed forest. It would end up leading him astray, he knew that. It would end with him standing in light and burning for it.

But what a way to go.

He sat down on the loveseat, sliding down and closing his eyes. He should go get food. The butcher would close in an hour and then he’d be left stranded. But he didn’t feel like moving.

The door opened and he furrowed his brow, not bothering to turn around as he could scent soft musk. A smile slowly formed on his mouth as he heard her feet approaching the place he resided. Then a pillow landed on the spot next to him, right before she walked around the couch and had a seat. He turned his head to her, questioning.

“Alright,” she said, “I’m intrigued.” His eyebrows rose. “I’m not saying... anything except I’d like to... stay here. Tonight. No smoochies, no feelys, no tries at any of that stuff whatsoever or I’m out the door.”

He kept on eyeing her, his gaze sliding down her form and a glitter appearing in them at what she was wearing. She had changed on the way, into her retrieved, very un-sexy set of pajamas. He thought they might’ve worked as a distraction from any thought of the night they had shared yesterday, but for the fact of how he wanted to get her out of them; thinking she was better than that. She grabbed the pillow, getting it out from under her and throwing it at him as she got to her feet.

“Do you have any of the water left?” she asked, walking up to the small fridge.

He put the pillow aside.

“No,” he replied simply.

“Figures,” she muttered, opening the door and looking inside.

Choosing to pour herself a glass of juice she came back up to him. Sitting down she took a sip, then met his eyes, which were observing her keenly.

“Remember when I was fifteen and liked having you stare at me?” she asked, a smile on his lips. “Remember when I grew out of it?” she added, the smile broadening. “I should’ve bought some art,” she sighed. “The walls are so bare. And where are the rugs? Don’t tell me you weren’t happy with them, ‘cause I know...”

“They’re downstairs,” he interrupted.

“Oh.”

They grew silent, her gaze taking him in as he did her.

“What’s your happiest memory?” she asked.

“What’s yours?”

“No, tell me.”

He cocked his head to the side, then smiled.

“Don’t think it’s happened yet,” he said.

She smiled back, then glanced away, down at her hands, the smile pulling back.

“Mine was with Angel,” she murmured, gaze back in his and his face quickly lost any emotion, apart from growing agitation.

“So was Dru’s,” he shot bitterly.

“Is that how it’s gonna be?” Buffy asked. “I’m gonna be compared to her...?”

“Am I gonna be compared to him?” he bit off. “I’m nothing like him, so if I am to be compared, you’d do best at buggering off, ‘cause there’s nothing here for you.”

“Why do you guys hate each other so much?”

“He’s a smug, intolerant, know-it-all; who bosses everybody around and makes their life a living hell!” Spike exclaimed.

“No, that’s Angelus.”

“And what’s with that? Having to separate between demon and soul, having to step back and go – oh, yeah, I bloody did this when I couldn’t see straight ‘cause I was too much of a blockhead to get that my actions might come back to bite me on the ass! Sodding poof, he is. And now he’s all broody and black-eyed and sad. Poor Angel has a bad demon inside and now he has to deal with it. Unbelievable what credits the wanker gets after what I’ve seen him do.”

He stopped at that, biting his tongue and closing his eyes briefly at her stricken expression.

“I’m... sorry,” he said slowly, meeting her gaze again.

“Don’t be. Angel said something to me that I think is true – that it varies who you become after you get your soul back. And it’s different from vampire to vampire what sort of vampire you are. Some demons are strong, taking over completely; even when the memories of the human they’re in linger they choose not to notice them. They don’t want them. If a demon’s willing to remember...”

Spike waited for her to finish as she trailed off.

“If I’m willing to remember...?” he said helpfully, smiling a small smile.

“Then you can tell me about what kind of man you were,” she filled in, avoiding the actual base of her thought.

“William is uninteresting, inadequate and, in general, he’s boring.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I want to know where you come from. And you just said you shouldn’t have to separate between demon and soul.”

“I didn’t bloody well mean...”

“It’s like the first year of a baby’s life. It determines the rest of the life of the baby, right? So at your age, your first years as a human can count as the baby-phase. And... I want details. As for the uninteresting, inadequate and boring?” She smiled softly at that and he felt something click inside him, almost growing sheepish at the embarrassment he was going to suffer telling her of his mortal years. “Let me be the judge of that,” she now filled in her former sentence, and he grumbled in dislike as well as defeat.

“Is this why you came here, Slayer? Hear the story of my existence?”

“And then some,” she replied, making herself a bit more comfortable in anticipation for him to begin.

“There’s not much to tell... I was born in a small town, my parents moved to London when I was two, my father worked and my mother stayed home with me... I was quiet... closed off... Didn’t have many friends, always wanted them. I painted, I wrote, I went to school and about my business... I was pathetic.” He shuddered, deep in the retelling and barely aware of her anymore, she thought. “I had a close friend in a girl named Sarah. We grew up together. She was the one who introduced me to Cecily... God, I was a fool for that girl.” He smirked suddenly, then sighed. “At least it brought me to Dru. She saved me, you know? Got me the hell away from there. The stuffy British drawing rooms where men smoked their cigars and women coquettishly did as their husbands instructed. To think I wanted to be part of that whole bleeding farce! Dru made me see who I really was. Got me to realize my potential. With her I was... unstoppable. She lent me her power.”

“Her madness,” Buffy broke in and Spike focused his gaze in hers.

“They were good times.”

“Compared to now?” she asked.

“Now? Now’s very different, isn’t it?”

“You wreaked havoc among the European countries for almost half a century. Built up quite the reputation. Killed two slayers. And I’m supposed to sit here and believe that you could leave all that behind?”

“I left Dru behind, didn’t I?”

“She left you for a Fungus demon.”

“And why was it that Angel left you again?”

She glared at him, getting to her feet and facing him again just as he stood as well.

“We’re so good at this,” she muttered.

“Aren’t we, though?” he said.

“I just feel like this is all... make-believe. You look back over all the damage you’ve done and what do you feel? Not a biting on the ass, that’s for sure. There’s not even a nip!”

“Does it matter? In the big picture? If I swore to you I’m done with killing. If I’d give it up...”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she shook her head.

“If I’d give it up?” he repeated, taking a step forward, making her take one back.

“How can I trust you?” she asked. “After everything you’ve done? To me, to the ones I love? How can I bring you into the middle of that group and say ‘Oh, and by the way...’?”

“’By the way’ what?”

She rested her eyes in his for a long moment, then shook her head a little.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Another few moments of silence and then he asked:

“Have you eaten? You hungry?”

She felt relief at the change of subject, raising one shoulder in a shrug, though the expression on her face showed him that she could definitively eat.

“I’ll go. Make yourself comfortable,” he said, grabbing his duster as he headed up to the door. “What’re you in the mood for?”

She smirked, then replied:

“Wings.”

She was watching TV when he got back. She turned her head to him with a slight smile on. He seemed to grow tentative at the sight of it, bringing the bucket of wings to her and she looked up at him as she reached up to receive it. He held her gaze for another second, then turned and walked into the kitchen area. Getting the fresh blood he had bought out of its bag, filling up the stash he kept and closing the fridge door. He opened the plastic jar and vamped out as he put the edge of it to his lips, devouring his supper quickly.

Once he was done he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking over where she was sitting, back to him. He threw the jar in the makeshift trash-bin and approached her, shaking off his vampire exterior before reclaiming his previous seat. She didn’t look at him, merely held out a hand holding one of the pieces of chicken.

He grabbed it.

“What’re we watching?” he asked.

An hour later she giggled at one of the jokes in Who’s Line Is It Anyway? For twenty minutes he had barely been watching the show, but he smiled as she smiled. She turned her head to him, the amusement still in place, though it smoothed as she locked her gaze with his.

“You don’t like this show?” she wondered.

“Sure I do,” he replied.

“We can watch something else.”

“’S fine.”

She faced the screen again, bringing her legs up, folding them to the right, her toes touching his hand and she jerked them away. For a second he felt a sting, and then he heard her swallow hard and realized why she’d done the movement. It wasn’t like her, to be this afraid of herself. Did he really have such power over her? For a second the glimmer of that thought seemed ludicrous. Then he casually moved his hand, letting his fingers scrape the sensitive skin of her foot and she drew a slight breath, growing stiff as a board.

Then she moved her hand, slid it into his and removed his touch.

He smirked. She glanced at him, pulling her hand back, and then fastened her gaze back at the TV, successfully keeping down a smile.

“So,” she said, rising and walking up to the machine, turning it off. “Wanna play cards?”

“You think I’m ever gonna play cards with you after what you did to me last time?”

She pouted adorably, but he wouldn’t let that get to him. He wasn’t entirely out of it yet. He had his pride.

“It’ll give you a chance to win your rings back,” she tried and he shook his head. “Don’t be boring!”

His eyes widened at that.

“Read ‘em... and weep,” she said, placing the cards on the coffee table between them.

He growled, throwing his cards down. She smiled widely.

“This is fun. Isn’t this fun?” she asked, reaching over to take her prize lying in front of him.

He grabbed her wrist in a tight grip, his eyes hard as steel. She met them without wavering, then pulled free. Holding her hand out instead. He gritted his teeth, picking the lighter up and placing it in her palm. She held it up, smiling again.

“It’s so rewarding, beating you at your own game.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, getting to his feet.

“Why is this thing so important to you anyway?”

“I got it fifteen years ago...”

“Got it?”

“I stole it fifteen years ago and it’s been with me ever since! Wanna know where I got the coat from?” he asked, the aggravation racing on deadly paths inside him.

“Where?” she smirked.

“From the second slayer whose neck I snapped,” he nearly growled.

Her merriment faded to nothing, and then her eyes turned cold as she stood.

He regretted it the moment the words went out of his mouth. Even more when she walked passed him and headed for the door.

“Buffy...”

“If I stay, I’ll kill you.”

He went after her, grabbing her wrist and she spun around, hitting him hard on the jaw. She had tears in her eyes; he could nearly touch the fury on her. She hit him again, and again, changing her fist for her foot and kicking him in the chest, making him lose his grasp and having him stumble backwards.

“Don’t... touch me,” she said, her tears running over. “I don’t wanna know you. I don’t wanna know what you’ve done. It’s so easy to pretend all that stuff away, say it doesn’t matter now... But it’s who you are!”

She turned at that, walking up to the door and disappearing through it.

He stared at the spot she had been in for the longest time.

That’s it? You’re not gonna fight? a voice inside asked.

Who am I supposed to fight? he asked back. Her?

She was crying hard. It felt like it had been building all this time and finally she got to let it all out. She stumbled into a clearing and sunk down on the ground. She was so angry. She was so angry with him, with herself, with the feelings clawing inside her. With the confusion and the unwillingness to come to a final decision.

She wanted him gone, but at the thought another part of her trembled with sorrow and a fresh batch of tears appeared in her eyes. Goddammit! It was her stupid younger version that had gone and seen things in him that weren’t there! And even if they were, they were only there for moments at a time. He was what he was. Maybe she shouldn’t even want to change him. Stop killing – pah! She had actually believed him. When she looked into his eyes she had seen true sincerity in them, and she had felt like it was possible.

She didn’t want to acknowledge how much admitting that he was nothing but a common fiend hurt her. And she hated him for it.

She got to her feet, stumbling through the trees and then coming out on a well-known road, following it to her house. She chose the back entrance, feeling her disheveled appearance might make her mother pose a few unwelcome questions. She just wanted to sleep. Forget all about Spike and this nightmare. It was a disturbed attraction on her part, nothing more. Could never be anything else than that.

She halted as her gaze met Ath’s, seated on the porch by the kitchen door. Ath furrowed her brow quizzically. Buffy dried her cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t stop coming and she walked up to the porch steps, sinking down beside the other girl.

“Buffy, what’s the matter?”

Buffy looked at her, then a sob rose out of her throat and she buried her face in her hands.

“It’s too terrible,” she said.

“No, really... Tell me,” Ath encouraged, reaching out a hand and softly stroking Buffy’s back. “It’s okay. Tell me everything.”

“There’s this guy,” Buffy began, sniffling. “And he can be really... really great. He can be considerate and even... tender... But then he’s conniving and dishonest and I know I can’t trust him. He can be dangerous. I mean really dangerous. And I can’t help but feel like maybe somewhere in all that – is him. Not William, not Spike... just him. And I tried to reach him tonight but I did such a poor job at it and then he blew up and then I blew up and we started fighting like we always do... What kind of relationship can we have, anyway, when every other sentence is a scream of anger?”

She drew a breath, shaking her head.

Ath looked at her, then said:

“Spike sounds as though he might not have the clearest view of himself... And if he doesn’t know himself, then how can you know him?”

“Well, he thinks he has a clear view of himself so he won’t listen to anything I say. He’s such an idiot! Why would I wanna be with such an idiot?”

“Yes, why would you? Shouldn’t you be with someone a little less... out there? Someone who knows exactly who they are and where they’re going? Someone who will always love you?”

“I have someone like that,” Buffy mumbled, beginning to feel drowsy from the slow movements of Ath’s hand. “He’s a nice guy. A wonderful guy! I can see myself with him.”

“Then maybe it’s time you go to him, instead of trying to help this Spike out with whatever issues he needs resolving? That isn’t your job, is it? If he wants them resolved he needs to be the one to do it.”

“He should. He should do it himself,” Buffy agreed. “It’s not in the job description to hang around his crypt all night and listen to him vent.”

“That’s right.”

“That is so totally right!”

“Good. Now, go to bed.”

“Okay.”

As the Slayer disappeared upstairs, Ath wrapped her arms around her knees, turning her eyes to the stars up above and smiling a little. She had enjoyed the evening. There was a new emotion being born within her, and she liked the process. It was fascinating and exhilarating. And scary, she supposed. Jonathan was such a special character. She wondered if it had been by chance that he had found her.

Her mind drifted to Buffy.

It’ll get better now, she thought.

“Well?” Calor asked, coming out onto the porch.

“Half of the work is done,” Ath said.

“You didn’t tamper with anything, did you?”

“Of course not!” she replied, offended. “I am one who learns from your mistakes. It’ll be entirely her decision. I just helped with the sorting out of all those emotions fluttering around inside her. Humans are so messy.”

“Yes, they are, aren’t they? Jonathan in particular. I caught so many different vibes from him tonight I thought I was going to throw up.”

Ath merely smirked.

“He was a bit nervous,” she agreed. “But it was... kinda cute.”

“You can’t get mixed up with a mortal,” Calor said.

“So you’ve told me, five times!” she exclaimed. “I’m only three seconds younger than you, thank you very much, I know the laws of our nature just as well as you do.”

“But you really can’t get mixed up with this mortal. It might change...”

“I know,” she said, rising and walking passed him inside.

“Messy is the word,” he sighed, looking skyward meaningfully before following in her footsteps.

Buffy entered her bedroom, closing the door silently behind her and turning around to see her pillow on her bed. She hadn’t even realized she forgot it. But now it was here.

“Oh,” she grumbled, walking up to it. “Why’d he have to do that?”

Her eyesight was blurry, she was so tired; and then she fell on the bed, asleep the next instant.

The Age of Miracles

“But the strange thing is,” Buffy stated the next morning, speaking to the gathered Gang, “that I was out walk-... patrolling the other night and I didn’t get one single slay. My count’s been down lately, way down.”

“Think they’re biding their time? Gathering strength? Regrouping?” Xander wondered.

“I really don’t know. Riley’ll be back in two days... The Initiative might have something different to report.”

“Do you really think Adam wants war?” Willow asked, trying not to sound worried and casting a comforting glance at Tara, seated at her side.

“I have no idea what Adam wants,” Buffy replied. “The stuff that he’s done...” She shivered with disgust. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find a way to stop him.”

“Well, you always do, don’t you?” Anya said matter-of-factly, getting off Xander’s lap as she rose. “That was a wasted hour.”

“You know, I really don’t like your snide remarks, Anya,” Giles scoffed, rising as well. “What we do here may seem trivial to you, but without a form of structure and union in where we stand, pandemonium will be the only force once we do try to stop whatever is happening.”

He looked at the stares directed over his shoulder, toward the front door, and then he turned around.

Willow couldn’t believe it.

“Oz.”

After lunch Buffy headed to Stevenson Hall. Entering the room, Willow was sitting on her bed, looking thoughtful. Buffy smiled at her.

“Hey.”

“What’s with the gloom?”

Willow tried to smile, but couldn’t.

“Oz is back,” she murmured.

“I caught that,” Buffy smirked, having a seat at the foot of the bed.

“He’s back and he can control the howling-at-the-moon thing.”

“Wow... Wait, your face is all scowly.”

“It doesn’t mean to be. I mean, this is so wonderful. I’m so happy for Oz, you know?”

Buffy smiled.

“And you know why he did it, right? Went to all this trouble just to get control.”

“Yes. Of course, I do. And... it’s everything I ever wanted. Last fall. Now, things are different. I’m different...”

“Okay...” Buffy said slowly, then added: “You’re over him?”

“No.” Willow checked herself, continuing: “I mean, I love Oz, Buffy. I love him just as much as I did before he left.”

“And that’s a bad thing.”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because... of Tara.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Tara’s jealous of Oz?”

“She might be.”

“I know you’ve been spending all this time with her, and I know you’ve grown really close, and it might cut into hanging out with her, but she has to understand...” Buffy trailed off at the look on Willow’s face. “No... She doesn’t have to understand. She should be jealous,” Buffy mumbled, Willow nodding slowly.

“Not that I want her to be jealous, but...”

“No. That’s fine, Will. Absolutely. I mean, she should be able to feel whatever she wants to feel. She’s one of your best friends, right? You know her better than anyone. It won’t make anything weird between you!”

Buffy tried not to stare at her friend, but there was only so much she could do. This was a bolt coming from the center of the earth and causing a major earth quake on its way up before hitting the unsuspecting Slayer in the chin, or some other body part that would leave her feeling totally thunderstruck.

“You’re freaked,” Willow said.

“No!” Buffy shook her head, calming down. “Absolutely no,” she added, meaning it; grabbing Willow’s hand. “I’m sorry if I made you think I’m not okay with this. I’m so okay with it. I just... had no clue.”

“I wasn’t sure either, at first. I didn’t wanna tell anyone. I was afraid it might ruin it, you know?”

“Yeah. ...What’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t know... It’s Oz. ...I wish I could do it so no one got hurt.”

“There’s no way to do it so no one gets hurt. You have to make a choice, and stick with it. It’s the only way to go.”

The Slayer felt calm, almost sedated. She had been under this sensation for the entire day; it was soothing her nerves like balm. It had been so simple, really. She accepted that she had decided, and now everything was lighter.

She walked in the deep shade of the large oaks taking her to her next class, contemplating her homework and feeling like she had rushed it. She was sure Ms. Hollander would cock an eyebrow as she handed them out, a big fat C on the corner of the Slayer’s. Yeah, it wouldn’t surprise her one bit...

“Buffy!”

She jumped, dropping her books in the process and then glaring at the reason for her start.

“What are you doing!” she exclaimed.

“Skulking,” he replied, then shook his head as if to drop the subject, approaching her.

“It’s day, Spike. Day, remember? Sunlight. Rays of death from a clear blue sky.”

“I took the tunnels.”

“I don’t care. Go back where you came from. I’m busy.”

“So this is how it’s gonna be now?” he asked and she straightened her back, her books under one arm as she faced him again.

“This is how it’s always been,” she replied simply.

And it was. Looking at him now she was surprised how clear her impatience, her intolerance of him close to her, her anger and resentment of him, really were within her. There was nothing else there now. She should’ve been shocked, but wasn’t. It was how it was supposed to be.

He took in the detachment on her features.

Oh.

“Jolly good.”

The sarcasm was tangible.

“Anything but jolly,” she replied.

“You’re not happy?”

“I will be. Once you’re gone.” She held his gaze for a long moment, then added slowly: “I choose Riley.”

Spike arched an eyebrow, then the slight humor faded from his eyes and he grew solemn.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he murmured.

She turned and began to walk away. He watched her go, then remembered and got himself moving after her, saying:

“This wasn’t why I came.” She didn’t respond and he caught up with her, making her stop and face him before he finished: “I’ve just had a very interesting meeting.”

“Okay, make this quick. I’m late for class.”

“Adam scooped me up in his big, friendly arms and carried me off to an adventure underground. Brief enough?”

Buffy stared at him.

“Why would he do that?”

“He’s under the impression I still have a reason to want you dead,” Spike replied, his gaze growing intense and she glared at him.

“And why did you come here then?”

“’Cause maybe I don’t.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Wanna try me?”

“Buffy!” Willow’s voice yelled, the Wicca soon appearing on the path, running towards them. “They’ve taken him!”

“What? Who’s taken who?”

Willow stopped by her friend, nearly jumping from impatience.

“The Initiative! They’ve taken Oz!”

“Why?”

“He changed. He found out about... He must’ve lost control and now they’ve taken him down there and they’re gonna do all these experiments on him and...”

“Alright, calm down. We don’t know that that’s what they’re gonna do.”

Spike snorted and Buffy gave him a look, which shut him up.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get him out of there,” Buffy reassured her friend, turning to Spike she said: “Go home and stay there. If you’re offering your help, I need it. I’ll come by later.”

He gave a nod and left swiftly.

Buffy squeezed Willow’s arm.

“It’ll be alright,” she said gently. “They won’t hurt him.”

I hope, she added to herself, wishing Riley would get back sooner.

She got to the crypt right after sunset. Spike wasn’t upstairs and so she nonchalantly headed down the ladder, walking into the room lit by one single candle. He seemed to have just woken up, sitting on the edge of the bed, jeans on, but unbuttoned.

There was a flare of simple desire sending a sudden tremble through her, and it caught her completely off guard. For the entire day she hadn’t thought of him once. She had gone about her business and longed for Riley. She had remembered all the good times she’d had with the mortal, and she had smiled at the fact that he was soon to return. And she could be with him. But now the need to be close to the bleached blonde was taking over her completely. Every sense inside of her professed it. She could taste him on her tongue and her heart began to pound in her ribcage. God, she had never seen him look better.

“You have no manners, Slayer,” he muttered, stretching before rising.

She used violent force through her teeth, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek to get a hold of herself, and then she simply demanded:

“Tell me about Adam.”

“Tall and ugly. Confident as hell.”

“Yes, this much I’m glaringly aware of. What else?”

She swallowed as his hands moved to the button of his pants, slowly doing it up and not noticing how she was nearly drooling. This was bad on so many levels. Her head was starting to spin.

“He sure knows exactly what he wants.”

And what do you want? she nearly asked, clenching her jaws together hard as she kept her eyes stubbornly in his, disregarding his bare chest.

Out loud she inquired:

“And what is that?”

“Well, he didn’t tell me. But he took me into the Initiative, spluttering about how he wants to change the world and how his Mother had big plans for him... He’s out of his mind. And wants me with him.”

“So... again you can’t tell me anything useful,” she sighed, shaking her head and turning back toward the ladder.

She marveled at her escape being so close.

“Have you been listening?” he stopped her with a growl. “He wants me to join his team.”

She gritted her teeth and then faced him again. She spurted the first thing that came to mind.

“So why don’t you? What’s stopping you?”

His gaze turned cold and then he approached her angrily.

Oh, God, get away!

“You can act like nothing happened when you’re with your bloody friends, but don’t stand there and ask me that. You know why.”

She shook her head slowly.

She didn’t want to know why.

“Just stop,” she said.

“I know you feel what I feel... I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me.”

She stared at him, her hands almost reaching out to touch him, but she held them back. She did feel something, but these yearnings moving inside of her, had nothing to do with love. Had nothing to do with anything but flesh and blood and pulsating pleasure. And she couldn’t share that with him. Ever again. No, what she felt wasn’t love, she knew that now. And it never could be anything but what it was.

“You only see what you want to see,” she murmured, his gaze shading until his eyes were dark blue.

It wasn’t aggravation, but defeat. Heavy and sullen it took over his stance before he turned from her.

“Since I’m leaving in six days I guess you’d better plan the layout of my infiltration... Get you as much information as possible.”

“Yeah,” she said, watching him walk back up to the bed. “But you know ...you don’t have to help.”

“I know,” he muttered, grabbing his T and pulling it on.

He listened to her ascend the ladder.

Then he reached out, killing off the flame of the candle, standing by the bed, with two fingers.

She dreamed of his hands. They were touching her tenderly, checking for bruises, for cuts, wanting to help and protect. They slid up her legs, over her hips and stomach, further up to her throat and into her hair where they took a tight hold and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. She saw the gleam in two yellow eyes right before his fangs sunk deep into her neck.

She woke in a fever, feeling herself shivering as she sat up, blinking sleep away and realizing her eyes were filled with tears.

Childish, she reproached herself. It wasn’t anything but a nightmare. Nothing to get worked up over.

She pushed the covers aside and rose, walking up to the sink and filling a glass up with water. Drinking it in hard gulps she looked over where Willow lay sleeping. Oz was saved, and gone. It felt like it had all happened too fast. Like Willow at least should’ve been given a few more days to make up her mind.

Guess it was already made up, Buffy thought, putting the glass down and walking back up to the bed, crawling under the covers and pulling them up to her chin.

Then an arm snaked around her waist, pushing her back against a chest and she smiled to herself; relaxing. The familiar scents of his crypt encircled her and she turned her head to look at him through the pitch black. He kissed the tip of her nose, making her smile widen. She moved around so she could snuggle close to him, his embrace hardening.

“I won’t ever let you go,” he murmured.

“I know,” she whispered.

And then he was gone, and she was dressed, sitting on the bed with her eyes fixed on a burnt down candle. Its white body had floated out in a gentle puddle, dripping over the edge of the low bedside table. She reached out a hand and as her finger touched the wick a flame slowly grew onto it. She stared, fascinated.

With that image she woke; the sun, shining in through her window, stinging her eyes. She muttered, rolling over onto her back. She went through her schedule for Wednesday and grumbled. The feeling of the need to get up was still keeping its distance, and she contemplated falling back asleep. But, no, she couldn’t. Even if she tried.

She got dressed and ready; trying not to think of the dream, but having the images be too real, too pressing for attention. They wouldn’t leave her alone. His voice soft in her ear, his arms strong in their hold. She had felt deliriously safe. And with this dream, other dreams came back to haunt her. Dreams of him being chained to a wall...

No, she thought. Not him. The demon.

She had bolted his demon to a wall, and it had fought to get loose, but hadn’t been able to. So, what did that mean? Had it been a Slayer dream? No, it couldn’t have been. Why would she have a vision that had to do with something as trivial as that vampire? He didn’t matter enough in the big picture. Did he?

But he’s changed.

She hated that thought, but it was like drops of crystal pouring through her mind, cleansing it softly until it lay shimmering everywhere.

And he was changed.

Change. Such a strange word. What did it really entail? He hadn’t changed. If he got the chip out, he’d still be the same murderous, raw and merciless killer that he had always...

She tried not to remember all the things he had said.

That he would give it all up.

For her.

That’s not change, she told herself. I’m not change. It needs to be within him. Ath was right. It’s his issues and he needs to deal with them.

‘It’s so easy to pretend all that stuff away, but it’s who you are.’

Her own words ringing in her ears and suddenly tears rose in her eyes.

It’s too hard, she thought. Why does it have to be so hard?

She headed out of the dorm, and wasn’t able to resist looking a little deeper into the shadows around her as she went on her way. It was ridiculous that they’d be dark enough for him to elude the sun, but she sure had seen proof of it yesterday.

She pushed back the slight disappointment when he didn’t turn out to be anywhere he might’ve been. The shadows were nothing but shadows, not hosts for his form. Stupid shadows. They sure were useless. She headed into the building of her first class.

The day went by slowly. She kept glancing at the watch. For the first time in quite some time she found herself longing for patrol. She wanted to get out there and find a nest. She was in the mood for it. A good, long, hard fight. She shifted in her seat, distantly hearing the words of her professor as she went over the different moves of the battle in her head. There’d be five – no, six of them. She’d start with the biggest, killing him off to show the other’s who they were dealing with. And then... we’ll, improvisation was always more exhilarating.

At four thirty she had a shower, blow-dried her hair, put on a touch of make-up and began to decide what would be most comfortable to wear. Black pants and black top... A little too dark, for her taste. Maybe her leather pants and a white shirt with her gray coat... Nah, not very fun. A white sweater with her dark blue jeans. But stains on white... Oh, what to do, what to do. Finally she settled on a light blue sweater she hadn’t worn in ages, her leather pants and black coat. She needed the stealth of dark colors after all.

It was six o’clock. Half an hour until sundown.

She grabbed Mr. Pointy and headed out the door.

“You look nice. Going to the Bronze? It’s a little early, isn’t it?” Willow asked, coming down the hallway.

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“No, going on patrol,” she replied. “Never a little early for that... And I don’t look nicer than usual.” She paused, then asked: “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Willow smiled. “It’s still a little rough, but I know I made the right choice.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Buffy smiled back.

She continued toward the exit, coming out into air that was beginning to truly carry the touch of spring. She headed for the seventh cemetery of Sunnydale, as it was the farthest away from the one hosting his crypt. Slipping her coat off, she put it over one of the headstones and then sat down on it with a sigh, looking around.

“Nest, nest, lead me to a nest,” she mumbled.

She looked at her watch. It was nearly six-forty-five. The sky was still light, but the sun was gone. So where were they? They couldn’t do this to her, she was supposed to have a spot of action each night; it was assigned her by forces way out of any of their reach!

There! A movement!

She got to her feet and started to silently run in that direction, slipping between the branches she had seen moving and looking around. Nothing. Then, farther ahead. She followed it easily, jogging through clusters of trees, across a few streets, between a few houses, into another cemetery. She was close now, she could feel it. A nest! And then she slowed down, looking around with a frown.

“Alpert,” she murmured, looking up at the large tomb before her, which carried that name. “I recognize you.”

She heard steps behind her and quickly slid behind the tomb, pressing herself to the uneven surface of its stone. The steps continued passed her and she carefully peeked around the corner. The steps stopped. She furrowed her brow, getting her stake out, her concentration taking over right before she jumped out, drawing her arm back.

“Jesus Christ!” Spike exclaimed, jumping back with his hands in front of him.

She stared at him, lowering her arm.

She had missed him. It was so simple to admit it. It had been less than a day since she saw him last, and she had missed him. She had wondered what he was doing, who he was seeing. Disliking the thought of that vampiress’ arms around him. No, not disliking, loathing. But the desire that the Slayer had expected, this time was nothing but a low hum in her chest as she looked at him. She was happy to see him, that was the foremost emotion, and it scared the hell out of her.

Covering it up, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Spike!” she then said. “I thought it was a vampire.”

“I am a vampire.”

“I mean, a real vampire.”

“Shut your gob.”

“One I can kill,” she said, meaningfully.

“Hunting, are we?” he asked and she narrowed her eyes before they suddenly widened.

“My coat,” she grumbled, beginning to walk.

“Then shouldn’t you be at the mall?” he wondered, following.

She looked quizzical, then shook her head.

“No, my coat! I left it when I followed... Yeah, where’d it go? Were you on Suncrest Hill just now?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead on Suncrest Hill. Only fledglings hang on Suncrest Hill.”

“Take that as a no,” she replied dryly. “Weird...”

“Notice how quiet it’s gotten around here lately?” he changed the subject. She nodded. “Funny thing - the soldiers were bringing demons in by the hordes yesterday,” he stated. “There was a lot of activity happening and Adam was like a giddy school-boy about it. Calling it ‘perfect’ and all that.”

“As any super-villain would.” She looked at him, wondering what he was really thinking. “I was in there too, last night,” she continued.

“Rescuing Wolf boy?”

“Yes...”

“You get him out?”

“Yeah. We did. I think Riley’s gonna have a fit, but...”

“What, over you saving one of your friends?”

“He thinks every demon is the same.”

“No!” Spike gasped and she gave him a look, then had traces of a smile on.

“I’m not sure I can make him understand...”

“Soldier boy’s gonna take one look at you, and you won’t even have to explain.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked doubtfully.

“’Cause that’s love, pet. Makes you do things you don’t understand... don’t want to understand... but can’t stop yourself from doing.”

She met his gaze at that, then glanced away, self-conscious. There was a swirl inside of her now, every time her eyes met his. Butterflies. And the need to smile, just a little. This was insanity. Walk away, Buffy. Walk away.

“Did you just wake up?” she inquired and he smiled.

Her knees went weak and she smiled a trembling smile back, unsure of why. She was beginning to feel silly.

“That I did,” he confirmed. “Thought I’d head to Carmine’s.”

“What about Willy’s?”

“Not really welcome there. Was nice bringing you, just to make the old lads foam at the mouth, but it’s not the same now.” She smiled the shadow of a smile. “’Sides, the gambling’s always been better at Carmine’s.”

She looked him over, then remarked:

“No kittens.”

“Promised a lady I’d never harm another feline,” he replied. “Call me old fashioned, but a promise is a promise.”

She had to smile again, then cleared her face of the expression and focused on doing the walking; struggling to remember what it was she disliked about him. She had to be able to come up with something. But glancing at him, all she could remember were the times he had made her laugh until she couldn’t breathe. Or how truthfully he had looked at her, telling her things about himself, his life...

He watched her for a few seconds, feeling all these new emotions, he’d never felt before he met her, keep on stirring within him. They seemed to be growing stronger for each moment; for each time he saw her. Nuances of her seemed so perfectly obvious to him, and still he couldn’t fathom what she was thinking right now.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked and she met his gaze again.

“Thanks... but I have to get my coat... It doesn’t like the cemetery and if I leave it there too long it’ll mold on me.”

“So go get it,” he smirked. “Then come and let me buy you a drink.”

“At Carmine’s?”

“At Carmine’s.”

She hesitated, then simply watched him as he turned to the left, heading down a street taking him to the glimmering neon sign over the mentioned bar.

He wasn’t sure what the bleeding hell to expect. The last time he’d seen her had been far from pleasant, after all. But now... He had made her smile again. He took that for a good sign. Whatever he had damaged the night prior, with his absolutely reckless statements, might be reparable.

When he looked at her, he wanted to make the pain go away. He could see parts of her suffering from it. Because she was right. His past was who he had been up until the moment he realized that he was in love with her. He wanted, more than anything, to erase it. To be worthy of her trust. Her respect. He didn’t know how to get there. But if he could reach her, somehow, he was certain the road would reveal itself.

She would, for better or worse, guide him to it.

Buffy slowed her step, but made herself continue on her set out course.

Mold, she told herself. Your favorite coat and you won’t be able to wear it again because of the mold.

And she did reach the headstone where it was still resting peacefully, as if mocking her with the lie of its need of rescue.

“You rescued me,” she muttered, grabbing it and pulling it on.

Ten minutes later she walked through the door of the bar. She had all but run back to it, cursing every step she was taking, and still almost skipping. Calling herself an idiot hadn’t helped, and now she was soon to be in his presence once more.

Addicted, her mind muttered, but she shook it off.

He wasn’t ruling her. Nothing was going to happen, she was just going to let him buy her a drink, for crying out loud. No harm in that whatsoever.

The bar was dimly lit and reminded her a lot of Willy’s, only there were no apparent demon’s about. She sensed five or so vamps, most of whose heads turned her way.

“Don’t worry, gentlemen,” she said, “I’m here on unofficial business.”

Two left just the same. She spotted Spike in a booth, back to her, and braced herself before she proceeded up to him. He was taking a mouthful of beer, glancing up at her with a crooked smile. She gave him a dirty look and sunk down on the seat facing him.

“I don’t think it’s the smartest move sitting together sharing drinks when you’re supposed to be abhorring me,” she pointed out. “Adam might hear of it,” she elaborated at the vamp’s cocked eyebrow. He didn’t reply, merely eyed her in his characteristic way and finally she just sighed, leaning back. “About that drink,” she added and he smiled, getting to his feet and walking up to the bar.

He returned with a glass of white wine, putting it before her. She twirled it absentmindedly, watching him take his seat again.

“See you got your coat,” he said with a nod to her frame and she looked down at it, then back up at him.

“Yup,” she replied before sliding it off her shoulders and putting it beside her, scratching her neck and having her eyes on her glass instead of in his.

“Cheers,” he said and she raised the glass as he did, taking a sip of the wine.

“Hmh, this is pretty good,” she said. He smiled at that. “I mean, I like white wine, but sometimes they’re too dry or too fruity... But this was... pretty good.”

“Where’s Soldier boy at?” he changed the subject.

“He had to go home for a few days. I don’t know if that was code for super-secret mission, or if he actually had to go home, but home he went. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Why can’t we do the surgery now?”

She didn’t like the falling feeling in her stomach.

“Eager to get away?” she asked.

“No, just curious.”

“The doctor’s busy. He couldn’t pencil you in ‘til then.”

“Sure... has all those other vamps in there now. Probably working round the clock to put the bloody scalpel to all of them.”

“At least you’re not bitter or resentful,” she said, a sudden gleam in her eyes that made him smile again.

“Don’t tease, love, it’s too unlike you.”

“Right, I’m usually more to the point.”

“In every sense of the word,” he nodded, raising both eyebrows before taking another swig of his beer.

“Maybe I’m only like that with you.”

He held her gaze at that, putting the beer down and then tilting his head a little to the side before he replied:

“No. You say what you mean and mean what you say... To avoid misunderstandings. You listen attentively to others, so long as you’re not busy nagging their bloody ears off; and you never hold a grudge, because you don’t believe in them.”

She stared at him; he had a small smile on. She remembered having said those things to him.

“I was naïve, what can I say? As a blushing fifteen year old boy I bet you weren’t more educated in the world than that.”

“You were more open,” he commented.

“I was too open. And willing to believe. Many a wound have I stopped since then by realizing that there’s complexity to everything. Nothing’s black or white, there are shades of gray in between. Once you learn to read them... you reach a Zen-like state and are one with the force.”

He smirked.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“I’m part guru, but it’s a secret,” she whispered the last and his smile broadened.

“That Watcher’s working you pretty hard.”

“I work me hard,” she shrugged. “I’m not going out anytime soon.”

“I can believe that,” he said, her eyes searching his before she gave a half smile. “So, is it what you want? Slaying. If you had a choice...”

“But I don’t,” she said, still smiling a little though her gaze turned melancholy. “It’s not just what I do anymore, it’s who I am. I don’t think I could ever walk alone at night and not listen for a rustle in the bushes, know what I mean? Besides, I lost my powers once... and it was the worst few days I’d ever experienced since getting them.”

“You know, I never fully understood what you are before I had you as close to me as you were,” he stated. “I’d studied your moves before, but...”

“Really?” she asked, a glitter of sudden flattery in her gaze. “You studied me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he muttered and that produced a bright smile.

“Well, you stepping into my life with the opening threat of ‘This Saturday, I kill you’, may give me reason to feel a little satisfied at the fact that you actually had to step back and go ‘Or maybe I won’t’,” she then remarked.

He smiled against better judgment.

“It was never a matter of ‘if’ – it was a matter of ‘how’,” he retorted.

“And yet, here I am, alive and well with two healed scars to thank you for.”

“What I was going to say,” he jumped away from that comment and back to his original train of thought, making her smirk as she took another sip of her wine, “was that your power doesn’t come from how high you can kick or how quick you deliver a punch, it comes from lack of fear. You’re not afraid to die, are you?”

The last question came out more like a statement, and she cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to die, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“It’s not.”

She thought it over for a few moments.

“I guess you’re right,” she mumbled. “I know I’m going to, sooner or later... and it doesn’t scare me. Perhaps I feel like it won’t happen until... it’s supposed to, you know? I don’t know, sounds kinda weird.”

He shook his head.

“But you’re not unlike me in that,” she said before she could stop herself, his eyes in hers before he smiled again.

“Maybe,” he replied. “Self-confidence is key, pet. And you know you’re good. You’re one of the best, after what I hear. And only nineteen.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, merely rested her eyes in his before she stated:

“Sunnydale’s pretty good training ground.”

“What’s the most beastly of beasts you’ve fought here, then, Slayer?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“That’s a very good question.”

“It’s so dark I can’t see a flaming thing, I’m stumbling around like another sodding idiot trying to find the torch Darla’s sworn is supposed to be down there, I finally find it and lit it and lo and behold I’m in a bleeding torture chamber!”

Buffy smiled, swallowing some more of her second glass of wine.

“What’d you do?”

“I can hear feet above me, and I can hear water below me, so I’m trying to find a trapdoor that’ll take me into the stream, yeah? And then I hear this massive crack and I realize that the bloody mob’s breaking down the door.”

“Well, can you blame them, you thief!”

“No. No, I can’t. But at the time I was thinking more along the lines of my prominent demise. So then I hear feet trampling down the passage and I finally see the trapdoor, hidden under this huge chest filled with torture devices all rusty with blood and intestines and I drag it aside and get the door open and throw the torch onto a pile of dry old fabric before I plunge headfirst into water so cold I was grateful I didn’t have a breath to lose.”

“Whoa,” she breathed.

“Second that,” he nodded. “I drift with the stream to the river and swim to shore and who’s there to meet me?”

“Darla.”

“And Drusilla, both looking as innocent as lambs. Darla wants her necklace and I start looking for it, but...”

Buffy stared at him, and then her eyes grew.

“You didn’t!”

“I did. Bleeding well dropped it! I bet it’s still at the bottom of that river somewhere, just waiting to be found.”

“But why did Darla send you in there? She could easily have charmed her way inside, I’m sure.”

“Oh, be sure. But she and Dru loved playing Angelus and me against each other, it was their hobby. And Angelus and I liked trying to beat each other. Kept us occupied.”

She smiled, sitting back in her seat.

“Wow,” she mumbled.

“What?”

“Just... that you’ve always been Dru’s lapdog. It’s actually quite on this side of funny,” she said, then her smile widened as he glared at her, it soon enough dissipating for a smile in return.

She looked at her watch and reached for her coat.

“I have to go,” she said.

He rose as she rose, reaching out a tentative hand to help her put the coat on. She smiled once more, looking up at him before she said:

“Thanks... for the drinks.”

“Anytime you need a lethal-looking, leather wearing male at your side...” he replied and she smirked.

“Good night, then.”

She proceeded passed him up to the door. Then stopped and turned around, her gaze meeting his.

“It’s a long walk back to the school... care to keep me company?” she asked, still unsure of what she was doing as the words flowed out of her mouth.

He dropped a few bills on the table and came up to her, merely giving her a look as a response, before heading before her out the door. She followed, a sense of contentment spreading through her. They walked slowly, not saying anything for a while, looking at each other from time to time.

“I’ve never seen you calm,” she finally stated. He looked questioning and she smiled tentatively. “Just being,” she added. “Like you are now. You’re usually so...”

“Pre-meditated?”

“No,” she rolled her eyes at him.

“Rough?”

“No. Well, yeah.”

“Rotten?”

She stopped at that, holding his gaze for a long moment before she said honestly:

“I used to think so.”

“And what do you think now, Slayer?”

Her heart slowed down to a crawl inside her.

“Intense! That’s the word I was looking for,” she said, beginning to walk again, having him follow the motion.

“Paying me a compliment, love?” he wondered with a smile and she smirked.

“Wouldn’t go that far.”

“How far would you go?”

She glanced at him, hearing the subtle innuendo in his words and then smiling it away.

Half an hour later they were getting closer to campus; the conversation for the past ten minutes having touched down on Buffy’s past. She had spoken of how, even as a child, she’d pretended to be a superhero of some kind, feeling it was her destiny to help people.

“Of course, I always figured it was as a doctor or a firefighter or a cop,” she had said.

“And now you get to be all of them,” he had pointed out.

“Hardly,” she shook her head. “I can’t stitch straight to save my life and I’ve mostly been the cause of fires.”

Which had lead into a description of the months leading up to the burnt down high school gymnasium.

“I guess I wasn’t always walking around questioning everything back then,” she now sighed.

“Like you do now, you mean?” he asked.

“Shut up,” she smirked.

“It’s good to question. But then you just have to know when to stop and...”

“Smell the roses?”

“I wasn’t gonna say that.”

“Of course you weren’t,” she said, then laughed at his expression.

It was the first time she’d laughed in a very long time, and the sound caught them both of guard. She cleared her throat, wrapping her arms around her and looking up at the bright moon. A bird sang somewhere and she listened to it.

“Pretty,” she said. “I wonder what kind it is.”

He was gone from her side in the blink of an eye, making her stop and turn around in a circle, frowning.

“Spike?”

Then he emerged through the bushes, his hands cupped over each other as he held them in front him. She kept the frown on, wondering what he was doing. He stopped before her, smiling a little.

“It’s frightened,” he said. “Don’t make any quick movements.”

She watched as he slowly opened his hands and her eyes grew a little at the sight of the tiny bird sitting on his palm. Then she smiled, her gaze in his just as the bird spread its wings and with a flitter lifted into the air, quickly disappearing.

They arrived at the doorstep of Stevenson, Buffy turning to him with a myriad of emotions inside.

“Thanks for...”

“Don’t mention it.”

She smiled a little.

“I had a... good time,” she mumbled and he returned the smile. “We’re having a meeting at Giles’ tomorrow at seven. Can you be there?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then,” he nodded.

She took a step up on the stairs.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night.”

She hesitated, then smiled another small smile and turned, walking up to the door and slipping inside.

She walked up the steps of the stairs in a haze of a glowing warmth spreading soft fingers through her. She was smiling to herself. Everything seemed uncluttered in her head now. Like someone had decided it was time to clean up in there, and had helped sort everything out. It had been a good evening. A great evening. But...

Below her window Spike felt like he was flying with the tiny little bird high, high up in the sky. It was strange how needing to be close to someone could make you feel so free. He was happy, and refused to consider that happiness – as too much else – is a fleeting thing.

Predictable

“This isn’t working!” Calor exclaimed.

“I know that!” Ath yelled back. “Give me the remote!”

“No! You don’t know more about these human contraptions than I do, and I’ll be damned if I let you take ringside on this!”

Ath furrowed her brow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have no idea... Did it sound good?”

“Pretty good,” she nodded, both of them calming down just as the front door opened. “Buffy!” she said, a smile on as the Slayer entered.

The blonde smiled back.

“Hey, guys. What’re you up to?”

“Afternoon schedule for CBS is a killer, dude. Just wanted to get caught up on the news,” Calor replied, Buffy’s smile growing a little strained before she gave a nod of approving.

“I’m hungry,” she then said, heading for the kitchen.

Calor raised his eyebrows at the look Ath was giving him.

“What!”

“I told you to tone it down a ‘little’, not go from east coast to west coast in one fell swoop!” she hissed before following Buffy.

“What’d I say?” Calor asked the air where she had been standing.

Ath entered the kitchen where Buffy was getting out the proper supplies for a sandwich. White bread, mustard, two slices of ham, three slices of cheese, pickles, onion and the secret ingredient – olives. She began to fuss with the jars and boxes as Ath took a seat on one of the stools.

“It’s good of you to stop by,” she said and Buffy shrugged.

“I wanted to see how you’re doing. I know I’ve insinuated that I can show you all the best spots on campus – and trust me, it’s not all insinuation – but I get the feeling you’re not in Sunnydale to go to the oh-so-fabulous college.”

Ath smiled.

“No. My brother and I... We have something in need of tending.”

“Sounds like you’re gardeners.”

“Oh, joy if it was that simple.”

Buffy smirked, cutting the olives.

“Your brother... Is he on medication?”

“His problem, and trust me on this, I’ve lived with him for a ve-hery long time, is his lack of them,” Ath stated, having Buffy laugh. Ath observed her for a few moments, the Slayer putting the last touches to her lunch and then bringing it to her mouth, taking a big bite. “You seem at ease,” the goddess remarked gently.

Buffy chewed, swallowed and replied:

“I am at ease. First comes blinding, searing agitation – then comes ease. I’m beginning to get good at this stuff. Full guru-status soon to be had.”

She smirked at that, then took another bite of her sandwich.

“You’ve come to a decision,” Ath said.

Buffy seemed to pause, her mind seeming to drift before she brought herself back and fastened her gaze in Ath’s. The Slayer suddenly had an air of regret about her, which the goddess, at first, couldn’t fully comprehend. Then the former smiled, and it was a real smile too.

“I had to, didn’t I?” she asked. “And I did,” she added.

“And did you choose the mortal?”

Buffy’s chewing slowed as her eyebrows rose.

“It’s slang where I come from,” Ath explained, eagerly awaiting Buffy’s reply.

“I did,” she finally said and the other felt a huge stone lift from her shoulders.

Thank... herself.

“And what of this Spike? Are you gonna leave him to his fate – without dwelling – and move into that bright, sunshiny future of yours?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitively leaving without dwelling. I know he’ll be alright. Everything will be. There’s this one small thing that’s gonna be settled between us, and now I feel like even that will be okay.”

She walked around the island and proceeded into the living room, Ath quickly feeling a heavier stone take the place of the former.

This was in no possible vicinity of good.

She jumped off the stool and again followed the Slayer, who had taken a seat on the couch next to Calor.

“No, press there,” Buffy said, showing him the button to push in order to turn the TV on.

“That is so simple,” he commented and she smiled, patting his arm comfortingly; something which seemed to make him terribly uncomfortable, something which, in turn, eluded the Slayer completely. “Look,” Calor then said to Ath, who had stopped in front of them.

The god began to click the TV on, and then off, on, and then off, on, and then off, on...

“Alright, sailor,” Buffy stopped him, taking the remote. “All these lovely digits will take you anywhere you wanna go. Flip through them and you’ll find yourself on Hawaii or in New York or even on the moon.”

“Amazing. I like this contraption a lot more than the movies. Here you can choose a topic, and not some mindless fairy tale, created solely for the purpose of brain damage and too high ideals.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Not a big fan of the entertainment industry, huh?”

“It’s an industry!”

“Drop it!” Ath stopped him, as he was clearly on the track of another rant, and he muttered as he turned his gaze on the TV.

Buffy noticed the worried expression on Ath’s face.

“Something wrong?”

Ath teetered on the brink of wanting to tell the Slayer all about what had been foretold. What the Seventh would mean... But the future was something best left unspoken. Prophecies were never on the nose, things changed and went wrong; you could never put your whole faith into them. Then again... this one had been proclaimed so many centuries ago... and by the goddess’ own father.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she smiled, her exterior changing in the blink of an eye as she took a seat. “I know what you are,” she then said, Buffy’s face now utterly perplexed. “I know you’re the Slayer.”

“Ath!” Calor said, flabbergasted. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, hush. We can’t sit in this house any longer. And I want to meet her friends. I know you want to, too. You have to excuse my brother; he’s somewhat of a groupie.”

“Ath!” Calor repeated, this time angrily.

Buffy smiled at his outburst, then met Ath’s gaze again.

“I don’t understand.”

“We have waited for longer than you can imagine to meet you.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Me?”

“Someday all your questions will be answered, but for now do you accept the only explanation we have?” Ath wondered, catching Buffy’s gaze and holding it.

Buffy stared at her, then smiled again.

“Yes,” she replied. “We’re having a meeting tonight. I’m sure it’s okay if you come along.”

Calor gave Ath a look dark with dislike, but she merely smiled.

“We wouldn’t wish to intrude. But tomorrow evening? Jonathan was talking about a club,” she said.

The Slayer nodded.

“Sure, Thursdays are always hopping. We’ll go scream over loud music and dance till our feet hurt.”

“Wonderful,” Ath replied.

“Are you insane?” Calor exclaimed moments after Buffy had left the house.

“Quite on the contrary, a concept I know you have trouble grasping...”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s in the same context as you!”

“Cale, we need to break out of the confinement of this house.”

“Ath, we can do that without having to resort to drastic measures.”

“Too late.”

He glared at her.

“You shouldn’t have made that decision without consulting me first. I was the one sent down here to make this right.”

“And I was sent down to help you. This is me helping.”

“You’re really not.”

“And what are you doing, that’s so useful? Have you even had one conversation with the girl since we got here?”

He searched for a good comeback, but wasn’t sure what it should be. Finally he just replied:

“We had a nice moment when she showed me how to work the television. Or so I thought.”

“Yes, and then you went on like an idiot that’s never seen a TV before.”

“It so happens I am an idiot that’s never seen a TV before,” he shot, then realized what he’d just said; his countenance growing glum as Ath giggled.

“I like how you’re getting perspective on things.”

“Shut up.”

“Ah, brother, what am I to do with you?”

“Just tell me, why now? Why did you choose this moment to reveal us to Buffy?”

“I revealed nothing. She doesn’t know who we are. She doesn’t know why we’re here. But we, dear Cale, need to work our magic swiftly, because I realized something today. Something... I had barely wanted to consider.”

Calor frowned, and Ath continued:

“Spike will have his chip removed. And when he does, he will leave. And he won’t return. You know what that, in itself, means. But here’s what I realized, his leaving will take a toll on Buffy. Not just because he won’t be here anymore; or because he won’t be the punching bag she seeks or the confidant she needs or the understanding she craves or even the lover she refuses to acknowledge. His leaving will damage her, Cale. Because he’s supposed to be here. And what you did has taught her the lesson, alright. That’s what I saw today.”

Calor stared at her, uncomprehending.

“I believe my best laid plan has backfired... I managed to get those feelings inside of her straightened out, but I never imagined it would include her feelings for the vampire. I made a mistake.”

Calor’s eyes were widening.

“Ath...”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “We need to stop it. It’s too soon.”

“I don’t believe she will give into it. She’s not in the mindset to give into it.”

“You’re wrong,” Ath said silently. “Things are very different now, and you made them that way.”

“But...”

“We need to stop it.”

He stared at her, then nodded slowly.

“How?”

Spike was nearing Giles’ apartment. It was twenty minutes passed seven and he hated the fact that he was so early, but knew instinctively that he shouldn’t be late. Self-control. That was all he needed to practice. Last night it had worked its magic and he had seen Buffy smile more than once thanks to it. Granted that nothing had actually come up to make him furious enough to lose his head. He had such a vicious tongue, and if he opened his mouth in an opportune moment it would form the words he was thinking without actually checking them first. He knew he had harmed her the other night, and himself even more, and it had been the last straw. He either had to give her up, or fight for her. He had never backed down from a fight. Okay, a few times he had, but then he had been severely outnumbered. Or he had just been hit in the head with an axe. Point was: this was different.

It was a fight hopefully not entertaining any form of heavy weaponry... And for the first time he felt his nerves tingling.

He didn’t bother to knock, merely stepped through the door. Giles was interrupted in the middle of a sentence, having Spike smirk. Then his eyes landed on Buffy, who looked challenging, and he sobered up, killing the smirk, properly closing the door, cursing himself for being a wanker for this woman, and still feeling terribly soothed by being in this close a vicinity to her once more.

“Spike, how good of you to join us,” Giles said.

“Overslept,” Spike shrugged, seeing a hint of amusement on the Slayer and smiling at her.

She grew self-conscious, still returned it tentatively, then looked away. He had a seat on the stairs, bringing out a pack of smokes and receiving such a scorching glare from Giles that he felt he didn’t even need to light one.

“Well, as I was saying...” Giles started up again.

Buffy hated how fidgety she was. She kept her eyes on Giles by force as he was sitting at the desk and thus providing her with a perfect angle of shifting her gaze to the vampire behind him. She could feel blue eyes on her, watching her in a silence so outspoken it almost hurt. Last night had been... something else. She had had fun. And to have had fun with Spike was a thought still so very unfamiliar to her. But she couldn’t keep down a small smile at it. And with that her control slipped and her eyes landed right in his, making such a ravishing, free-falling sensation occur in her stomach that she drew a careful breath.

Then there was a knock at the door, it opening to let Riley in.

“Heard there was a meeting,” he said with a trying smile.

Buffy saw the different emotions on Spike as though they were written in a bubble above his head. Realization. A flare of indignation. A touch of glee, which made her heart beat a little bit faster. And then the intense questioning. Of her. All of this in a few seconds, registering with her right before she fastened her gaze in Riley’s.

“You got my message,” she said, smiling in return of his lingering one.

He came into the room, saying hi to everyone and then noticing Spike, his face growing tight as Spike’s merely unfolded a crooked smirk.

“Adam made contact, that’s why he’s here,” Buffy explained hurriedly, rising and walking up to the mortal, ignoring the rising eyebrows of the vampire. “He can help.”

Riley suppressed a huff, then looked at Buffy and his stern exterior slowly melted.

“Hi,” he said and she smiled again.

“Hi,” she replied. “How was home?”

“Like always, which was just what I needed,” he said.

“Well, it’s good to have you back.”

Spike gritted his teeth.

Self-control. Level head.

But the pain was extraordinary. The sense of losing her had never been more real and it hit right where he could feel it. It put everything into perspective and wiped away any doubt he might still have had of exactly how deep into this he actually was. What he had said two nights ago hadn’t been a line, and now he knew it – if she said the word, he would walk away from the killing, from the hunt, from the core of his being and the essence of his nature. How strange, in the blink of an eye there can come a change so massive it shifts the pattern of the very world you live in.

And all for a girl, he muttered, glancing at her as she walked with Riley back up to the couch she had been seated on before, sitting down with the mortal next to her.

No, he then corrected himself. The girl.

“Yes, so shall we get started?” Giles asked.

“Pizza’s here,” Willow said, jumping up and running up to the door.

It was two hours later, and the subject of Adam had been tossed around for half of that. Now it had moved into less dark topics. Buffy and Riley were still seated on the couch, Giles had pulled up his chair and Spike had moved to sit on the floor by one of the armchairs. Xander and Anya occupied the other and Willow sat next to Tara on the floor between them and Giles.

Everyone was starved and the pizzas were overly welcomed with cheers and whistles as Willow set them down on the table in the middle of the group. Everyone grabbed a slice.

“Now this is the stuff,” Xander sighed.

“And what stuff is that, mate?” Spike asked.

“The stuff dreams are made of.”

“Your dreams are made of ham and mushrooms?”

“Pepperoni, my friend,” Xander replied, showing the slice he was devouring.

“It is the American way, Spike, don’t try to understand it,” Giles muttered, making the vamp smirk.

“America has its charm,” he remarked, glancing at Buffy, who met his gaze and then quickly looked away.

“Yes, with their deep-fried tomatoes and double-double-triple meals,” Giles huffed.

“Home country of Slayer. Do not taunt Slayer,” Buffy warned.

“No, of course, there are the charming traditions you indulge in.”

“And all I have to say to that is – sombrero,” she shot.

He gave her a look, then took another bite of his pizza.

“And last Thanksgiving was pleasant,” Willow chimed in. “If you don’t count the rage and the vengeance.”

“And the arrows,” Spike added.

“And the bear,” Buffy smirked, meeting his gaze once more as he smiled as well.

“What happened?” Riley asked.

“Indian attack,” Spike replied. “Disturbed spirits and that whole bit... Buffy saved the day. Or evening, I suppose.”

She still had traces of the smile on, then took her eyes out of his as she turned her head to Riley.

“She always does,” Riley said, smiling gently at her and she returned it.

“Makes you wonder,” Spike remarked, having them both look at him, Buffy a little alarmed. “When does she rest?”

“When I sleep,” she answered.

“And when you can’t?”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“No, stopping right now, it seems,” he said, voice smooth as honey and eyes soft as silk.

She swallowed, then smiled to cover the stir within, shaking her head.

“Where in Iowa are you from?” Willow changed the subject, making Riley look at her instead of keeping with his ongoing study of the vampire.

“A small town not even shown on the map,” Riley replied. “I like it there. It’s quiet and open. Gives you space to think. At night all you can see is sky, and all you can hear is wind... It’s beautiful. The smells. It gives me peace.”

Spike held down a smile, contending to rolling his eyes before reaching for another slice of pizza.

“Sounds lovely,” Giles stated.

“Regretting the slander?” Spike asked, another smirk now on.

“I was directing it at the chosen national dishes, not the country itself,” Giles bit back. “I have seen my share of nice places,” he added.

“Yes, and all of them had ‘Home on the Range’ as a lead motif.”

“Is there a problem?” Riley asked, Spike stopping mid bite and looking completely innocent.

“Was I talking to you?”

“You were talking about me.”

“Was I? I believe the topic was ‘nice places’ and so far you look to me as at the best mediocre. Slayer, tell your boy to grow thicker skin if he wants to join this crowd, and even thicker if he wants to sit next to you.”

“Spike,” Buffy grumbled, “that’s enough.”

He glared at her, then sighed.

“Fun’s up, eh?” he asked, throwing the last of his pizza back in the box as he stood. “I’ll bid my leave.”

And with that he walked up to the door and through it.

She clenched her jaws together, restraining herself from going after him. He had just behaved like a jerk! He had no right to talk like that. He had no respect for her whatsoever. She stood.

“Well, if he thinks he can just walk out of here...” she huffed, looking around at the others with stern-face on before heading after him. “I’ll be right back.”

And then she went up to the door and through it as well, closing it behind her. She came out onto the street, saw him and called:

“Stop!”

He did, then faced her.

“What?” he asked as she came jogging up to him.

“Make that as in ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’! Judging Riley like that?”

“It was the truth.”

“It wasn’t. You don’t know him. You don’t know where he’s been or where he comes from.”

“Thought he just told me; the land of the wind and the corncob.”

“Shut up,” she said, smiling none the less.

“Does he do that?” he asked quietly. “Make you smile, even when you’re this annoyed?”

“I’m not annoyed,” she disagreed. “And it’s not like that between us. He makes me smile all the other times.”

“How can I compete with that?” he mumbled and she wanted to touch him, just briefly, to show that it wasn’t like this didn’t affect her at all.

“Stop,” she said instead. “Please.”

“I can’t,” he denied her. “Not when you look at me like that.”

“Then I won’t look at you,” she stated, turning and heading back to the apartment.

She met Riley as he was leaving.

“Where are you going?” she asked with a smile. He didn’t return it and hers died away. “I couldn’t let him get away with...”

“Buffy,” he bit off.

She shook her head, stepping up to him and gently putting her hands on either side of his face, making him meet her gaze.

“I’ve made my choice,” she said.

“Felt like you made it when you went after him,” Riley replied stiffly.

“I missed you.”

He held her eyes with his steadily, then moved a hand up to her cheek.

“I missed you too,” he murmured.

Willow smeared lotion on before pulling the covers up. They had left Giles’ later than planned and she was as tired as Buffy looked. The Slayer put the book she was reading down with a huff and then threw it unceremoniously on the floor.

“I don’t like Walt,” she grumbled.

“Disney?”

“Whitman. All these words make my head spin.”

“It’s twelve-thirty at night, you shouldn’t be tackling anything but light comics or short quotes.”

“Right, ‘cause otherwise the Buffy brain will have a melt down.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Can I admit I was happy to see you with Riley tonight?” the Wicca asked carefully.

“Wasn’t that what you just did?” Buffy asked back, then smiled. “And I was happy to be seen. I missed him when he was gone. It felt strange not having him here. But I think I’m getting back to... me.”

Willow smiled, lying down and making herself comfortable as Buffy switched off her bedside lamp and did the same. There was stillness for a little while, then Willow said:

“Spike was a real hoot tonight.”

Buffy felt her mouth grow dry. There was so much she hadn’t told Willow. Couldn’t tell Willow.

“He said he loved me.”

Oh, well, maybe she could.

There was a long pause, then Willow’s light clicked on. Buffy turned her head to her friend, who looked absolutely staggered.

“Did you believe him?”

The fact that Buffy didn’t immediately reply in the strongest negative sense, made Willow rise and come over to her.

“I’m not stupid,” Buffy stated.

“I know you’re not stupid, Buffy. You have the SAT’s to show for it,” she said, smiling a little and making Buffy feel a lot more at ease. “But this isn’t healthy. It isn’t normal behavior for him. What is he thinking! My God. He hates you and all of a sudden he loves you?”

“That’s what I said,” Buffy nodded.

“So that’s what tonight was all about.”

“It’s over, so it doesn’t matter.”

“But I thought the only thing it was about was some form of... well, frankly I don’t wanna have to spell it out, and don’t think I should have to, since you probably know what I’m talking about; but this...”

“This is nothing.”

Willow eyed her for a moment, then asked:

“So why’d you tell me?”

Buffy grumbled before replying:

“’Cause I don’t wanna keep things from you.”

“Okay, so then, do you believe him?”

Buffy sighed.

“Part of me does,” she answered. “But another chunk goes aaaaahhhhh!”

Willow smirked, taking her friend’s hand in hers.

“Which one is loudest?” she asked.

“Riley is,” Buffy replied. “The other stuff isn’t important.”

“I think you are thoroughly insane,” Calor stated as he walked with Ath into the Bronze the following evening. “This won’t work.”

“We need to get as much information as we can. Besides, you never know who might show up,” Ath replied simply, smiling at her brother’s lack of enthusiasm.

It was nearly eight-thirty, the time the Slayer had set for their casual meeting.

“The mortality has risen to your head, as well as the oxygen and the food. Oh, God, the food. How can you enjoy sticky buns? They’re nothing but sticky!”

“Tomorrow I’m trying brownies,” she smirked.

“Chocolate is highly overrated.”

“You’ve never tasted chocolate, Cale,” Ath remarked. “But I’m about to offer you a taste of your first beer.”

“Hallelujah.”

“There they are,” Ath said, spotting Buffy and Willow at a table.

Buffy raised one arm, giving a wave.

The twins came over, Willow offering them a smile.

“Will, this is Ath and Cale – guys, this is Willow.”

They shook hands, exchanging pleasantries. Then Xander and Anya came back from the dance floor and there were more of the greetings exchanged. Riley was going to be late, having to do some catching up with what he had missed since he’d been gone.

“Not too late, though,” Buffy assured Ath, who was eager to meet him.

“How did last night go?” Ath wondered.

“Fine. We did the Scooby thing, got caught up. Formulated the plan... Which is resting entirely on the shoulders of a vampire right now, so maybe I shouldn’t use the word ‘fine’,” she said, Ath smiling. “Think I’m joking? Just wait and see what way he chooses to screw me over.” She caught herself, and then blushed, smirking. “That’s what he does,” she stated, not saving face and laughing at herself.

“He’s had practice, I’m sure,” Calor cut in.

Buffy swallowed the sip she’d taken of her soda, then smiled again.

“Lots and... lots,” she replied.

“And on that happy note,” Ath said, rising and heading to the bar.

“How old is she?” Buffy wondered as she watched her friend easily order a few beers from the bartender.

“She acts as though she had the wisdom of a billion,” Calor muttered, then returned Buffy’s curious smile. “She’s not quite that old,” he assured.

“What brings you to the Sunny side?” Xander asked across the table.

“Unfinished business.”

“Really? Would that be the bone-breaking or the money-bringing?”

“Neither. My sister and I are here to meet the Slayer; and make sure that her future is secure.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Really? You can secure my future? I did not know that.”

Calor smiled hesitantly, then shrugged.

“We can but try,” he said modestly.

“Did Jonathan say he’d stop by?” Buffy changed the subject.

“No, he had a dinner he couldn’t get out of. But I believe he’s meeting with Ath tomorrow afternoon. They are baking.”

“Baking?” Buffy wondered.

“I always thought Jonathan had a sweet side,” Willow smiled. “Are we invited?” she added.

“Trust me, you will want to stay as far away from that kitchen as possible. When my sister is in there she is on a mission.”

“And tonight I’m on a different one. To make you loosen up, big brother, and enjoy yourself. This chance we have here comes but once in eternity. Savor it!” Ath instructed, putting down two beers on the table and then twirling around. “Who wants to dance?”

“Well...” Xander began, but Anya stopped him by saying:

“With the beautiful, dark, mysterious stranger? I think not.”

Ath laughed.

“I’ll dance with you,” a voice said behind her and Buffy felt every single nerve stand on end, goose bumps spreading over her shoulders and arms as Ath turned around and faced the bleached vampire.

The goddess looked at him, then smiled, giving a nod in agreement and heading toward the dance floor with Spike in tow. Buffy shifted in her seat, keeping her gaze on her glass, licking her lips to make them deliver a smile at the Gang, glancing at Willow who was watching her.

Ath tilted her head back, looking up at the vampire as he circled her with strong arms. She could see what would have Buffy so excited. His eyes spoke a language entirely their own.

“So this is the elusive Spike,” she said.

“Hardly elusive, pet,” he replied, looking her over before he asked: “Who are you? What’re you doing here?”

“Those questions aren’t always the easiest to answer. Can’t you ask me my name and then we’ll go from there?”

“I’m not interested in your name,” he answered very patiently. “I’d like to know what the hell makes you think you can fool me. You seem to have Buffy wrapped up in whatever blanket was your choice, but I can see there’s something not right about you. You’re... shimmering.”

She smirked.

“I’m impressed. Most eyes are too untrained to notice any disturbance. Almost all of me is fully human, after all.” He furrowed his brow. “Don’t bother thinking what you’re thinking. Buffy won’t listen to you. And it’s not that she won’t believe you, it’s just that she won’t hear you.”

“What are you?” he got out, his eyes beginning to grow cold.

“I’m not here to harm her, Spike,” she said. “I care about her more than you will ever be able to fathom.”

“So do I,” he murmured, his grip on her tightening.

“Gotten,” she said. “But you should see that’s a lost cause, being so perceptive and all.”

He looked irritated, and wondering; and she nodded towards the table hosting the Slayer. He turned his head nonchalantly that way and felt everything darken as he watched Riley just joining them, Buffy looking terribly glad.

“Ow. Squeezing. Hard,” Ath pressed out, Spike loosening his grip.

She observed him, amazed at how evident his hurt was. It blended with the azure of his eyes so perfectly. Perhaps it even made him more beautiful, more profound. All his suffering was a part of him and it made him grow. The deeper in love he fell, the more there was for him to understand about himself. She smiled a small smile.

“It’s how it’s supposed to be now.”

He caught her gaze; his burning as he asked:

“Says who?”

The song changed and she stepped away from him before proceeding passed him, walking back to the group of chatting people. He stood still for another few seconds, then turned and searched the room for an undisturbed spot. Finding it, he leaned against the wall and looked through the movements of the dancers toward the spot where Buffy sat.

Hypocrite, he thought to himself, glaring at her. Liar. You frightened little...

He clenched his jaws together. And then her eyes met his. There was a swirl of pleasant stirrings within him, but she looked away.

Buffy swallowed for the fifteenth time, reaching for her glass, which was now empty.

“I’ll get you some more,” Riley said, rising.

She smiled her thanks, feeling incredibly self-conscious as she could sense Spike’s watchful gaze resting on her. Finally she couldn’t keep her eyes from checking, and they met his again. When Riley had returned and she had repeated the glancing up and then away three more times she thought to hell with this stalker-creepy-irritating behavior and rose, excusing herself and heading toward the ladies, breaking off the beaten path to head up the stairs instead. Reaching the mezzanine she stayed in shadow, and waited.

The vamp stepped up not many moments later.

“God, you’re so predictable,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“You never said I couldn’t look at you.”

“You’re not looking. You’re staring. It’s freaking me out. Stop it.”

He smiled a little; approaching her and having her slowly back up.

“Got you here, didn’t it?”

She was about to open her mouth, but then closed it.

“God, I’m so predictable,” she cursed and he smirked.

Her back connected with a wall and soon he was right before her.

“What’re you doing with him?” he asked. “You know you don’t wanna be there.”

“That’s not true,” she disagreed.

“So you’re aiming for the happy-happy? For the ever after, live together, raise fat grand-kids in love and prosperity?”

“Sounds good.”

“Sounds... boring.”

“No.”

“Buffy, you think you need him... That he’ll keep you steady. But all he does is hold you back.”

“You’re so wrong.”

“Yeah?” he wondered. “Does he think it’s bloody fun that you’re about a thousand times stronger than he is? Think that’s easy for him to deal with? And you think you can’t feel he’s not dealing? Sooner or later it’ll make you feel the need to strangle your abilities. You’re gonna set yourself back. You’re gonna stop evolving. Can you handle that?”

“He knows me. What I have to do. He supports me,” she stated.

“You support him, love, you don’t need support. And you’re capable of more.”

“Wasn’t the tune you hummed when we were getting married,” she shot. “Then it was all giving up my job and having you holding your non-protective hand over my bitsy blonde head. And I loved you then, but nothing was different. We fought and disagreed and...”

“Nearly shagged in that crypt with all your friend’s watching,” he filled in. “Passion doesn’t come cheap, Slayer. And I can scent it pulsing through you... Can you honestly tell me you’ve ever felt a high that can compare to wanting what you can’t have... and taking it?”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” she hissed, feeling trembles go through her of anticipation as he slowly leaned into her. “You only like the chase.”

“I like it,” he admitted, his eyes glinting in the soft darkness around them. “But definitively not ‘only’.”

His face inched closer and she put her hands up against his chest, pushing him away with an effort that was so great it made her eyes almost tear up. She bit it back.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, voice quavering.

“Nothing you can give,” he murmured.

“So don’t ask for it,” she said, moving away from the wall.

Away from him.

“Maybe I just like watching you squirm,” he said, though the warmth in his gaze made every urge of agitation be suppressed within her.

“You’re a pig, Spike,” she stated, a smile drawing over her features before it faded.

“And you’re the truffles, doll. I’m sorry if I can’t resist you.”

“Well, if there’s no resisting, I guess you’ll just have to learn to live with it,” she said, turning and leaving.

Ball of String

The evening went on, but the fact that everybody had early mornings the following day – everybody except Anya, Calor and Ath, that was – had them finally face that it was time to break it up. They all rose, collected their things and headed for the door.

Buffy kept her gaze in Riley’s as he was speaking with her, and then she laughed. And she meant it. She thought he was funny and sweet and terrific and she remembered falling in love with him, how easy it had been once she allowed herself the luxury. She remembered how frightened she had been for him when he got sick, how she had missed him, how determined she had been to get him back. And with all those memories surrounding her, Spike’s words dimmed away into non-concrete static.

The group faced each other outside the club.

“Thanks for tonight, it was wonderful to meet you all,” Ath said.

“Same,” Xander smiled, after Anya had given him a possessive glare.

Since their fight at the fraternity they had been virtually inseparable. Buffy smiled at them as Riley wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“We’ll do it again,” Willow assured.

After agreements they all went on their way; Willow, Buffy and Riley walking together back to campus. They talked about Ath and Calor. Willow and Riley agreed that they seemed very nice and un-demony. Buffy nodded, holding hands with Riley and feeling like everything was so right. As right as it could be. She was happy again. It was like she’d told Willow – she felt like she was getting back to herself. The way she was supposed to be.

Willow and Riley laughed over something and Buffy chimed in. They were nearing the dorms and it was time for Riley to take a different path, bringing him to the fraternity. He stopped, turning to Buffy.

“So...” he said.

“So,” she said, standing on her toes and kissing him gently on the lips. “I’m happy you could come.”

“Me too. Feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

He ran a hand softly over her shoulder and down her arm. Her smile widened. Then she put her arms around him and hugged him tight before stepping back, looking up at him.

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” she said.

He frowned slightly.

“Promise,” he asked.

“Promise,” she answered.

“Okay...” he mumbled hesitantly, watching her as she hooked arms with Willow and headed for their dorm.

Willow glanced at Buffy. The Slayer finally picked up on it and raised her eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Willow replied. There was a lapse of silence and then she picked up with: “I liked Ath and Cale. Given he was stiff as a board, but still.” Buffy smiled at that. “Ath seemed to enjoy herself, though. She said the Gilded Bronze was the best thing she’d ever tasted, if you can believe that... I’ve never gotten the sourness.” Buffy smiled again. “And she really thought Spike was a good dancer, I guess the world is coming to an end.”

“Why would you tell me that?” Buffy asked; stopping and making her friend do the same.

“Sorry. Honestly I thought you were beginning to get used to it...”

“Not the world ending!” Buffy interrupted.

Willow stared at her.

“Okay,” the Wicca said, “tell me.”

Buffy clenched her jaws together.

“What?”

“Why is he getting to you like this?”

“Why?” Buffy almost laughed, but it got caught in her throat and nearly turned into a sob.

The happiness was gone. The calm serenity, the certainty, the convictions, they went poof. All because of the picture of his arms around Ath, which the Wicca’s so simple question stirred up. And Buffy couldn’t stand how she couldn’t stand it! She wanted to ignore it, push it away: the envy that curdled and sizzled as it rose in her throat. The envy of someone who was free to be on that dance floor with him. Who didn’t have to care about stupid things like fangs and everything those stood for.

She looked away from her friend, suddenly feeling sincerely shaken. She was completely unprepared to have this sort of conversation with her friend.

“Yes, the reason,” Willow now clarified.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I don’t know!” the Slayer exclaimed. “He’s everything I hate. I should stay away from him, and it shouldn’t be difficult or complicated. But there are things that have happened, that make me... feel...” She couldn’t find the word. “And we’re actually... I mean, he’s... I’m... If I could make it go back to exactly what it was...” She trailed off, unable to finish. “Oh, God, I hate this! I really do. I hate it.”

She turned from Willow, pulling her hands through her hair in frustration.

The redhead observed the back of the blonde for the longest moment, wanting to understand, sensing how badly this was getting to the Slayer. Finally Willow slowly stated:

“But you’re with Riley.”

“What do you want me to say?” Buffy asked, turning back to face the other. “I’ve tried to make the best of it.”

“’The best of it’? This isn’t you talking. Buffy, all that heartache you’ve gone through over Riley, that wasn’t worth anything? Now he’s just a convenient way of...?”

“Alright, stop it!” Buffy exclaimed, anger flashing in her eyes. “That’s totally unfair; you know how much I care for him. That hasn’t gone away! But, you have no idea what I’ve gone through these passed few weeks!”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“Look, tonight all I’ve done has been to tell that vampire to take it elsewhere; and I’ve tried to show Riley just how much he means to me!”

“So why aren’t you with him now?” Willow wondered.

“I still don’t feel ...completely there, okay?” Buffy said, starting to walk again.

Willow followed, coming up at her side and waiting for her to continue. She didn’t, though, and they arrived at Stevenson Hall. They stayed quiet up all the stairs, during all of the getting ready for bed, and even when they got under the covers and turned out their lights.

Buffy felt the pressure of that silence work its way into her even after she had finally fallen asleep.

Ath was measuring the cocoa when there was a knock at the kitchen door the following morning. She smiled as it opened hesitantly.

“Come on in, you know you don’t have to knock,” she said, turning to face Jonathan.

He smiled slightly, closing the door behind him and standing still. He couldn’t help how every time he saw her, he just wanted to stay put in the place he was, and watch her. It was an inexplicable fascination with everything she did; with how she moved and spoke; how she smiled as though it was the beginning of the world. She loved to bake, for some reason, and so he loved to bake as well. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and why she would want him around was something he couldn’t understand; but it wasn’t important why, it seemed she did, and he was content with knowing that much.

“Hi,” she said and his smile widened.

“Hi. I see you’ve started.”

“Yeah. I didn’t have anything better to do. I hope that’s alright.”

“Sure.”

He took off his jacket, gingerly placing it on one of the stools before coming up to her.

“How was the dinner?”

“It was nice,” he shrugged, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater before washing his hands in the sink. “I don’t get to see my grandparents very often. They’re good people, I guess. A little stiff, maybe. Don’t have much to talk to them about.”

“Aren’t they interested in you? Your life?”

“Yes, but there’s not much going on in my life that they don’t already know about.”

“Excessive baking, perhaps?” she offered and he smirked.

Coming up to her, he looked at what she was doing.

“So, it’s brownies today?”

“From scratch.”

“The only way to go.”

She turned her head to him and met his gaze.

She wondered why she always felt lighter when he was around. What were the strange sensations moving near her heart? How could she put them more easily into perspective? It didn’t seem like it should be very hard. Here was Jonathan, and she liked him. There, that was settled. And then the questions rose. How much did she like him? Did he like her? Were they friends? Was there anything more there? What was this affecting, placing herself as a part of his life? She decided to ignore that last quandary, and smiled at him again.

It felt good, that was all that really mattered. She felt giddy and happy when she was near him. And she didn’t want to let those emotions go. They were becoming significant to her. A part of her. She wondered, though, where it could possibly be headed. Because what could be nicer than this?

“Did you go to the Bronze?” he asked.

“We did,” she replied, beginning to stir the batter. She liked the rich chocolate color of it. “It was just like you said.”

“Liked the music?”

“Loved the music. Loved everything about it.”

“Well... if you’d want, we could... you and I... we could... If you’d want?”

She stopped stirring, fastening her eyes in his, quizzical.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t yet learned to add meaning when a sentence is unfinished,” she said.

He smirked, feeling stupid.

“What I meant to say was that you and I could go there, together, if you’d want,” he mumbled, barely able to look at her.

She smiled a little.

“Sure!” she said, beginning the stirring once more.

His eyes grew a tad.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded, smiling. “What’d you think, I’d say no?”

“Well... yeah,” he replied.

Her smile broadened.

“I like that you’re honest.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ath, why would you wanna be here... baking... with me? You could go out there and... rule!”

She smirked.

“I know I could,” she said. “But out there isn’t for me to rule. I’m here, baking, with you, because I wanna be here, baking... with you.”

He met her gaze and held it.

Wow.

She smiled once more.

“Now, help,” she instructed.

He reached out to grab the flour and she moved for the sugar, their hands meeting midair and both of them stopping, eyes landing in the others again. For a second everything was silent, and then Jonathan seemed to jerk out of it, removing his hand with a timid smile.

“Sorry, I’ll just...”

“Yeah,” she said.

She stared at him. She had never felt such a rush before. What an intoxicating, baffling sensation. Like falling from the sky. Her heart beat was quickening. And her eyes kept focusing on his mouth. She had seen people kiss... but if this was what led up to it, she thought she finally understood why they did it so frequently.

Was this what Buffy felt when she was close to Spike? Was it different depending on who you were with, or did she feel the same thing with Riley? Was that why there had been the hesitation on the Slayer in choosing? The goddess’ mind began racing with questions and she slowed them down, focusing on the person at hand instead.

“Mom!” Buffy yelled, stepping into the storage area of the gallery.

It was a large room, piled floor-to-ceiling with boxes, crates and covered paintings. All of them were neatly tagged. Joyce summers kept order in the disorder. Buffy smiled a little to herself, and since there was no reply to her call she was about to turn and leave when a voice said:

“She’s not here.”

Buffy’s eyebrows rose as she realized to whom the voice belonged.

Walking forward she rounded a large bookcase and her eyes landed on Calor, sitting on the floor with, what looked like, ancient masks spread out around him.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“Did you know that tens of thousands of years ago, a mask was something more than what you hid behind? It was something that transformed you into another being. Mysticism was so attached to the core of the human spirit that the respect for these sorts of artifacts was so great not all of man could look directly at them.” He finally glanced up and met Buffy’s gaze, adding: “Isn’t that something?”

She came up to him, sinking down on a crate and taking in the mask in his hand before she shrugged.

“History never was my strong-suit. Ask me anything about what goes bump in the night, and I’ll tell you a few tales you’ve never heard before,” she smiled.

He returned it, putting the mask down and observing her for a moment.

“I know you deal with many kinds of nasties in your line of work, but your primary enemy seems to be the vampire. Why is that, do you think?”

Buffy smirked.

“Well, I’m not called the Vampire Slayer for nothing.”

He smiled as well.

“And yet they are there in abundance, aren’t they? No matter how many you slay, they’ll keep on coming. Does it ever weary you?”

“Does it ever weary me?” she repeated in mock-disbelief. “When you’ve been doing this for a few years you can come back and use the word weary. The proper termology would be exhausting-until-all-your-limbs-are-about-to-fall-off-and-your-head’s-ready-to-explode migraine me. ‘Weary me’,” she said, shaking her head at him.

He smiled again.

“Forgive me for my lack of understanding.”

“No worries.” She eyed him for a moment, then asked: “What’s with the whole ‘groupie’ thing Ath was talking about?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “She’s not very good with the... what was it? ‘Termologies’ of this world.”

“Oh. So... what, you’re not from this world?”

“Of course we are! In a sense, we are. Oh, darn.”

He rose and she got to her feet as well.

“Look, I deal with interdimension traveling every other week. Calm down,” Buffy said. “It’s no biggy.”

He swallowed, looking up at the ceiling and seemingly waiting for something. He was oddly jumpy this afternoon, or so Buffy thought. Finally he settled down again, taking his previous seat as Buffy did the same.

“So, all this,” she said, sweeping her arm out to indicate the room, “really does it for you, huh?”

“I find it compelling. Touching these objects is like touching where you originally came from. Imagine, a thousand years from now someone might be holding that cross you wear around your neck, just having extracted it from a piece of dirt, marveling at the condition it’s still in and eager to find out what purpose it served and what owners it had. Nothing can ruin history, Buffy. It’s permanent. All you need to do is pay due attention to it. You never know, somewhere in there might be the answers you so desperately seek.”

Buffy stared at him, then sunk back against the bookcase with a sigh. Calor watched her in silence. Waiting patiently for whatever was on her mind.

“’Learn from your mistakes’,” she murmured meaningfully. “’History is bound to repeat itself’; and when it does... have pointed sticks and holy water handy.” She met Calor’s questioning expression with eyes slightly growing. “I’m sorry,” she smiled. “Getting caught up in my own stuff here. I should go.”

“If you need me to lend an ear, or two, I’m a bendy victim,” he stopped her.

She hesitated.

“It’s not that I need an ear, or two,” she finally said, though gratefully. “It’s just, perhaps I could use outside perspective. I sit here and I judge,” she mumbled. “I judge my friends, I judge my mom, I judge the demon community actively... and I judge myself. But, who am I to do that? To sit and dictate what’s right or wrong? Who can say what’s right and what’s wrong? Really? Am I an expert? Is it wrong of me to want him out of this town, and still... not? Is it right to take the chip out? Am I being selfish? Is this all some crazy ride I’ve been put on? Is it ending soon? I just...”

She trailed off, searching for the words.

“You sit in the center of your own universe, you know, and then something comes along that... shakes everything up so bad you don’t know sky from ocean anymore.” She huffed, mostly to herself. “There are sides to me I had no idea existed. Emotions I’ve felt, I had no idea were there. Could be there. And now, there’s so much hurt. I feel like all I do is... hurt.” The last word came out in a strained voice she barely recognized as her own. It was the first time she actually allowed herself to recognize the smoldering sensation near her heart. “When will it stop? When he’s gone? When I’m gone? Will I be in pain over this... forever?”

Calor stared at her face, at the etched sadness all over her features. And then it slowly drew back, and she stood.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled once more. “I really don’t know what came over me.”

“Maybe,” he said gently, “what you need isn’t outside, but inside perspective?”

She held his gaze, then smiled faintly, giving a nod before walking out through the door.

Calor drew a slight breath. He had done wrong by her, and now she was paying. He felt a searing ache shoot through him as the sorrow over what he had inflicted upon her, took over him entirely.

“And when this... ball of string inside seemed to get a bit untangled, I thought everything would get easier, but... I’m starting to think maybe it won’t. And it sucks! I mean, what does a girl have to do? You understand, right?” the Slayer asked, looking down at the kitten walking beside her.

It was ten o’clock in the evening. The feline looked up with her green eyes, trusting and agreeing, and Buffy smiled.

“Yeah, I knew you would.”

She squatted down, scratching Kitty behind the ears and under her chin gently.

“Now, run home,” she said and the kitten soon disappeared over the lawn toward the familiar window of Tara’s room.

Buffy watched her; then sighed. Patrolling beckoned, but it had been so boring lately she wasn’t sure she wanted to go; much less needed to. And then there was the risk of running into Spike. She just didn’t know if she could face him right now. She wasn’t sure what to say, how to act around him. Because she didn’t like the way she could sense that she was causing him agony over this. Over her.

Hold onto the aaaaahhhh feeling, she told herself. And think of nothing but Riley.

Riley.

I made my choice. And it was the right choice.

She began jogging, and then running, and before she knew it she was slowing down, entering Main Street. She walked passed the magic shop, against her will stopping before the large window of the bridal shop next door. Her right hand went to the empty spot of her left finger and she furrowed her brow, continuing on her way.

Passion.

Yes, she did feel it coursing, pounding through her whenever that godforsaken vampire touched her... Sometimes all it took was one glance. And how he knew her, how he scoured her, nestled deep and...

Okay, this is going in the wrong direction, she stopped herself. Let’s tone it down.

She headed into the twelfth cemetery, stretching and having a look around. It seemed quiet, but then it always did right before midnight. She sat down on a headstone with a sigh.

“Adam,” she muttered. “He’s taking all the fun out of this place.”

“Let’s see if we can bring some of it back,” a deep voice stated behind her and she smiled, looking to the skies.

“I was so hoping for that response,” she said before rising and facing the... eight vampires slowly spreading out before her.

She cocked an eyebrow. There were two fledglings, she could tell by their imitation of bad-ass glares. The leader, however, seemed strong. She had taken on worse odds than this, and she wasn’t worried. There was only a tremor of adrenaline that pulled through her and she squared her shoulders, steadying herself for the fight.

Three of them moved forward. She blocked a punch from the first, kicked her leg up and hit the second in the head while she shot an arm out and had her hand connect with the third’s chest so hard it flew backwards. She pulled herself together, then jumped up in the air, delivering an awesome strike to the fourth attacker’s chin. Landing she dropped to the ground, rolled around and put both her feet in the stomach of the fifth.

Her breathing was deliberate and controlled, but they were coming on fast, and as the weakest ones of course had been those chosen to lead the assault, she was now figuring that the three remaining wouldn’t be as easy to handle. She reached for her stake... and froze.

It was gone.

Not possible.

Couldn’t be happening.

Damn!

She drew a breath and had an instant-long search of her surroundings. Anything. Anything!

She ducked, reached up her arms and grabbed the swinging arm of the sixth vamp, pushing it up and then pulling it out of its socket before she swept its legs away from under it. It screamed with dull pain, clawing at its shoulder. She faced the others, and soon they came at her at once.

She spun around again, hitting two of them on the cheek and then kicking her foot into a third’s face before she changed her leg, advancing the spin to go the whole team around. Then two hands grabbed her roughly around the ankle, stopped the spin mid-turn and flipped her over, making her do a full somersault through the air before she landed hard on her stomach, getting the wind completely knocked out of her.

“That’s right,” the leader growled and she felt his foot place itself between her shoulder blades, pushing her further into the dirt. “Crawl, Slayer. Soon that’s all you’ll be doing. You’ll hail our race, bitch.”

“Really?” she coughed. “Thought you were about to put an end to my misery.”

“We’ll feed,” the vampire stated and she felt sudden dread fill her. “And when you’re almost dry you’ll be like everybody else. You’ll choose our side. I bet you’ll even cry.”

She could hear it smirking, and began to estimate how difficult it could be to snake out of its grip, just when a voice said:

“Should never bet on a sure lose, mate.”

She had to smile.

“What took you?” she asked. “Or were you watching from the sidelines?”

“You really don’t think very much of me, do you?” Spike wondered. “Think I’d enjoy seeing you grovel?”

“Do you mind?” the leader asked. “We’re sorta in the middle of something here.”

“Sir,” one of the fledglings said, “that’s Spike.”

The leader raised its eyebrows, turning his head to the bleached blonde.

“You’re Spike?”

“One and the same,” Spike replied, throwing the fag he’d had between his lips to the side, hooking his thumbs in his belt and eyeing the leader. “And may I ask who you think you are?”

The leader merely smirked.

“Excuse me,” Buffy said from her awkward position. “Really not very comfortable here.”

“I’ll snap her spinal cord right now,” the leader said, ignoring her, eyes on Spike. “Wanna hear it crack?”

“I’m sure you know I do.”

Spike approached him slowly, Buffy feeling the pressure on her back increasing for every step. There was a pause, and then the sound of knuckles meeting flesh, an oomph of surprise as the pressure was released and then a growl in aggravation.

“What the hell are you doing!” the leader exclaimed.

There was no reply as Buffy easily got to her feet. Spike looked over his shoulder at her and she met his gaze, affirming that she was alright. He smiled a little, and she returned it, truly thankful. He held up her stake and then tossed it to her.

“Should hang on to that, love,” he remarked.

“So I was growing painfully aware,” she quipped and his smile widened right before a blow was delivered to his chin.

She moved forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with him as they surveyed the surrounding threat. It began to come at them in waves, both of them fighting the vampires off furiously. Buffy slaying two quite easily, but the pattern kept changing; the vamps were faster, well-trained, focused. Buffy got hit in the side and then she felt Spike’s hand grab her lower arm, turning her around to face him and pulling her close. She stared up at him, but his gaze was focused on the approaching vampires. His other hand took hold of her free wrist and then he turned her around again, bringing her arms up as she did a semi-twirl. She kicked up her leg, the charging vampire flying backwards. Spike kicked out one of his legs at the same time and once it was done he spun her around for a second time, sweepingly dipping her and her foot kicked up, connecting with the chin of another vamp.

Now she smiled with sudden delight and he smirked, getting her up and swirling her around, her hand holding the stake now free and as she took a step out, her eyes in his, one hand linked with his hand, the stake sunk through the ribcage of the approaching fiend. Spike let her go, meeting a punch and then wringing the demon’s neck easily. When he turned around Buffy was dusting her fourth. That left three. One of them was already backing away and when the leader noticed it, it growled a warning. But it was too late, the two allies it had left, turned and ran for their un-lives.

Buffy and Spike faced the leader.

“Well,” he said, “this didn’t go as planned.”

“You guys never learn that it never does, do you?” Buffy sighed, taking a tighter hold on her weapon.

“Sorry about the foot-in-the-back before... was just showing who’s boss, you know.”

“All high and mighty,” Buffy nodded. “Perfectly understandable. So, in light of that - ...” she threw her stake straight into its heart, crossing her arms over her chest as she finished, “no hard feelings, I hope.”

Spike looked at her and she turned her head to him, smiling a little sheepishly. He returned it.

“Look at you, all knight-in-... leather duster,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I find the shining armor loses its charm fairly quickly.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Heavy, loud, in constant need of oil.”

“Oh, God, yes. Leather is definitively the way to go,” she nodded and he smirked again. “Look...”

“I know,” he stopped her, his gaze soft. “Trust me... I know.”

He turned to leave and she felt something object too hard not to act on it, and so she said:

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“But I want to... mention it,” she said, making him face her once more. “I want to say that I never would’ve pictured us... I mean, that you and I would be standing on this spot and me feeling all this need to let you know how much it means to me that you care enough to...” She trailed off and he cocked an eyebrow. “Look, I never said thanks for saving me... and keeping me safe. I know you only did it to keep yourself safe, but... ‘Cause you did... didn’t you?”

He kept his eyes in hers as he approached her, stopping right before her. Then he answered gently:

“Yes.”

The blacks and blues and grays around them slowly bled into each other, creating a meaningless murmur as a backdrop to the emotions that were sharp as knives within her. The adrenaline still pumping seductively through her, the desire his form this close to her set aflame now spreading within. But then his hands tenderly placed themselves on either side of her face and a different kind of longing appeared. One where she wanted him. Just him.

She put one hand up, covering one of his and then looking up at him.

She saw a reflection in his eyes of the flare of pain she felt in that moment. For him.

And then he gingerly let his hands fall away. She felt tears rise and she looked away from him, feeling ashamed. Like she was mocking him with displaying any feeling, when she couldn’t reciprocate his.

“How could you love me?” she asked, not wanting to sound bitter, but that was what she was.

It was all such a waste.

“How could I not?” he retorted and the waste was no longer apparent.

The way he looked at her sent shivers through her, of sympathy... and subtle joy. She tried to suppress the latter, but this time it didn’t work.

“You should stop telling me you do,” she murmured.

“Then you should stop bringing it up,” he shot, turning to leave again.

“Spike.”

“Just... let me go, Slayer,” he said. “If you can’t bloody deal... let me go.”

And with that, he went. She stood there, feeling abandoned and lonely and very, very small.

Spike emptied the beer bottle he held in one hand before pushing the door of the crypt open. He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t anything. He wanted to get the chip out. Maybe that was what had changed him. Maybe all this humanity would disappear as soon as the wretched piece of metal was out of his skull. And then he’d be gone. He’d leave it all behind. She’d be nothing but a memory, a fading picture amongst all those others. A face like all the rest.

He stopped in the middle of the floor, feeling helpless. Cursing himself he straightened his posture and then he paused, knitting his brow and turning his head to the side. A match was struck against the side of its box and the flame lit up the features he had come to know too well.

“What’re you doing here?” he muttered as she put the flame to a candle.

“Waiting,” she muttered back.

“For what?”

“For any of all this to make sense. It doesn’t.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, pet.”

She put the candle down, and then came up to him, looking him over before reaching out a hand and taking the bottle from him, putting it on the floor at their feet before she straightened her back again, resting her eyes in his.

“I don’t wanna fight with you,” she said. “It’s tiring.” He finally smiled tentatively, she returned it. “I’m calling a truce.”

His eyebrows rose.

“This is serious, Slayer.”

“I know it is,” she nodded. “And I know you’re leaving. But tonight showed me something... about you and me... that we work... in a fight. You once said that killing things is what we do best. Guess you were right.” She smiled tryingly. “And with Adam and with the slaying part you’re playing, sorta makes you part of the gang...”

“Does it?”

“Note the ‘sorta’. And all this staying away from each other and not pretending we’re there when we are, isn’t working as well as I promised myself it would, ‘cause you always show up where I am.”

“Likewise,” he pointed out dryly. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying... civilized interaction. I’m saying... polite conversation. I’m saying... shaking of hands that we agree and then we just...”

She shrugged and he smirked before reaching out a hand. She took it firmly, gaze in his. Then she smiled.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay. Truce. Should be interesting.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“I think it already is.”

“Me too. It’s there. Being... interesting.”

She glanced at their hands, still holding onto each other, and then they slowly let go.

“Okay,” she repeated. “It’s late...”

“It’s morning,” he corrected.

“So it is. You should sleep.”

“I was going to.”

“Of course you were. So I’ll do a bit of the ske and slap on some daddle. Get out of your head. Hair! I don’t think I’m in your head. I mean, I get that I might be... a little. But that I’m not there most of the time. Like when you’re going to bed you’re not thinking of me, you’re thinking ‘bed’.” An eyebrow slowly rose at that and she laughed. “Yeah, this is so gonna work.”

And with that she slipped out the door.

He smiled to himself. Then it faded as he wondered to what bed she was going.

Buffy slept for half of the Saturday. It was well-earned rest and when she woke up she felt truly revived. She had made a date with Riley at three o’clock by their favorite tree and at three o’clock sharp she was there, looking her prettiest – or so she hoped. He linked their hands together and they walked up to a bench, having a seat.

He chuckled and she frowned, wondering.

“I was thinking about that night. Remember? When I saw you sitting here alone and I tried to get you to leave, and then you tried to get me to leave.”

She smiled.

“I remember,” she said, then she also remembered why she had been sitting there and her smile grew set as she looked at her free hand, fidgeting with the pattern on her skirt.

She had been acting as bate that night. For Spike.

“So, did anything fun happen in the...” she began, then rolled her eyes as she added: “Oh, I killed that one; I don’t know which state Iowa is. Is it the Mayflower state?”

“Do we have a Mayflower state?”

“Maybe we don’t. I always mix them up anyway.”

He smiled widely at that, running one hand through her hair as he replied:

“Nothing overly fun happened in the Mayflower state. My mom made her famous pie and uncle Ron came over with homemade ice cream and we sat on the porch watching the sun go down...”

“Sounds very un-fun,” she smirked, moving closer and putting her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad I didn’t have to come.”

He smiled at that, hugging her tight.

“And pour toi, mademoiselle, we have a very fine connoisseur-ish sort of marshmallow, brought here by the very fine people of...” Jonathan read off the bag, and then continued: “Wisconsin. It is white, it is fluffy...”

“It isn’t popcorn,” Calor chimed in, making Ath’s smile widen even more.

“And most importantly, it is unhealthily sweet and melts on your tongue. Enjoy.”

Jonathan finished to applause from Ath, who then reached out and grabbed one of the marshmallows, nicely placed on a plate. She popped one in her mouth and soon she showed her approval.

“I knew you’d like that,” Jonathan smirked.

“I’m going to take a nap,” Calor yawned, Jonathan raising an eyebrow.

“Late night?”

“Oh, don’t jump to conclusions; he spent the time discussing fine art with Joyce. Really, Cale, how you’re able to cram all that into your brain and have yet to learn the subtleties of different kinds of chocolate, completely eludes me.”

“I guess it’s a shame we’re twins, then,” he shot and she made a face as he exited into the hallway.

“I like him,” Jonathan said and Ath rolled her eyes, which made him smile.

Cale walked up the stairs.

He hadn’t been able to get the look on Buffy’s face out of his head ever since she left him the day before. She was so torn up inside. So was he. These emotions were so new to him, and they scared him because he didn’t understand why he hadn’t been able to anticipate them; to anticipate this situation ultimately occurring by his playing with the Slayer’s devotion and beliefs. She doubted herself now. And all he could think of was how he could find a solution to the problems he’d caused her. Ease the pain.

How? he wondered. How can I ever?

The burden was getting heavier.

He wished so badly that he could make her see why he had done it, what he had thought it would bring her, and tell her he was sorry for having been so blind. So reckless with a fate that wasn’t his own; but which had been entrusted to him to care for. He was frightened that, by doing what he had done, he had ripped it apart.

He had spoken to Buffy about history. What really mattered was her future. She had no idea what was coming, what so many had spoken was supposed to come. Angel had only been a prologue, had been the key to open a lock deep down inside her, make her experience love as true and real as it could possibly be. Because she had to have that knowledge. She would come to need it, and the compassion which came with it. But now... perhaps he had ruined it. Ruined her. Or ruined it for her. For them both. Brought the Slayer and her champion nothing but raw pain, and a love that would never be recognized for what it was.

The young god leaned against the wall of Buffy’s room, looking around and remembering watching her move into it. He had guarded her, as he had those before her. But she had had an aura surround her that had always gotten to him in a different way. He had seen what good she would do.

But her stubbornness had aggravated him. Her reluctance to see what a gift she had been given, what a wonder the responsibility she was under actually was. How it would make her grow and set her in a space reserved for none but those of her lineage. That she couldn’t grasp that had, in a way, felt like a slap in the face.

When she made the wish, he had seen a chance to grant it and perhaps make her realize how much she had her powers to thank for. See the worth of her title. The facts he knew of the Slayer and the Vamp had made him sure that it wouldn’t hurt them, or what lay ahead, if they happened to befriend each other a little sooner. Alright, a lot sooner, but still, it hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea. Or incentive, rather. Or perhaps it had been more like a moment of spontaneous inspiration.

“I regret it,” he murmured, picking up a framed picture of Buffy. “But you’ll never know, will you?”

Five hours later, and across town and a bit farther, Riley was watching Buffy getting ready for patrol. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and chose her leather coat, putting it on and turning to him with a smile.

“Alright,” she said. “What’s with the look?”

“I’m happy,” he replied. “You’ve made me happy.”

“Little ole me?”

He smiled as well, sitting up from where he had been lying on her bed and she sat down next to him.

“Sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he wondered and she nodded.

“Offer appreciated, but I’m on a one-girl mission tonight. I need to go extra stealthy; and not to be harsh, honey, but you’d crowd me. I’m sorry.”

He smiled a little again.

“Don’t worry,” he assured. “Just understand that I won’t ride the backseat every night. I can hold my own out there.”

She kissed him gently at that.

“I know,” she then said. “It’s just a stakeout, nothing big.”

“So let me come.”

“Riley,” she murmured, growing serious.

He grumbled, getting to his feet and she did as well. Then he wrapped his arms around her.

“Just come back to me,” he mumbled.

She closed her eyes, holding onto him and promising herself she wouldn’t let him down ever again. They had spent a great afternoon together. Talking and laughing and finally having things feel like they did before. Because they did finally feel exactly like before. It was as though the past few weeks had never happened. And she was very relieved.

She left the dorm, and the campus, and arrived in Sunnydale center heading passed the shops, the familiar spots and straight for a well-known cemetery. She had been debating the thought of what she was about to do. She had raised questions about moral and honesty and in the end she had decided that, no matter what happened beyond this point, she needed to do this.

She slowly approached his crypt, crouching down in the darkness of a cluster of trees and waiting. She sat perfectly still for nearly forty-five minutes and then the door opened. She felt her concentration sharpen as she watched him step through it.

He began walking and soon she followed, keeping a distance she knew was safe. Or at least hoped was safe from him noticing her presence. He was smoking. Like a chimney. As usual. So annoying. He flitted the cigarette away and she furrowed her brow in dislike.

That can start a fire, she thought reproachfully. Now, where are you going?

They walked for twenty minutes, the Slayer seeing no sign whatsoever that the vampire sensed her in any way. The outskirts of Sunnydale were passing by when he took a left and was out of sight. She swore silently, then softly treaded the pavement, moving closer to the wall of the building behind which he had disappeared, before she slowed down, carefully edging nearer to the corner. She stopped as she heard muffled voices, and as she couldn’t make them out properly she forced herself up to the corner and peaked around it.

“This is worth a helluva lot more than that,” Spike said, beginning to put a parcel back into his coat.

Buffy’s eyes involuntarily widened and then she took in the demon he was doing business with. It was small and thin, looked almost like a weasel. It now squeaked its disapproval of the merchandise being brought out of reach and Spike raised his eyebrows.

“Five hundred, mate, and not a penny less.”

The weasel seemed terribly aggravated as it began to dig around in its long fur coat for the cash. It brought up a wad of folded bills and Spike snatched them out of its grasp before throwing it the parcel. It caught it and clutched it protectively, glaring at the vampire, who merely smirked and put two fingers to his forehead before flaring them out as a farewell salute, heading back the way he’d come.

Buffy felt her heart stop, looking around and then up for some means of retreat. She saw a fire escape fifteen feet up. Bending her knees she took aim and then flung herself straight up, her hands catching the cold metal of the rail. She swung herself up easily and landed silently before pressing herself to the wall. She watched him pass below her and narrowed her eyes, her gaze following him as he continued down the street.

A few moments later she jumped over the rail and reached the pavement with a low thump, continuing forward almost instantly and being just in time to catch the weasel by the thick collar of its coat. Its eyes grew wide with terror.

“Tor,” it sputtered, shivering in her grasp. “Tor nethak sssorr!”

“I have no idea what you just said, but if it was anywhere near ‘Don’t hurt me’ all I can say is sorry,” she replied, pushing it back and it stumbled, cowering rather pathetically.

“Pleassse,” it hissed. “What do you whishhhh?”

“Oh, God, nothing. No wishes expressed from me. Ever. Again,” she answered, then added: “But I want to see what you just bought. And after you show it to me and explain exactly what you need it for – I have a few more questions. Answer them, and I’ll let you run. If you ever come back...”

“Never, Vampire Sssslayer,” the weasel bowed its head. “Your rulesss apply, I shhhall abide.

She cocked an eyebrow at that.”

Spiraling

She was kicking herself. She was so angry that she shook as she marched her way through the cemetery. A truce! What the hell had she been thinking? She had been happy last night. At peace. As though things were coming together. She had had such mixed emotions for the vampire lately, and after he saved her life she had just known that she couldn’t go on the way they had. She hadn’t wanted to meet him and every single time feel like the fighting took over their entire encounter simply because a subtle understanding between them was too fantastic to comprehend. So, she had sought out to rectify it, by declaring that understanding out loud. Oh, dear Lord, what a moron she was.

She slowed down before his door, feeling the first gush of tears rise in her eyes and she admitted that she was disappointed. She was so damn disappointed it was choking her. She got a hold on herself, though, and walked up to the door.

He’s not here, she told herself.

And she was right.

So she turned around and began running. No matter what, she needed to have this final confrontation. She wanted him to look her in the eye and deny it. Deny what he was. And she would laugh at him. She would look at him one last time and then she would leave and never look back. It would be exhilarating, and liberating. She’d be free of him at last.

She checked the Bronze, then Carmine’s and finally Willy’s. Nothing.

At this point she began to slow down her pace. The fury was still seething black holes within her, but it was calming a little. Her sight clearing. She was the fool here. It was so clear. She had been blinded by the chip, by the fact that he couldn’t kill anymore. She had seen him as harmless, and it had taken over her entire view of him. And he had kept telling her that he was bad. That he was a thing of evil. And she hadn’t listened.

She was judging him, and by all goddamn right she was! She damn well knew right from wrong, or she wouldn’t have been put in the position she was. She wouldn’t have gotten as far as she had. She wouldn’t be able to make the decisions every day, that the position she was in required of her. This was the perfect bloody example! Goddamn it!

She stopped as she looked up and her eyes met his. He seemed surprised, but the warmth he had adopted as of late, when his gaze rested in hers, was soon seeping into them and she felt a knife turn in the middle of her chest, firing the anger right back up again. He noticed her expression, and a frown settled on his brow. There were twenty feet separating them, and she felt like it was lava and canyons and oceans and worlds that rested in that space.

She finally asked, voice low:

“Who’s the Doctor?”

He stared at her. He could see she was in no way kidding. This was bad. Bloody hell.

“Depends on where you heard the term. I know a few at the hospital who...”

“Stop,” she said. “Just... stop. Tell me who the Doctor is.”

He drew an unnecessary breath.

“You wouldn’t be standing there, glaring at me, if you didn’t already know. Would you?” he then replied.

“I guess not,” she said.

They stood in silence for a long while and then she asked:

“You don’t have anything else to say to me?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“What am I supposed to say, Slayer?” he asked. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” she repeated, her voice quivering with emotion. “It’s nothing? You’re dealing in magicks that you have no way to control!”

“Trinkets,” he corrected.

“No,” she shook her head, “not in the wrong hands.”

“And how the hell would you know?”

“Because I followed you!”

His face became traced with indignation.

“So the truce was nothing but smoke and mirrors?” he murmured.

“No, the truce was real. I just didn’t trust it,” she replied. “And boy, was I right.”

He huffed.

“You’re a real piece of work, know that, Slayer?”

“It’s how I was made,” she said. “And the ‘trinket’ you sold was gonna be part of a spell to ‘gain power and self-confidence’. You told me yourself how tricky spells are, half of the time they go berserk. Willow’s living proof of that. And you stand there, telling me that it’s nothing! You’re a simple crook, Spike. A peddler of stuff that is so clearly well beyond your limited ability of comprehension.”

“It’s what I do! It’s what I know!” he retorted, coming a few steps closer to her. “So I’m the bleeding middle man, so what! Who cares?”

“I do,” she replied. “I care. About the people those spells might hurt. About the demons you’re helping. I care. You can’t keep doing this.”

“And why the hell not?” he demanded. “I’m leaving.”

He stopped at that, his gaze fierce in hers as he took her in, and then he seemed to pause, reflecting for a few moments before he continued:

“You never had any intention of letting me go.”

“What?”

“The chip comes out and we’re in for one last, good fight, isn’t that right?”

She swallowed hard, not believing what she was hearing.

“Is that what you really think? That I could do that? That I... planned it?”

Her voice broke and she looked away from him.

“Why shouldn’t you?” he asked. “I’m just another demon. I’ve seen the truth of your craft, Slayer. I’ve seen it in your eyes too many times not to understand how deep the intuition goes. You know what I am. You’ve always known. Tonight – wasn’t a shock. And this isn’t supposed to be what it is, it’s not supposed to be this way, any of it, I know that. What I feel for you... is wrong. God, I’m not completely daft, Buffy. I know you could never love me. But I also know you could never set something like me loose in the world.”

She stared at him now, then knitted her brow slowly.

“Then why did you say yes to the surgery?” she asked.

He met her gaze, and then merely smiled a little before shrugging.

“Maybe I wanted that last, good fight,” he said. He paused, wanting so much to touch her, wanting her to understand how much he felt for her, but realizing she never would. She couldn’t. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked. “Is that what you want?” She blinked, uncomprehending. “To hell with the chip. I’ll go tomorrow,” he then stated. “If you ask me to.”

She felt herself slow down, her feelings drained away.

“Please,” she then said, “go.”

He tilted his head a little to the side, the warmth back in his gaze before he gave a small nod and in the next blink he was out of sight. She stared at the empty spot he had left behind and felt herself start to shake. She made herself walk forward, and soon the shaking was controlled to soft spasms of trembling.

Spike stayed out of sight for a long enough time to make sure any tingle he might give off in her spider senses wouldn’t occur. Then he followed. He moved at her side, watching her through branches and appearing and disappearing behind houses until they neared the campus; then he went ahead and waited, watching her walk up to the door of her dorm. Suddenly she paused, and he slid into the shadows behind the tree he was standing by. She looked his way for the longest time, then seemed to shake it off and went inside.

He glanced around the trunk, drawing a slow breath and sighing deeply.

“Well, this should keep them apart, shouldn’t it?”

Ath glared at her big brother as he entered the living room.

“I thought we had more time.”

“I wonder when you will ever learn to listen to me.”

“And I wonder when you will ever learn to listen to yourself. Your intuition must be higher developed than what I’ve seen, and yet you cast that genius spell, didn’t you! You don’t get the privilege of passing blame, Cale.”

He grumbled something before joining at her side as they gazed out of the window, over the roofs, across streets and through gardens in order to find the vampire.

“He’s leaving,” Ath said.

“Looks like it. I never would have thought it.”

“Obviously.”

She hesitated, then headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To stop him.”

Calor grabbed her arm the next instant.

“You can’t do that.”

“Father will skin us alive if that vampire leaves this town, don’t you understand that? Bortha has the power to strip us of our immortality and then what will we do with ourselves? Go to college? Settle down and raise a family? Does any part of a mortal life appeal to you, Cale?”

“It seems to appeal to you.”

“Is that the best answer you can come up with?” she shot. “I am not willing to sacrifice everything for it,” she added. “My place is where it has always been. Where I’m needed.”

“Did father tell you that’s what he will do?”

“No, but he said it’s one of the possibilities.”

“Even so, why didn’t he tell me?”

“You’ll have to take that up with him, Cale.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, then?”

“Because I didn’t want to put more pressure on you. But now... all may be lost. Let me see the vampire; perhaps there’s something I can do to stop him from making this mistake.”

Calor looked at his sister, letting the new information settle slightly and then getting himself together.

“If you were to go to Spike’s crypt, what would you say? ‘Don’t go’? He won’t listen to you. He’s already suspicious enough as it is. You can’t tell him the truth, or it would undoubtedly alternate the fabric of what we’ve come here to make sure will come to pass. We cannot intervene, Ath. And I know that you know that.”

He let her arm go and she took a step back, then sighed.

“What other choice do we have? Rather take the chance of alternating something, than to have him disappear and not be here at all!”

“Ath, you know better than that.”

“I will not fail this!”

“Nor will I. But if it’s meant to be, there’s nothing we can do to prevent it. He’ll find his way back, Ath. Later, if not sooner. You cannot fight Fate.”

Ath sunk down on the couch.

She had never felt so empty.

“Now, admit it,” Calor said with a small smile. “There are things you would miss.”

Ath returned his smile meekly.

“There are things I would miss,” she relented.

Then her face lit up. Calor took the expression in, not entirely sure he liked the look of it.

“What?”

Ath rose and walked into the kitchen. Calor slowly followed.

“What?” he repeated as she began to take things out of the pantry.

“He’s going to bed,” she said. “He’s sleepy. Sun’s almost up anyway. He won’t leave until tonight.” She slammed the flour down on the counter determinedly. “We have one more day.”

“To what? I’ve been trying to turn this over so I can see it from the right light, Ath, but how do you propose we manage this? Making him want to stay and her want him to stay without them staying here together? It’s impossible. Pandora’s box has been opened and, unfortunately, they both seem to like the contents. It’s not like they can put a lid on all of it.”

Ath began to measure sugar in a cup, ignoring him.

“Ath.”

“Be quiet. This is delicate work, I don’t need distractions.” She met his gaze when he refused to leave. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll figure it out. That’s why we’re here, right?”

He didn’t seem very enthusiastic about that reply.

The next morning Buffy woke, looking up at her ceiling and feeling like she was still in the dream that must’ve woken her. Then it suddenly dawned on her that the dream hadn’t been a dream. She sat up, looking around the room. Then she smiled, shaking her head. No. He wouldn’t leave. Not that easily. Not with the chip intact. There was no way.

There was a knock on the door and she tensed, then it opened and Ath walked through it, a basket covered with a checkered piece of cloth in hand. She smiled a sunny smile, closing the door behind her and then coming up to the bed. She looked extremely fresh in a light blue summer dress, her hair in pretty locks spilling over her shoulders and a healthy glow on her cheek. Buffy wanted to glare, but couldn’t bring herself to it.

“Good morning,” the goddess chirped.

“Yes, it looks like it,” Buffy said. “What’s in the basket?”

Ath grabbed a corner of the cloth and demonstratively pulled it off in a ta-da fashion before she said:

“Muffins.”

“Really?” Buffy wondered. “You’re just teasing.”

“No,” Ath shook her head, putting the basket down on the bed. “Blueberry.”

Buffy grabbed one, sitting up. Ath watched her break a piece of the moist cake before putting it in her mouth, an approving look coming over the Slayer’s features, which had Ath smile. Then she sat down next to the blonde.

“What are you doing today?” the former asked.

“Not much,” Buffy shrugged. “I thought I’d take it easy for a change.”

“You can do that?”

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

Ath smiled again.

“You don’t have anything else to do today?”

“It’s glorious Sunday, time for rest,” Buffy replied. “I do have to study, but I’m trying to forget that,” she added.

“It sounds nice. Self-orientation. I really liked Riley, by the way. It was nice to meet him. All your friends were great.”

“Thanks,” Buffy smiled. “I did the picking.”

Ath smirked.

“And the Bronze... Big on the liking.”

“It’s quite likable, I find,” Buffy nodded.

“Great music. Great dancing...”

Buffy glanced at her, then squared her shoulders, swallowing the last of her muffin and smiling. Images of the last dance she had shared with Spike on that dance floor shuffled lazily through her brain, his mouth next to her ear asking her if she wanted to leave. Her immediate response to him... A fifteen year olds thoughts of the perfect first time, thinking it would be with him. Being so ready. And now she had to wonder... no, she had to admit that it hadn’t merely been her younger self responding to him with such ease; it had been all of her.

“Yes,” she now replied to Ath, “the music’s always... great.”

She pushed her covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stretching as she rose and walked up to her closet. There was silence for a little while, then Ath inquired:

“Anything happen last night?”

“No, not really,” Buffy shrugged.

“Were you out late patrolling?”

“Yes, it got a bit later than I’d planned, but on the other hand I got a lot done. It was pretty eventful, actually.”

“Oh?”

Buffy clenched her jaws together, then turned to the other hesitantly.

“The guy you danced with at the Bronze,” she said slowly. “He’s a vampire.”

“I knew that,” Ath said.

“Oh. Well, then you might also already know that that was the guy I was talking about... The one that wasn’t Riley.” Ath merely cocked an eyebrow in wait for the Slayer to continue. “Spike,” Buffy finally said, coming back up to the bed. “That’s his name, if you can believe it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, well, his actual name’s William, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want anyone to call him that now. He’s so dark and bad and evil,” she muttered.

“Really?” Ath repeated, this time sounding slightly amused.

Buffy looked at her, then leaned forward, resting her forehead in her hands.

“Last night I found out something about him that I hadn’t even considered a possibility,” she grumbled. “I’d told myself for too long that he’d gone housebroken. I’d forgotten that even the nice puppies can go all bite-y. And I’ll stop this analogy right now; I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong it is to put Spike in the likeness of a puppy. I just... I feel so stupid. And so... let down by him. Why do I have to feel like that? What the hell did I expect?”

Ath reached out a hand and gently placed it on Buffy’s back, softly letting it run up and down her spine.

Suddenly Buffy felt a burning sensation where Ath’s palm was and she jerked just as Ath quickly removed her hand, looking guiltily at the Slayer. Buffy was about to ask what for, when Ath beat her to it, rising before saying:

“Buffy, Spike might not be the brightest shining star in the sky, but even the most spotted light deserves a chance to fight the darkness.”

With that she left, silently praying that whatever happened would buy more time.

Buffy looked at the door as it closed, perplexed; then she shifted her gaze to the still remaining basket and after a moment’s contemplation she reached out, grabbing another muffin.

“It is ridiculous that I can’t even hint at what I want to get across to her!” Ath exclaimed, making her father turn to face her.

“Ath, in this place we do not raise our voice.”

“How are we supposed to get her to understand, when we can’t even shove her in the right direction!”

“And here I thought you were doing a wonderful job at it,” Bortha smiled.

She shook her head.

“Is this a game, father? I feel as though I am a Dwindle piece being blown about by unseen forces.”

“It is called life, daughter,” Bortha replied.

“Why can’t I ease her out of her doubts and fears? Last time it worked almost as planned. I didn’t think that was outside the guidelines, but you hurt my hand,” she said the last accusingly, massaging her left hand with her right.

“Use your head, child.”

And with that he sent her back to Earth.

She opened her eyes with a slight snarl, kicking the nearest tree.

“Ath?”

She stopped, collected herself and turned to face Jonathan.

“Hi,” she smiled. “I... saw a spider,” she added. “Terrifying little critters, aren’t they?”

Jonathan smirked at that. They began walking side by side.

“So... about that Bronze thing we talked about. Does Tuesday work for you?” he wondered.

She looked at him, swallowing.

“Sure,” she mumbled.

They were quiet for a little while and then he slipped one hand in hers, linking their fingers together.

“Good,” he said.

“Yes, good,” she agreed, smiling slightly.

It was a strange emotion which followed that small gesture of his. Warmth and flowing excitement. She felt as though he wanted to be there, and she wanted to be there, and so they were there together. And it was the best feeling she had yet experienced. She turned her head to look at him and before she knew why, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

He looked surprised, but then smiled as she did so.

She stepped closer to him and they kept walking in comfortable silence.

Tara and Willow came into the room at nine-thirty that evening, finding Buffy asleep at her desk. Willow made an awww-face and Tara smiled.

“Should we wake her?” she whispered.

Willow checked her watch, then tentatively stepped up to her friend, shaking her shoulder gently and leaning forward, softly saying:

“Buffy.” Buffy moaned. “Buffy... It’s late.”

The Slayer’s head shot up, hitting Willow on the nose and making the Wicca take a few uncertain steps backward, massaging the sore spot as Tara came up to give her support.

“How late?” Buffy asked, grabbing the clock standing on one of the shelves of her desk and peering at it. “Oh, great,” she said. “Now I can sleep!”

She got to her feet and turned to the other two, then grabbed her coat and headed for the door, stopping and walking back to get a stake. She eyed it and then tucked it at the small of her back. Heading back up to the door, she walked through it, closed it, and then opened it again, sticking her head in:

“I’m going on patrol.”

She closed the door, then opened it once more, saying:

“Is your nose okay? I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Willow nodded.

The door closed again and then it opened for a third time, the Slayer walking inside and going up to her desk, grabbing a hairclip and pulling her hair out of her eyes, looking at her coat and throwing it over the back of the chair before heading up to her closet, quickly choosing another one and then going for the door. She paused, looked at the two Wicca’s, then smiled.

“Bye,” she said.

She walked out of the dorm with controlled steps.

She would take a look around campus first, then head to the town, sweep the center, the cemeteries, the outskirts. She’d check in on Revello Drive and then head back to the dorm. Not very complicated.

But her legs carried her elsewhere.

He won’t have left, she told herself. It’s not possible. He’s too stubborn.

And still she started running. And still there was a terrible sense of apprehension within her.

She reached his cemetery, not slowing down until his crypt came into view, and then she came to a full stop, her chest heaving.

I can’t go in there, she thought.

Her mouth was growing dry. Her palms felt clammy, her shoulders were covered with goose bumps. She realized she was frightened. Finally she straightened her posture and willed herself forward. Reaching the door she paused, touching the rough wood and convincing herself that there would be candles burning in there, that the television would be on, that he’d be there. Even when she knew it was a lie, she truly believed it; until she actually pushed the door open and stepped inside.

There were no candles burning.

It was dark, and cold.

She walked slowly to the middle of the crypt and stopped there, looking around. She wanted to think that he was just out, as he always was at this hour, but she could feel the abandonment the place was suffering. The fact that someone had made an issue of leaving it. The fact that he had.

She stared at the loveseat.

The TV was gone. The candelabras as well. She stood on her toes and saw that the cushions also had been removed. Or sold, she guessed. She made her way up to the ladder and carefully climbed down it. Pitch black enveloped her, but she had her night vision and it guided her through it. The bedroom floor was now covered with the oriental rugs and she smiled sadly. The bed was still there, though it had been stripped. Both bedside tables were missing.

And then something tore inside of her.

It was over.

She slowly sat down on the edge of the bed.

She had asked, and for once he had listened.

And then quiet tears rose. She couldn’t control them, and thus let them be. They welled over and softly slipped down her cheeks. She moved over to lie down on the mattress, folding herself into a fetal position and closing her eyes.

The headlights of a black DeSoto cut through the thickness of night as it rode down the stretch of highway leading away from Sunnydale. The vampire was behind the wheel. He was just thinking how he should be used to the torn feeling inside him. Half of him knew he was doing the right thing for the first time in much too long... and the other half was crying out that he was a bloody wanker who was ruining an existence that might’ve gotten back to how it used to be if he’d only not gotten dashed over the head with this sudden sodding sense of nobility!

The chip, the chip, the chip, that half yelled. Where are you gonna go? What’re you gonna do with it in the back of your skull! For eternity!

He clenched his jaws together.

He would see this through, there was no other way.

And never seeing her again? a voice prodded gently. Never touching her again? Never tricking her to smile... Never arguing with her? Can you live with that?

“Her words,” he muttered in response, “I’ll learn.”

You won’t be able to keep away for long, the voice taunted.

We’ll see, he thought. I’m a quick study.

Deep down he knew it was fruitless, though, to struggle against this breaking sensation inside. The farther he moved away from her, the less he felt as though anything mattered anymore. The purpose was taken away. His first selfless act in decades had been brought forth by this blossoming emotion in his chest, had been executed because of her, because he loved her and truly believed she would be better off without the black noise that he was in her life. But as the lights of the city she inhabited were gliding out of sight, he also came to the conclusion that she had given him something. A reflection of himself in her eyes. He had seen himself the way she saw him and hadn’t liked what he had become.

He knew she could never let herself love him in the form that he was. He could walk around the subject like a predator, hunt her and bring her to her knees before him and it would still do nothing to make her believe in him.

The breaking became more violent.

He wanted her belief.

He wanted her to look at him the way she had when she had uttered those dire words, the words that had stayed by him, if not always obvious, then always hovering close by...

“You act like you don’t have a choice in who you are, but you do. I know there’s a demon in there, and it’s fierce and argh and makes with the blood; but there’s also a remaining human being, Spike. You may not think so, but I’ve seen him. I’ve seen you.”

He glared ahead, trying to block the sentences out once and for all, but it was impossible. They were stampeding through his brain, leaving their prints everywhere and finally he slammed his foot on the brake, the car coming to a screeching and dragged out halt.

When We Teeter

Buffy was a tenth of a second away from falling asleep when the door opened upstairs, the slow scrape of it followed by footsteps. She blinked, propping herself up on her elbows and watching the ceiling. She reached for her stake, sliding off the bed carefully and standing just as she heard the ladder creak. A moment later she stared at Spike as he entered the room, stopping as his gaze met hers.

She couldn’t believe it.

The relief that filled her at the sight of him was extreme enough to make her quiver.

“Should’ve figured you’d be here,” he muttered, slipping his duster off and throwing it over one of the chests before he paused, eyeing her for a moment. “Then again – why are you here?”

She put the stake down on the bed, her gaze not leaving his.

“Thought you’d left,” she murmured.

“So did I,” he said.

Her face didn’t change and he couldn’t read it.

“I don’t know what happened,” he finally said, voice lowered. “I don’t bloody get this... What I feel when I’m with you. Or just near you. But it’s... changed me. It’s made me want to change. I want something... more. I want you.”

“Spike...” she began, but he wouldn’t be stopped, approaching her.

“I’m in love with you.”

She stared at him, her lower lip trembling with unspoken things.

Then she replied:

“You don’t even know me.”

He smiled at that, stopping before her.

“I know you,” he disagreed softly.

She had a swirl in the pit of her stomach, fighting against it, but unable to stop it.

“Thought you think I’m set on killing you,” she said, her gaze growing forceful in his as he was so close.

“I was set on killing you... look how that turned out.”

“You just don’t listen, do you? I can’t trust you.”

He eyed her, then replied:

“I don’t want the chip out.” Her eyes widened slightly at that. “Leave it in. If it gives you a sense of...”

“Of what?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. “Control? The chip isn’t a vouch for your honesty.”

“I’m staying. I’ll prove to you that I...”

“Prove to me? There’s no way for you to prove anything to me. You’ve happily looked me in the eye for the past few weeks without even considering telling me about your little side-business...”

“Because I didn’t... think, Buffy!”

“... and you would’ve gone on keeping me in oblivion for... how long? With a clean conscience! You think I could feel anything for someone who can’t tell the truth and who constantly goes around lying to me! And who can’t stop telling me all these things that I can’t possibly deal with and who doesn’t respect the fact that I have a boyfriend who loves me and cares for me and who I love back and I’m in a healthy relationship and you think I’d give that up for someone who smokes and gambles with harmless animals and fights with me and has hated me a lot longer than he’s claimed he loves me!”

He looked at her, for once speechless and she met his gaze before she grumbled, pushing him out of the way and heading for the ladder.

“If there’s nothing there...” he then asked; making her slow down against her will before adding: “what are you doing here?”

She was brimming with all these impressions. All these tumbling thoughts of what was right and what was her duty and how she couldn’t do this again. She could not feel this way, in any way, about another immortal. And he had left, just like Angel.

But... here he was, back and telling her that he loved her and that he wouldn’t go... And it made her quake with a longing that mixed with her blood; ran through her as easily as anything. And she wanted to smile at him because of it. But the way he made her feel powerful and needed and funny and warm and safe, it wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real.

“This isn’t real,” she mumbled, just when his hand caught her wrist and turned her around to face him.

“Look at me and say that again,” he urged gently. “Tell me that you really don’t feel anything. That it’s all in my head. That you don’t have the exact same bloody craving running through you right now, that I have... That all you want from me is what I do to you when the bleeding light’s out. If you tell me that, right now, I’ll believe you. And I won’t bring it up again. ...But I can’t go. So don’t ask me.”

Tears rose as she rested her gaze in his. She couldn’t get the words out.

He loved her. She could see it in his eyes. She could feel it every time he touched her. And everything she had begun to feel for him when she was in the middle of the spell... all that she had refused to let it develop into since she’d gotten back to herself... She couldn’t help the way hearing him say what she had wanted to hear him say, when she was younger, had the same effect now. She couldn’t help it.

He watched her, waiting for her to respond, and finally it came.

She gently moved closer.

He knew that had he had a pulse, it would’ve been racing by now. She placed her hands softly on either side of his face. He could see how there was both tenderness and pain in her eyes. She was frightened of this, he knew that. He understood it. But she had to realize that he would never hurt her. His palms slid around to her back, carefully pushing her close to him and she moved her arms to wrap them around him, resting her cheek against his shoulder before nuzzling her nose into his chest.

He closed his eyes, taking in her scent and relaxing for the first time in a long time. He had been afraid he would never get to do this again, have her near. And her arms around him meant something; he had seen it in her face. He was right when he said that there was more between them than she wanted to acknowledge. He had to be, or she wouldn’t be in his hold right now. He felt a tingle of triumphant joy. She didn’t need him away from her, she needed him here. He had made the right choice in coming back.

She felt like she could stay with him and forget about the world beyond his embrace. It was so easy. If she just let herself give in she wouldn’t have to deal with all the things that made her think that the passion she felt for him was wrong. And dear God, she had been so scared she’d lost him. So certain she’d never see him again. Convinced that it had all been for nothing. All the wondering, all the agony over what was happening with her. And with his scent filling her head she breathed truth.

And she broke away, taking a trying step backwards as she didn’t feel like her legs would carry her.

It was too real.

He stared at her.

He wanted to pull her back, but his arms hung limp at his sides.

No.

“I’m with Riley,” she murmured. “I... love him.”

“Don’t hesitate if you’re gonna tell me that,” he said, voice lowered, each word with the threat of growl behind it.

“I love him.”

He felt like hot coals were running down his back. He shivered; just as suddenly seized with a chill that went right into his bones. He feared it would stay there, freezing him from inside, and presenting him with no way of thawing it.

Buffy.

She began to move toward the ladder. There was nothing he wouldn’t have given up, to make her stay.

“Don’t go,” was the only plea he could conjure.

She stopped, turning partially to him and then saying slowly:

“Things lose shape in the dark, ever notice that? The night makes everything seem... simpler. You and I – we’re best looked at in daylight. Bright, shiny sunlight. That’s what I need.”

“That’d destroy me,” he murmured, and he saw her check herself before she blinked at her still wet eyes.

“Then you’re not what I need,” she said, but her voice cracked and she turned from him.

He let her go, watching her feet disappear up the ladder.

Buffy knocked on Riley’s door the following morning. She had barely slept, and ran her hands through her hair self-consciously. No matter how she’d tried it seemed the theme she was sporting for the day was Un-Mildly Disheveled. Both outside, and in.

The door opened and she smiled weakly.

“Hi,” he said, not having expected her, but looking happy she was there.

“Hi,” she merely replied. “I just wanted to...”

“What’re you kidding, standing in the hallway like that?” he smiled, putting a hand firmly at the small of her back and escorting her inside the room.

He closed the door and she walked up to the window, staring at the green lawn below for the longest time.

“Buffy?” Riley broke the spell and she drew a small breath, but didn’t turn to him.

“Spike... changed his mind,” she said.

“About?”

“About the surgery tonight,” she murmured. “He wants the chip to stay in.”

Riley furrowed his brow.

“Why would he want that?”

She clenched her jaws together, then slowly turned to face him. Riley met her gaze, wondering. She shrugged a little, trying a small smile again. He smiled back, but his eyes were studying her. She pulled her hands through her hair once more, sighing, and he walked up to her, rubbing her upper arms before wrapping his around her.

“I have to go,” she said, looking up at him and moving out of his hold.

“You just got here.”

“To tell you that the operation’s off,” she said. “I have class.”

“See you later?”

“Yeah,” she nodded with another smile.

He watched her go up to the door and through it, closing it behind her. He waited a little while and then headed out as well.

Spike woke up from ice-cold water being poured over him. A second later he was torn out of bed and slammed up against a wall, any form of sleepiness being well out of his system as his eyes met Riley’s. Spike looked quizzical at the mortal’s fury, but Riley wouldn’t have it as he raised the hand not holding Spike’s throat, and put the tip of a stake to the vampire’s chest.

“Whoa, okay, hey!” Spike exclaimed. “I don’t have any information to give, Adam hasn’t been around lately. Now point that thing somewhere else.”

“You know that’s not what I’m here for,” Riley gritted and Spike smiled a little, looking up at the human.

“You here ‘cause of the chip?”

“I saw how you looked at her. At Giles’. You think this is gonna work? It won’t.”

Spike glanced at the stake and finally Riley brought it down, letting the vamp go as he stepped back.

“Look at you,” Spike smirked, circling him. “All stiff-lipped and glare-eyed. You think this is all about the girl?” he wondered, stopping in front of Riley. “You’re absolutely right,” he finished. “And if you think coming here waving my death around in my face ‘ll make me back off, you really have no idea what you’re dealing with. I understand why you’d fight for her, though. So you do that. I’ll just stay right here, and wait ‘til she comes to me.”

Riley took a step forward, towering over the vampire.

“She never will. I know her.”

“You know the Slayer,” Spike retorted. “How well do you really know Buffy?”

He tilted his head a little to the side, questioning look on his face before he smiled slightly, walking passed the other and up to the bed, lifting the soaked sheet and looking at the mortal meaningfully before he reached for his pack of smokes.

The stake swooshed by his forehead and smashed against the wall above the bed, making him turn his head to Riley, who gave him a dark look before disappearing from sight.

Spike heard him ascend the ladder and growled to himself. Sure, the vampire was always good at putting on a show, but in reality he couldn’t stand the thought of how the mortal represented everything the vampire could never be for her. Then again, why had the human felt the need to pay him a visit?

He muttered to himself before changing side of the bed, pulling the sheet up and soon going back to sleep.

Buffy mashed another handful of popcorn into her mouth as she watched the movie on the TV-screen.

“I really didn’t know that dancing chimps could be this entertaining,” she said to Calor, who sat beside her, popcorn not anywhere near him.

“Some might call it an acquired taste,” he smiled and she returned it.

She had needed a spot of social change after seeing Spike and then Riley and the turmoil now raging beneath her ribcage; and had decided to go home and see how Ath and Calor were doing. They were doing splendidly, and she felt sort of strange in her own home; like she was imposing on them. And they kept looking at her, seemingly thinking she didn’t notice, and then exchanging glances with each other. Meaningful glances. And it was making her nerves tighten even more than they had during the day.

The chimps were helping with loosening them, though; and the Slayer tried to focus on that.

“My brother is becoming quite the expert on the television phenomenon,” Ath said. “He is actually quite obnoxious, throwing in quotes here and there, acting as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. Laughing at me when I don’t get the joke. He’s even getting Jonathan to duo up on me!”

“Ath, the Slayer isn’t about to beat down the fact that you’re not as well-informed as you thought yourself to be, that’s not what she uses her power for! TV is an excellent source of information, and I am a sponge.”

“You did not just say that,” Ath rolled her eyes.

“I’m blue,” he added to Buffy, who was smirking. “Shaped like a cloud.”

Ath picked up a popcorn and dipped it into the chocolate syrup she kept at her side. Calor gave her a disgusted look and she smiled sweetly before putting it in her mouth.

“Have you seen the way she eats anything swimming in sugar?”

“It’s a woman’s prerogative,” Buffy defended. “How else are we supposed to put up with you guys?”

“Amen to that,” Ath nodded.

“We’re that bad?” Calor wondered. “And yet every other word out of her mouth is Jonathan.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him, huh?”

“I guess,” Ath shrugged and Calor snorted. “Yeah, I have,” Ath corrected, throwing a popcorn at her brother. “He’s fun and nice and... cute,” she then smiled, Buffy smiling as well, then she grew serious.

Calor looked at her before he exchanged another glance with Ath.

“Oh, my gosh, they’re bringing in the gorilla,” Buffy said just as he was about to open his mouth.

She put a popcorn in her mouth and fixed her gaze on the TV again.

A few hours later she was trying to fall asleep, lying in her bed. She wondered why it was that she had sought her way back home so many times over the passed few weeks. She liked college life, she enjoyed living semi-alone; she did miss her mother, but Joyce wasn’t the reason she kept coming back to the house.

You know why.

No, I don’t.

Buffy, you know why.

She closed her eyes tightly, then grumbled and rolled over on her side. Opening her eyes again they landed on her window. She clenched her jaws together, slowly pushing her covers off and getting to her feet, carefully walking up to it and stopping in front of it, glancing down and then leaning against it, resting her forehead against the cool glass.

She didn’t want to listen to his voice, persistent in her head. His words slipping through her brain in a loop that was never ending, it seemed. Speaking of love and change, whispering promises that should be empty and hollow to her, but instead granted her the most amazing peace.

“God damn it!” she suddenly exclaimed, crashing her fist into one of the panes and having it split into a dozen shimmering pieces.

She took a step back in surprise.

“Buffy,” Ath’s voice sounded from the doorway, its tone reflecting the Slayer’s emotion as she turned to face the goddess. “What are you doing?”

Buffy looked at the cuts on top of her hand and Ath noticed them too, frowning as she came into the room.

“What are you doing?” she repeated, grabbing Buffy’s wrist.

“It was an accident,” Buffy replied, pulling her hand out of the other’s grip and walking up to her desk, opening a drawer and getting out a first aid kit.

Her movements were jerky as she got the lid off. She was fighting back tears she felt she couldn’t justify; the wounds barely stung. And then Ath’s fingers were by hers, making them stop their plucking as the dark haired said:

“Let me.”

Buffy didn’t look at her, merely had a seat on the floor and Ath grabbed the kit, having a seat opposite her and beginning to clean the blood away.

“Who are you? Really?” the Slayer asked.

“If I asked you that, could you answer that question? Could you define yourself?”

“I could try.” Ath cocked an eyebrow. “And I’d fail. Miserably,” Buffy sighed.

Ath met her gaze, putting the finishing touch to the bandage before she replied:

“I am here as a friend, Buffy. Do you trust that?”

The Slayer observed her for a moment, then nodded.

“It’s just...” she began, the sound of Calor’s voice, calling for his sister, interrupting her.

Ath looked apologetic.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, go ahead,” Buffy smiled.

“Are you... okay?” Ath wondered.

“I’ll be fine. Go,” Buffy urged.

Ath rose and disappeared through the door, and Buffy sunk back against the foot of her bed. Her left hand gingerly played with the tips of the bandage. She felt stupid, suddenly. And then her fingers went to her forehead, massaging it as she closed her eyes.

Spike stared at the candle before him. Its flame was bright enough to light up the space that was the crypt. He watched it as it danced on its wick, oblivious to the role it played in the world. Never to understand that it filled a function; that it was there for a reason... that it had a purpose.

He had been sitting there for a very long time.

Inside there was an enormous feeling of terror, brought forth by the knowledge that what he was doing now was not only turning from his nature, but also the very web in which he had existed for as long as he could bloody well remember. He was crawling out of it, abandoning all that was connected with sense and leaving it for that candle on the table. Leaving dark and empty nights to come and sit in its light. To be warmed by its glow.

He buried his face in his hands, pulling his fingers into his hair as he rested his forehead against his palms.

What the hell was he going to do? With himself. With her.

What was he supposed to do?

“I can’t just sit here and bloody wait,” he grumbled.

But he didn’t know what to say to her.

Speak to Me

The following morning Buffy called in sick. When Willow got back to the room in the afternoon, the Slayer was gone. She didn’t return until eleven o’clock, and the redhead put her book down to eye her friend. They hadn’t really had a conversation since the one they’d had that night after the Bronze. It seemed Buffy had chosen to ignore what had been said, and go on as though it hadn’t even happened. But Willow couldn’t do that.

“Hi,” she now said.

“Hey, Wills,” Buffy smiled distractedly, walking up to her weapon’s drawer and replacing the stakes she’d taken out earlier.

Adding a few small bottles of holy water she shut the drawer and threw the bag on her bed, beginning to unbutton her coat and obviously being oblivious to the scrutiny she was under.

“I thought you wanted to go over the math homework for Thursday,” Willow remarked and Buffy looked at her briefly, putting the coat in her closet and beginning to undress.

“Right. Sorry ‘bout that,” she said. “I’ve just been...”

She trailed off, huffing as she pulled her boots off. Grabbing her pajamas, she pulled the top on. Willow went back to her book with a sigh.

“Preoccupied?” she muttered.

Buffy went to brush her teeth, returning and crawling under the covers.

“Night,” she said.

Willow frowned, closing the book and placing it on her nightstand. She looked over at the other.

“Buffy,” she said silently, hesitating before she finished: “is there something going on...?”

“Will... I’m sleepy, okay? Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“So... there’s something to talk about?”

“Willow,” Buffy whined.

“Fine. Fine. Tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Buffy wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t. She really was tired, but was only lying down because she had been on her feet for the passed ten hours. Patrolling streets in broad day light, hoping for a sign of Adam, finding nothing. And then patrolling after darkness set, just for the sake of it, not meeting a single dustable victim. And no un-dustable either.

She had been afraid of running into Spike, not sure of how to possibly face him. And yet she had wanted to get that first encounter over with. Because she wasn’t asking him to leave, not again. And so, he was staying. It was okay. It would be perfectly alright.

“It will,” she whispered to herself.

The next day Buffy sat at her desk, reading a book and eating an apple. Willow glanced up at her from the bed, unsure of how to bring up the subject of last night, whatever it may be. Finally she asked:

“Do you think Ath could be a witch?”

Buffy stopped chewing, turning her head to her friend and frowning.

“No. Why?”

“I dunno,” the Wicca shrugged. “She just seems to have that quality.”

“Witch radar?” Buffy quipped and Willow gave her a look.

“I just thought that I saw her do something the other day... And the girl has to use magic for her baking, no one can get the chocolate chips to mix that evenly with the batter,” she stated firmly, making Buffy laugh. Willow smiled. “It’s been a while since you did that.”

“I guess,” Buffy said, growing serious in the next moment and putting down the book. “What did you see?”

Willow looked quizzical.

“You said you saw something that Ath did.”

“Oh, right... I might’ve been wrong, but I thought I saw her writing something on the ground right outside your house. She didn’t see me, but when I went up to the spot – after she went back in – I couldn’t see anything there.”

Buffy smiled, taking a bite out of her apple.

“And this is reasons to think she’s connected with the higher powers?” she asked, Willow returning the smile.

“No, I guess I’m being silly. There’s something about her, though. Makes me think she’s not what we think she is.”

“I know that feeling,” Buffy nodded thoughtfully. “It’s strange, I could swear I’ve tried to ask her about it... but I can’t remember what she’s answered.”

“Maybe you should try again,” Willow remarked and Buffy sighed.

“I will. It’s not a threatening question mark, though.”

“But when you think about it, since when did you befriend question marks? You’re the very vanquisher of question marks. You dislike question marks with heated passion. If there ever is a question mark, the Slayer is there to...”

“Okay,” Buffy stopped her, getting off the chair and walking up to her friend’s bed, taking a seat next to the other. “But I admit... it’s weird. Isn’t it?”

Willow nodded, then eyed her friend for a few moments before carefully saying:

“Haven’t seen much of Spike lately.”

Buffy smiled a weak smile at that, not looking at the redhead.

“No, we’re... keeping to our different sides of the fence,” she said.

“Must be a high fence,” Willow remarked and Buffy looked quizzical. “Well, Spike’s never been the one to bow out gracefully.”

“Right,” the Slayer murmured.

“What’s with the face?” Willow asked, suddenly smiling. “You have to agree that if there’s one thing that vampire can’t do, it’s keep out of your business. Maybe it’s a good sign, though. He’s over you. He’s realized that it’s never gonna happen and he’s moved passed it. Maybe even grown a little because of it. Wouldn’t that be funny? Spike evolving because of some warped...”

“Stop,” Buffy said, voice low and eyes not on her friend.

Willow furrowed her brow.

“It’s so easy,” the Slayer finally picked up, “to look at something and think you’re seeing exactly what’s there, isn’t it? God, Willow, you should know better than to judge the outside like that.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen what’s inside of him,” Willow shot. “I almost had the bite marks to show for it.”

“That’s not all of him,” Buffy mumbled. “That’s just...”

“The demon?” Willow filled in. “Buffy, you’re scaring me.”

“Not as much as I scare me,” Buffy shook her head, rising and walking up to the trash-bin to throw away the skeleton of the apple. “Not as much as this whole thing terrifies me. But, I’ve seen him change, Will. I can’t help it. I can’t. I believe in him, and I can’t turn back from that. I believe that he can be a better man. I believe that he wants to be. He doesn’t want the chip removed. He made that decision.”

Willow shook her head.

“Buffy, listen to yourself. God, with the chip in his head he doesn’t have to worry about it, does he? He can earn a corner of trust with you, and he won’t really have to work for it, will he? He’s leashed. I don’t know how you make that right, but I think it’s wrong. He wants to show self-control, fine. If you believe he could, then I have to believe in you, Buffy. But self-control with the chip? What is that?”

“You were coming down on me when I wanted to remove it, and now you’re coming down on me ‘cause it’s staying in?” Buffy asked, disbelieving.

“I’m just trying to understand,” Willow replied. “And I’m really trying not to be biased here, but what makes you think it’s real?”

Buffy clenched her jaws together, turning to the window and looking outside, her right hand unconsciously beginning to fiddle with the cross around her neck.

“The way he looks at me,” she then said. “That’s real.”

Willow swallowed, taking the profile of her friend in before asking silently:

“Are you in love with him?”

The fiddling slowed, the Slayer’s gaze seemed caught on something far away, and then she snapped out of it, turning her eyes back in Willow’s.

“I can’t... love him,” she said.

“You can’t choose who to love,” Willow remarked. “Believe me, I know.”

Buffy smiled weakly, her face was suddenly pale and her eyes were growing sad. The burden Willow had noticed on the Slayer seemed to grow even heavier.

“Not exactly the same; is it?” she asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Buffy gave her a look at that, and Willow felt wounded by it in a way she didn’t know if Buffy had ever hurt her before.

“I’m too tired to get into it,” Buffy then stated, “and I’m pretty sure you’d never be able to hear it anyway.”

“That’s not fair...”

“It’s not, huh?” Buffy wondered. “Will, you’ve been rooting for me and Riley ever since the first second you knew he was interested. I didn’t tell you, ‘cause I already knew what you think. You’ve made sure I know.”

“How can you say that like I did something wrong!” Willow exclaimed, getting to her feet as well. “I saw how happy you were, how happy he made you. Think I’d want anything less for you, after seeing everything you went through with Angel? Think I’ll stand here now and go whoopdidoo over the fact that you’re standing over there, telling me that you’re in love with another vampire? You know it’ll end badly, Buffy. All the reasons you had not to be with Angel, they’re there, between you and Spike, only magnified by a thousand. He doesn’t have a soul! There’s nothing in him that feels remorse; that feels compassion; that feels anything at all!”

At that Buffy nearly slapped her. The Slayer’s hand raised and then hung mid-air as both pairs of eyes widened with realization of what had almost happened. Willow stared at her. Buffy lowered her arm, taking a step back.

“I’m sorry...” Buffy said; then her face grew set in stone as she repeated: “I can’t love him. Because you’re right; he’s dead. And the last thing I need... is more death in my life.”

Willow looked at her, seeing the countenance on her; the irreproachable face of the Slayer, before the latter turned and walked up to her closet, bringing her coat out.

“I’ll be back late,” she said.

“Buffy,” Willow tried, but the other was already out the door.

The Wicca sat back on the bed.

Alright, here was the path of ugly.

Willow tried to get her thoughts to work coherently, but she couldn’t. This mindset was too new. She had watched the Slayer and the Vamp interact. She had noticed ease between them, an ease that she wasn’t even sure the two of them were aware of. She slowly got off the bed and took out her jacket, putting it on and leaving the dorm.

There was someone she needed to speak with.

Spike turned his head as there was a knock at the door. He furrowed his brow. Knocks didn’t come often, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He was pretty sure. Getting up he walked up to it and opened it, his eyebrows rising as he took in the small frame of the redhead. She smiled tryingly, waving one hand a little.

“Hey,” she said.

He couldn’t hide his questioning expression.

“Hi,” he then replied.

“Can I come in?” she wondered. “If you’re busy I can come back...”

“Not at all,” he assured, stepping back and widening the opening for her to step through it.

He closed the door behind her.

“Wow,” she said, looking around. “It’s very you,” she added, turning to him.

He smiled tentatively.

“It’s not a whole lot more than a hole in the ground,” he said. “But thanks for your consideration.”

She smiled a small smile, her body-language telling him just how not relaxed she was.

“You, if anyone, should know I can’t bite,” he remarked. “Please, have a seat. Buffy had the place poshed up, but I sold most of it when I left.”

Willow frowned.

“You left?” she asked, walking up to the loveseat to sit down, as he walked into the kitchen to get a glass and some juice.

“Orange okay?” he wondered.

“Fine,” she nodded, waiting until he came up and handed her the glass. “You left?” she then repeated as he sat down next to her, cup of blood in hand.

“Briefly,” he confirmed.

She eyed him for a few seconds, and then she asked:

“Why?”

He eyed her back.

“Why are you here, Red?”

She took a mouthful of orange juice, then fastened her gaze in his again.

“Do you understand what this is doing to her?” she inquired.

He stared at the Wicca, taken aback. He hadn’t thought she was here for Buffy. He hadn’t thought Buffy had told her. Then again, perhaps she hadn’t. He wondered exactly what had brought Willow to his doorstep. He looked away from her, feeling strangely small under the others probing observation.

“What ‘what’ is doing to her?”

“What do you want from her, Spike? What is this to you? If you’re playing games, so help me, I’ll...”

He glared at her at that.

“I don’t demand a bloody thing from her that she’s not willing to give.”

“Willing? I don’t think ‘will’ has anything to do with this anymore...” She trailed off, and he didn’t want to push for more of an explanation. “I’ve seen how much you hate her,” she added.

“And I’ve felt it,” he bit back. “And now...” His gaze grew searching as he looked for the right words, but he couldn’t find them. “Is this why you’ve come?” he then asked. “To question me?”

He seemed somewhat amused by this, and he somewhat was.

“I want you to make me believe, the way you’ve made her believe.”

He felt something dead inside of him slowly come alive at those words.

Willow watched the most dramatic change she’d ever seen on a face. He seemed to grow younger, his forehead smoothed, his lips bore a slight smile, and his eyes began to sparkle with a sudden light that mixed with the blue and made the iris’ bear the color of infinite skies. It was remarkable.

“Buffy is... impossible,” he then said, keeping the small smile on. “She’s stubborn, self-righteous, a know-it-all who actually likes to fight me... Those are some of her best qualities,” he smirked, and Willow had to smile as well, despite herself. “She’s... vulnerable,” he then said. “She has this rough exterior, but if you can get to what’s beneath it...” He trailed off. “She’s funny, but not in an obvious way, even to her. ...She looks at you, and you can see those wheels in her head bloody turning, trying to figure you out.” He paused, smiling again as he added: “Or maybe that’s just with me.”

Willow smiled once more, intent on listening.

“She’s soft,” he said, voice growing quiet as he seemed to be talking more to himself. “And warm. And un-surprisingly flexible.” Another smile, though his gaze was drifting somewhere Willow couldn’t see. “And if I could take here away from here, I would,” he finished, fixing his eyes in Willow’s again. “If I could protect her from all of it, I would. But I can’t. It’s who she is. And she doesn’t need me to. Wouldn’t want me to, I understand that. And it’s part of what I love about her. She’s a warrior. She has a fire inside that’ll never burn out. She may want it to, but she couldn’t let it. What I can do is help. Carry some of the burden. Give her a few hours of extra sleep. That’s why I came back, I reckon. That and the fact that I don’t wanna be where she isn’t.”

Willow watched him for a few moments in silence.

She hadn’t thought she would be this easily persuaded, but everything about him spoke nothing but truth. Was he this good an actor, then?

“You’ve had a few days to practice that; haven’t you?” she asked.

He smirked.

“In front of the mirror?” he wondered, cocking an eyebrow. “Don’t have a reflection.”

“You know, I’ve often wondered how you guys keep yourselves looking the way you do. And why do the clothes go all invisible, too? Are they suddenly part of the whole curse simply ‘cause you put them on? And isn’t it strange, to not have seen your own face for a hundred years?”

He smiled at that.

“Portraits, love,” he replied. “Me and Dru used to get ours done all the time. We ate the artists afterwards, of course... Two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“Please, no speaking,” Willow shook her head. She hesitated, then continued: “I don’t think I think you deserve her.”

He smiled a little.

“I know I don’t,” he retorted.

Buffy walked with a determination that felt plastered on.

She didn’t know where she was headed. She felt as though darkness was suffocating every sense within her, until there was nothing left but a single ray of flickering light, struggling to guide her. It was so faint that she didn’t know where it wished to lead her. So she extinguished it, and let her convictions take over. Through shadows they carried her easily, told her where to step, and as she didn’t stumble, she began to trust that they were right.

Her confessions to Willow earlier had made her waver, but it had been for only a fraction of a second.

She reached into one of the pockets of her coat and felt the object there. It was sleek and cold against her fingers. Small, silvered, and his. His. Thus, it didn’t belong with her, did it? Didn’t belong to her. Wasn’t hers to hold onto in any way.

She entered the graveyard hosting his crypt. It was quiet. She slowed her step. Approaching his door seemed to have grown into a process, without her fully realizing it. She had to check her heart beat, check what she wanted to say, get everything straight since there was no room for error.

Fleetingly she imagined what it would be like to be running down the path, without a care as to what façade she would have to put up once she stood before him. Imagined him readily opening the door, her arms wrapping around him...

She clenched her jaws together, chasing the image away.

No.

All she could think was no.

That was never, not ever, going to happen.

She stopped before the door.

Placing a hand against the roughened wood she wanted to turn and walk away. Tomorrow night she could do this. Tomorrow night she could rip everything apart. But then she drove it away. No turning back now. It was what it was, and would be what it had to be.

Suddenly the door opened.

He looked wondering. Slightly humored. A little surprised, perhaps. But mostly, pleasantly surprised to see her.

She walked passed him.

“Wasn’t sure you’d be here,” she said.

He shut the door, turning to her.

She rested her eyes in his and not a single word would come over her lips. Last time she had seen him had been so painful, had made her understand that she had to end it. It couldn’t go farther. Then again, how could it go farther than this?

“I shouldn’t ‘ve come back,” he finally murmured.

He saw the immediate disagreement in her gaze.

“What do you want, then?” he asked.

She swallowed hard.

“I...”

She trailed off. Her hand still in the pocket of her coat, keeping a tight grip on what she had come to return to him.

“Here’s something new: had a bleeding tête-à-tête with Red before,” he stated, and Buffy felt as though a glacier formed at the nape of her neck and poured through her at the pure shock she suffered from this disclosure.

“Willow?” she asked. “She came here?”

“No, I ran into her at Willy’s. ‘Course she came ‘ere,” he replied, bringing out a fag and putting it between his lips, neglecting to light it, and Buffy felt the control she’d had over her pulse begin to slip. “She’s not so bad, you know? At least not when she grows a pair and that whole twitchiness runs off her,” he added and Buffy cocked an eyebrow.

“She’s not twitchy,” she remarked.

“Alright, nervousness, then,” he relented, taking the cigarette between two fingers, glancing at it and then tossing it unceremoniously aside. “Edginess. That whole... innocence vibe she’s got going for her. But she looked me in the eye tonight, Buffy,” he said. “She’s worried ‘bout you.”

“I know,” she mumbled, putting her free hand in her other pocket and closing it around the items there.

Slowly bringing them out she reached over and placed her fingers over a nearby sarcophagus, gently opening them and releasing his belongings onto the stone.

He furrowed his brow quizzically.

“Didn’t feel right to keep them,” she said, voice low.

She hated how she was barely able to meet his gaze.

“You won them fair and square,” he objected silently.

She smiled just a little, then shook her head.

“I don’t want them,” she said. “They’re too big for me. And they look better on you, anyway.”

He tilted his head slightly, and she drew a steadying breath before giving a nod.

“Right, then. I should go.”

She headed passed him, but he made her stop by saying:

“And my lighter?”

She didn’t have anything to answer to that. Her mind went blank. And then he was right behind her. His right hand softly slid down her right arm, following her wrist down into the pocket, where her hand was buried. She closed her eyes at the touch, at the sensation of him near her, at the swindling notion that it was the last time he would be.

His fingers brought her hand out, circling it before carefully making her let go of the object it was holding. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. His nose almost brushed hers, and then she stepped away, walking up to the door and through it.

He moved up to the sarcophagus, staring at the rings before turning from them, not willing to touch them. She was ridding herself of him. Soon he would be gone, he could feel it. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Spike!” a voice growled from downstairs and the vampire straightened his back in indignation before he headed up to the ladder.

“Bloody hell, what’re you doing down there?” he barked.

A younger vamp came to stand at the base of the ladder, looking up apologetically.

“Sorry, took the tunnels. Quicker,” he explained, then added: “Adam wants to see you. Said it’s urgent.”

“Bugger,” Spike muttered, grabbing his duster and jumping down to join the other.

In You I Trust

Buffy looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. She hated it. Especially since it did the very unoriginal thing of clicking itself into showing seven o’clock; and thus its disturbingly loud ring began proclaiming it was time to get her butt out of bed.

She pulled the covers over her head before reaching out a hand, smashing it down hard. There was a crack as the blow subsequently broke the contraption. It gave her an odd sense of completion. Like it was what she had been supposed to do.

“You know, you spend more money on alarm clocks than you do on shoes,” Willow’s voice sounded, and as the Slayer realized there lay some truth in those words, a burst of annoyance flew through her, making her throw her covers off with a huff.

“Who needs shoes?” she grumbled, getting off the bed.

Willow smiled a little, brushing her hair, already dressed.

Buffy rolled her eyes at her.

“Can’t you, for once, cut class?” she then pleaded. “We can go get ice-cream. Sit in the sun.”

Willow’s smile widened.

“You forget one important fact.”

“Please, don’t say English Lit. exam!”

Willow put her brush down with a look, Buffy sighing.

“I hate college,” she murmured, walking up to her closet.

Willow began to collect her books and Buffy quickly chose an outfit, glancing at her friend.

“I saw Spike last night,” Buffy finally said, turning to face the other, who looked at her calmly.

“Then he must’ve said I went to see him, too,” she merely stated, Buffy’s eyebrows rising.

“He mentioned it.”

Willow watched her for a few seconds, then shrugged.

“I just had to see what all the fuss was about,” she said, making Buffy smile suddenly.

The Slayer couldn’t help the light feeling around her heart. Willow had done that for her.

“And?” she then asked.

Willow tried to look unimpressed, but it didn’t really stick. Last night had been a novelty in many respects, but the deepest moving one was that she had really had no idea just how serious this whole situation was. She had thought they could move passed it, like they did everything else. Hell, if they could go through a few end-of-the-world scenarios, they should be able to shake this. But this wasn’t the same. Emotions were invested that she had had no clue about. And it wasn’t just the vampire she was thinking of. She remembered all the little things she had seen over the passed few weeks. How Buffy had changed, little by little, in her relationship to Spike. And Willow felt stupid now, that she hadn’t acknowledged it sooner. Hadn’t tried to understand sooner.

“You’re just waiting for me to say you were right,” Willow now muttered with fake-annoyance and Buffy smiled again.

Then its brightness faded a little and she turned away.

Willow frowned.

“He really loves you,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Buffy mumbled, buttoning up her shirt.

“But...”

“But nothing,” Buffy interrupted, bringing her hair out from under the collar and putting her shoes on.

“Were you happy?” Willow asked, voice soft with a compassion Buffy didn’t know if she could handle.

She met Willow’s gaze.

“No,” she then replied.

“Is something the matter?” Riley asked.

It was close to six o’clock and he was walking to Giles’ for a meeting, Buffy at his side. She had been quiet since he picked her up, and as she seemed to hesitate he tried not to acknowledge the ominous warning in the back of his head. Finally she looked up at him.

“I wish I could say no,” she mumbled. “I’m... a little rattled. I’ll be fine.”

He made her stop.

“Buffy, you know you can tell me anything, right? Whatever’s weighing you like this... Maybe it’ll help if you talk about it.”

She smiled ironically, then shook her head.

“No, honey,” she said, “it won’t help.”

He moved one hand to her cheek, but she caught it on the way with one of hers, and halted it. He let it fall down and looked away from her. He had a gnawing feeling in the middle of his chest, and it hurt like hell. He didn’t want to think it could be there for a reason. It had to be his own imagination. It couldn’t have been brought on by...

“Is it Spike?” he asked.

She clenched her jaws together.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” he snapped, annoyance in his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I know this hasn’t been easy on you. But it hasn’t been easy on me either.”

“Just... answer one thing,” he murmured. “If he were human...”

“Riley,” she interrupted, turning her head away and commencing their walk. “Don’t,” she added silently, as he followed.

“What do you want, Buffy?”

She smiled at him, and it felt real.

“I want what we have,” she stated. “But if you’re okay with it, I need some more time.”

“If that’s what you need,” he nodded, slipping one hand in hers.

“There seems to be even less activity...” Giles began, being interrupted by Riley, who shook his head.

“It doesn’t add up. We’re piling demons on top of each other at the Initiative.”

It was nearing nine, and the Scoobies were all gathered. With a few additions, of course.

“So what does that mean, then?” Willow wondered. “Buffy’s barely staked one vampire in almost a week.”

“Well, if you don’t count the fang gang I had to do away with the other night,” Buffy put in. “But yeah. It’s like they’re gravitating toward the Initiative. Why? What we need is inside information on Adam. We have to know what it is he wants. I think the answer is in the Initiative, but Riley’s being monitored too closely. I need to get in.”

“You think they won’t notice a Slayer sneaking through their plasma sensors and tazer defenses?” Xander remarked.

“We’ll work around it. There’s a way. There always is. The mountain won’t come to me, I’ll just have to come to it,” she stated just as the door closed in the hall, and everyone turned their head to the vampire who was entering.

“Funny you should put it that way,” he said, meeting the Slayer’s gaze and holding it as he came to a stop.

“Care to explain yourself to those not clicking into understanding?” Riley asked, Spike glancing at him, a small smile fleetingly occurring on his mouth before he looked back at Buffy.

“The mountain. I know where it is. And it ain’t in the Initiative.”

Buffy furrowed her brow.

“Huh?”

“Mount Adam. Get your climbing gear; I know where all the good views are.”

She stared at him, noticing the sweater he was wearing and keeping down a smile. It was dark purple and one of the better ones she had chosen, if she said so herself. Which she didn’t, she reminded herself.

“You know where Adam’s set up camp?” she asked.

“Why so disbelieving, love?” he smiled. “The sod thinks I’m playing on his side of the field, remember?”

“And he’s passing you the ball?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“In a manner of speaking, yeah,” Spike nodded.

“Is it a baseball or a football?” Xander asked.

Everybody looked at him, questioningly.

“I just wanted to get in on the metaphor fun,” he defended.

“It’s in one of the eastern caves,” Spike stated.

“That’s close to campus,” Willow said.

“Doesn’t want to stray too far from home, I reckon,” Spike remarked and Buffy nodded.

“Okay,” she then said thoughtfully. “Okay... Then we know where to start.”

“There’s more,” Spike said. “Can I talk to you?” he added with a slight motion to the front door.

Buffy could feel Riley stiffen beside her. She turned her eyes in his calmingly, but his facial expression was stale. When she made a motion to rise, one of his hands grasped her wrist and stopped her.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure we all want to know,” he said, gaze in Spike’s.

The vampire merely arched an eyebrow.

Buffy freed herself carefully.

“It’ll only take a minute,” she said.

“I don’t trust him,” he gritted out.

She touched his hand.

“But I do,” she said softly, rising to her feet and walking passed Spike, giving him a glance to follow as she headed for the door.

They walked outside and she closed it behind them, turning to him. He was eyeing her.

He couldn’t believe what she had just said in there. His head was spinning.

“Did you mean that?” he got word over tongue and she looked wondering. Then she seemed to realize what he was referring to and simply gave a slight shrug. “No, you don’t get off that easy,” he shook his head, catching her gaze and holding it as he repeated: “Did you mean it?”

She looked at him for a long moment.

“Yes,” she then said. “I think I owe you that much, Spike.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t turn it around to sound like some bloody obligation. You wouldn’t trust me ‘cause you felt you had to, and you know it.”

“I trust you with the chip in your head. I don’t know if I’d trust you without it.”

He stared at her, taken aback.

“So... you would rather I took it out, is that what you’re saying?”

“I don’t know,” she grumbled.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Make up your mind!”

She took a step back, eyes in his before she glanced away.

“What do you want, Buffy?” he then inquired gently.

She looked back at him, feeling something warm spread inside beneath his probing gaze.

“I want things to be as they were before,” she then answered, the warmth dispersing. “But they never can. So I’m going to accept your help, because frankly, I really need it. I’m gonna invite you inside, so you can be part in making the plans we have to make. I’m gonna let you in on all the secrets and tactics and pray my trust isn’t misplaced.”

“Don’t say that,” he gritted.

“Don’t say what? The truth? The truth is: I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know where you begin and where you end. I don’t know anything at all. I’ve already made up my mind, Spike. And there’s no room for you in it.”

She was about to walk passed him and back inside when one of his hands slid into hers, halting her as he moved closer, slipping one hand to rest by her cheek as he made her meet his gaze.

“Don’t say that,” he mumbled; voice low.

“Spike, please,” she said quietly, her heart beginning to pound at his touch.

At the look on her face he removed his hands and stepped back. She wanted to wipe out the abandoned feeling she suffered, wanted to get it out of her by fist and foot, wanted to stomp on it until it caved in and crumpled into a small heap of dust. But it was too strong, and merely mocked her futile attempts at the endeavor of killing it off once and for all.

“He wants me to break the Scoobies up,” Spike now stated. “That’s the mission. Break you up, weaken the chain, make you alone.”

“Then what?”

“Guess I’ll find out once it’s done.”

“What’s in it for you?”

Spike smiled a little at the irony.

“He’ll take the chip out.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Really?”

Spike shrugged and there was the trace of a smile on her mouth.

“So, are you coming inside?” she asked.

“Not this time,” he replied. “Appreciate the offer, but...”

“Come inside,” she encouraged.

He looked about to respond in the negative sense again, when Ath’s voice stopped him.

“Buffy!” she called as she and Calor approached the two.

Spike turned his head to them in surprise. Buffy smiled, receiving Ath’s and then Calor’s peck on one cheek.

“Sorry we’re late,” Calor said.

“That’s okay,” Buffy assured. “Go right in, I’ll be with you soon.”

Spike watched Ath follow her brother inside and then said:

“Know what? I think I’ll stick around for a while. Haven’t heard Giles talk for a few days, after all.”

Buffy furrowed her brow as he brushed passed her and went through the door in the wake of the goddess. The Slayer’s frown deepened as she followed. She felt a stir of jealousy, but waved it away empathically. Walking up to the couch she had a seat next to Riley, before she casually watched Spike lean against the wall behind where Xander and Anya were seated. Now, the Slayer could’ve been wrong, but it really looked like the vampire was staring at Ath. Then he looked at Calor. Then back at Ath. Buffy frowned again. What was with him?

Ath smiled at Willow and then stretched a hand out to Giles, who looked, for once, flustered.

“Pleasure,” she greeted and he took her hand hesitantly, smiling back.

“Indeed.”

Spike huffed and Buffy turned her head to him, having him meet her gaze. She was quizzical and he raised his eyebrows.

An hour later the conversation had once more drifted from the Gruesome Frankenlike to lighter topics of gum-drop flavors and the best vacation destination.

“I’d say Barbados. Sand, sun, sea,” Xander stated.

“I like how you used ‘s’ words,” Anya smiled and he mirrored it. “I know a few too. Like sex. Would that be included, do you think?”

Calor choked on the chip he had been nibbling and Ath suppressed a smirk.

“We’ll see,” Xander murmured, shifting in his seat.

“So are you taking me?”

“Where?”

“To the sand and the sun and the sea.”

“Don’t forget the sex,” Spike reminded and Buffy smirked over the brim of her mug.

“Oh, we can have that right here,” Anya stated.

“No, not right here,” Giles disagreed, removing his glasses.

“There’s sand and sun and sea close by,” Riley remarked.

“Yes, but not Barbados sand. And sun. And sea,” Xander retorted.

“Hmh,” Anya said. “Would the sex be different as well?”

“Honey,” Xander murmured and she smiled, kissing him.

He relented to that and she hugged him.

“I’ll love you forever if you take me home right now,” she then whispered in his ear; something which didn’t go by unnoticed by neither Slayer nor Vamp.

Before either really knew it they exchanged a glance, which was followed by a simultaneous smile.

Buffy grew self-conscious, clearing her throat and looking away again. Spike kept his eyes on her for a few more moments, tilting his head a little to one side.

“We’re gonna head out,” Xander said as he and Anya rose.

“Oh, so soon?” Buffy wondered innocently.

“Yeah, it’s getting late.”

“And if we’re too tired when we get home, he’ll fall asleep and...”

“So we’re heading out,” Xander stopped Anya, ushering her to the door.

Spike was still smiling when his eyes met Ath’s. She was studying him and his smile faded into something very close to a threat. She got to her feet.

“Let me make some more tea,” she said, walking into the kitchen.

Giles looked truly invigorated just by the simple offer.

“Why, that is most gracious of you,” he commented and she flashed him a smile as she disappeared from clear view.

Buffy leaned over and asked Willow about homework, Riley began to talk with Giles, and Calor asked Tara what the bracelet she was wearing stood for. She smiled shyly, then said it was for good luck. Spike watched them all interact before he slipped the way Ath had gone.

“I thought you’d left,” he said.

“Yes,” she nodded.

He narrowed his eyes.

“What does that mean, ‘yes’?”

“Spike, why can’t we be friends? You seem convinced I’m part of some plot against Buffy, and this is only the second time we’ve met! I really don’t want you glaring at me like that; it’s enough to spoil an evening.”

“What are you doing here? Answer that, and I’ll stop glaring.”

“I’m... not sure what I’m doing here, to be absolutely honest. And I feel each moment only makes it all the more confusing. I thought I came here to do good on a promise I seemed to have broken, but now...” She trailed off, meeting his gaze and smiling again. “Things aren’t always what they appear.”

“That’s exactly what the problem is,” he pointed out and she laughed.

“You’re protectiveness of her speaks well of your character, but you can’t walk through life in mistrust of everyone who comes near her. I swore to you – I care about her a great deal more than you could even comprehend.”

She reached out her hands and carefully took his. He blinked at the sensation that poured through him at her touch. A calm. A centering within him that was unlike anything he had ever experienced... outside being with Buffy.

“I’ll do her no harm,” she said. “It’s not why I’m here, that much I do know.”

He was captured by her eyes, feeling like he was seeing the universe contained in the darkness of her pupils. A swirling vortex filled with stars and comets and infinity far greater than his could ever be.

“How’s the tea coming?” Buffy asked from the doorway behind him and he was brought out of his state of mind, turning to face the Slayer; his hands leaving the goddess’.

Buffy looked at him and then at Ath, crossing her arms over her chest. Ath held up the tea pot.

“It’s coming,” she said.

Spike was about to say something, but Buffy turned around and left the doorway. He smiled a crooked smile, shaking his head at her. Then he sighed. He felt Ath’s gaze on his back as he went into the living room. Buffy and Riley were at the door and the vamp halted.

“We’re going,” Buffy said. “Come find me if anything else happens.”

“And about the breaking-you-up?” he asked.

“Let’s say you failed. Utterly and completely,” she replied simply, walking with Riley out the door.

Spike turned to the ones left, Willow and Tara talking easily with Calor. Giles listening to their conversation. The vampire stood there, motionless, for another minute, and then headed for the door as well.

Buffy was grateful for Riley’s patience.

He really is too good to me, she thought, and a pang of guilt followed, which made her close her eyes and roll over on her back.

She loathed the nights when she had trouble falling asleep, and for some reason they had been quite a few recently. She wanted rest, but feared it was still looming somewhere in the distance. Perhaps she would never really reach it until the day she lay six feet under ground. She shook those musings off. She wasn’t going to die. It wasn’t her time yet. She still had things to do, to accomplish. And yet, death didn’t scare her; maybe because she dealt with it everyday. She had gotten used to it, to the idea of her own demise. She knew she wasn’t supposed to last forever. She knew every Slayer came with an expiration date on the package. She only hoped it wasn’t soon. Not too soon.

She dreamed worried dreams that night, and woke up right before sunrise.

She stood in the window of her room and watched the sky be painted pink and gold, and let the first rays of the ascending orb illuminate her face as it trickled through the branches outside.

The cave was dark as she entered it. It smelled of earth and silent age. She walked forward slowly, looking around and wondering how far she would have to go. It wasn’t very far. It ended in a sharp angle, three-hundred feet from the entrance. To the trained eye it looked as though it formed a small room, but it was of no consequence since it was completely empty. Nothing but cave walls on all four sides. For just one second she wondered if Spike had set her up, if it was just another elaborate mind-game. Act the fool for love, when all the while he was stabbing her repeatedly in the back.

But no.

She knew he wouldn’t. And she nearly felt ashamed that she had doubted that conviction, even if it was for only that one second.

She sighed and turned around, heading back for the entrance.

Maybe he’d gotten his bearings wrong. He’d said eastern, but perhaps the cavern actually was more to the west. Or south-east. There were a lot of them around here. Clusters of them, even. He could easily have gotten turned around.

But then she stopped short.

Stepping through the mouth of the cave was a creature she found herself suddenly unprepared to face.

“And so we meet,” Adam said with a smile. “The Slayer. It is an honor. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” she replied. “Unfortunately for me, I’ve had to rely on what I’ve seen of you. Your handiwork. Quite the surgeon, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Mother installed all the knowledge I might need of human medicine in my brain. She did not leave much to chance. She knew it would be of use to me.”

“I’m sure she did. I’m sure she saw her creation would become a homicidal maniac who’d go around cutting things open just to see how they work,” Buffy nodded. “She was a smart lady that way.”

“I detect you say these things, but do not really mean them,” he noted.

“Guess you’re a smart monster that way.”

“I’m not a monster,” he smiled. “I am part of this world, just as you are. I was put here to bestow order where there has been only chaos. You must understand that the course of nature cannot be altered.”

“You’re talking about the course of nature?”

“Extinction of the weak. Evolution of the strong. A world where the fitted survive, and the unshapely pieces are scattered for the wind.”

“Yeah? Well, I happen to like unshapely,” she stated, pulling out the sword she had brought with her.

Adam looked at it, then at her. She took a step forward, raising the blade, but as she brought it down he grabbed it with one hand, while pushing her hard in the chest with the other. She felt herself flying through the air, hitting the wall with a force that knocked the wind out of her. She fell to the ground with a hard thump.

She felt sunshine on her cheek and realized she was right by the entrance. Scrambling to her feet she looked over at Adam, who was picking up the sword. She didn’t need to stay and see more – she ran. She ran as fast as her legs could possibly carry her. She had gotten quite close to the outskirts of the woods when she tripped and tumbled down a bumpy hill, hitting her head and back against two larger rocks and getting knocked unconscious.

Spike woke with a jerk. He turned over on his back and his eyes landed on Buffy, who was just sitting down on the edge of the bed. He furrowed his brow and then sat up.

“Buffy?”

“It wasn’t there,” she said. “His lair, it wasn’t there. ...‘Lair’. Wonder who decided to call it that. Sounds too fancy, somehow. Don’t you think?”

He reached out a hand and made her turn her head to him. His eyes widening as he saw the deep cut in her forehead. She waved his hand away and stood.

“The sun’s almost set,” she stated. “I want you to come with me.”

“What happened?” he asked, getting the covers off and grabbing a pair of jeans, pulling them on as she simply continued talking.

“I want you to show me exactly where Adam’s shacked up.”

“I told you...”

“And I just told you – it wasn’t there. I went to the eastern caves, to the largest one, like you said, and there was nothing there. Apart from Adam.”

He pulled on his T-shirt with harsh movements.

“You went there alone!” he exclaimed.

“I’m alright.”

“Yeah, you’ve got the head to show for it.”

“At least it’s still attached.”

He didn’t smile, merely glared at her.

“Adam means business, whatever that sodding business might be. You can’t go gallivanting into his bloody territory like that, alone!”

“I wasn’t gallivanting. I was far from gallivanting. You can’t gallivant with a sword.”

“Oh, you brought a sword, did you? How kind of you to bring a toothpick for him for when he’s finished with you!”

“God! I know he’s big and scary and... well, I guess I didn’t know just how strong he was, but I do now and stop yelling at me! You’re giving me a headache.”

He seemed to calm down a little, taking a step closer.

“Let me take a look at that.”

“It’s nothing,” she said impatiently. “Let’s go.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a flesh wound.”

“Every wound is a flesh wound.”

“I can tell you for a fact that isn’t true. Internal injuries are a concept with a completely different vocabulary.” At that he finally smiled a small smile and she mirrored it. “Really, I’m okay,” she added.

“Will you stop being your stubborn highness, and let me tend to that for you? After that, I’ll go wherever you want. I promise.”

She rested her gaze in his for another few seconds, then smiled a little again. Seemingly relenting, she turned and headed for the ladder. He followed. Upstairs she sat down in the armchair while he got what he needed. She leaned her head back and he came to stand at her side, looking down at her.

“I’m getting good at this,” he said with a smirk. “All the training you’re giving me.”

“Mh. Ever thought of being a nurse?”

“Nurse Spike? Sounds bleeding kinky, don’t you think?”

She giggled.

“Lie still,” he demanded, beginning to clean off the blood.

“Ow,” she muttered.

It didn’t take long for him to finish and she moved her head to watch him bring the things back to their rightful place.

“If anyone had told me two months ago that this was where I’d be...” she mumbled, and he smiled, looking over at her and nodding.

“Mysterious ways, and that whole jig,” he shrugged.

“I’ll say,” she agreed, sitting up and then rising.

She touched the soft bandage on her forehead, fastened with surgical tape. She knew she really didn’t need it. Slayer healing would fix up an injury like that in less than a few hours. But it felt good, being taken care of. She looked at him where he walked into the kitchen area, and smiled a little to herself, for no apparent reason.

He grabbed his duster and pulled it on. Opening the door for her he let her walk through it and then followed, closing it behind them and bringing out his pack of smokes, putting one in the corner of his mouth and taking out his lighter. She glanced at it, having the sensation of his hand sliding over hers in order to retrieve it be so clear, that she almost checked to see if his hand wasn’t performing the movement again. It wasn’t.

“Thank you,” she said. “For...”

She motioned to her forehead and he smiled.

“No need,” he replied.

They were silent for a while, both lost in thought.

Buffy couldn’t get over how it was true, and how suddenly it had hit her that it was the truth: she had faith in him. She had realized it when she verified it to him the night before, and now she felt as though she would put her life in his hands without a second thought. Why was that? What had he done to prove himself to her? What she had said to him had been every bit as much the truth: she didn’t know him. And then she glanced at him, and wanted to ask herself how she could think she didn’t. Because she did.

She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, not anymore. She knew that he loved her, however quick the feeling had erupted in his chest. And she knew that he would be there, no matter what.

How strange.

How frightfully strange it was, looking at him now and seeing something so completely different than what she had always seen before. How completely different everything was.

Spike was trying to find something to talk about. The birds, the bees, the flowers, the trees. Anything would suffice, but everything seemed too feeble and stupid. Why had his tongue started to tie itself into knots? Maybe it was terrified of saying the wrong thing. It did have a tendency to do that, after all. But this silence was doing nothing for him either.

Buffy was the one who solved the conundrum by saying:

“So, you’ve finally decided to brighten up the wardrobe?”

He glanced at the sweater he had pulled over his T, and then smiled.

It was dark blue.

“Don’t know if ‘brightening up’ is the right word,” he remarked.

She returned his smile easily.

“Well, color up, then,” she offered and this time he smirked.

“Advice given was considered and accepted,” he replied, taking the final drag of his cigarette and tossing it aside.

“Thought you didn’t want me to change you,” she said, walking up to the cigarette and stepping on it before coming back to continue at his side.

He shook his head at her; then retorted:

“Bit late for afterthought, innit?”

She had to smile.

“Hope you don’t hate me too much,” she said, not able to get the satisfaction out of her voice. “But, in all honesty, the Big Bad label didn’t exactly stick; did it?”

“Watch it, or I just might try another spot for it,” he muttered.

“And where might that be, William?”

“Don’t push me, Slayer.”

But she merely smiled once more, and he returned it.

She stopped, and pointed.

“There it is,” she said, and he turned his head to see the opening to the cave on the other side of the clearing, at which edge they were standing.

He nodded.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s it.”

She furrowed her brow.

“That’s the one you meant?”

“That’s the one I meant.”

She looked over at the cave again, then crossed her arms over her chest. Her thoughts were running through her head, trying to add it all up. There had been no sign of a nest or the data Spike had spoken of. But... Her mind slowly grinded to a stop.

Aha.

“He knows,” she stated.

Spike looked questioning, but soon his features smoothed in understanding.

“He may just be paranoid,” he said. “Wanted to move to a different location.”

“No,” she said. “No, he knew I’d be there. He’d been waiting for me. He knows,” she repeated.

“Guess we haven’t exactly been careful, have we?” Spike murmured.

“Especially with the you-saving-my-life-repeatedly,” she agreed. “So, your cover’s blown. That sucks.”

“Well... yeah,” he agreed as they turned and started walking again. “But he doesn’t know that we know that he knows,” he added and she looked at him.

“Spike,” she began, but he met her gaze steadily.

“Don’t even bloody start,” he said. “Haven’t been noble for the passed century, but I think I still remember how it goes.”

“Spike.”

“Buffy, I’m not asking you to ask me. I’m telling you I’m doing this. So stop with the puppy eyes.”

She checked herself, then looked away from him.

“I wasn’t... with the puppy eyes,” she said.

“Fine, you weren’t.”

There was a pause, and then she picked up with:

“But I’ve seen Adam filet the hell out of some of the most brutal demon’s this town has to offer. I mean, he cut them open and strung them up like he was making his own personal art statement.” Spike gave her a wondering look and she waved it away. “I’m just saying; it’s an exhibition you don’t want to see. Ever. And I really don’t think you’d want to volunteer as one of the exhibitees.”

“Exhibi- what now?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Buffy, I’m tougher than I look.”

“So am I, but he made me fly through the air like a paper airplane. I’ve fought you. I know your strength.” She put a hand on his arm and made him stop, fastening her gaze in his. “But he’s stronger than you are. Than I am. Than anything I’ve ever faced before. If you have to fight him, you’ll lose, Spike.”

“Guess I’ll have to make sure it doesn’t come to a fight,” he simply replied.

“Damn it, if you’re doing this for me, then...”

“Will this help you?” he stopped her. She hesitated, but the look on her face gave him his answer. “Then don’t question it,” he added. “It’s not a sacrifice,” he then smirked. “I’m not on a bloody altar here. Besides, what do you expect me to do? Sit nicely in my crypt while all the action’s going down?” he added with a meaningful raise of one eyebrow.

He brought another cigarette out, stepping passed her and beginning to walk again.

She observed his back for the longest moment. There was a dread that rose and settled right next to the pulse thumping by the side of her throat. It was dark and deep and foreboding. But all she could do was follow him.

Revisited

They barely talked on their way back to the crypt. Buffy searched for an opening phrase, but this time it was her brain lacking in the coming-up-with-something-good department.

Spike was quietly asking himself if there was anything he wouldn’t do for this woman. He went down a very long list of possible scenarios – in which he lost some very important parts – and had to admit that he wouldn’t back out of them for anything – if she needed him there.

How depressing. How pathetic. How had this happened? How had William stepped forward and trampled down every demonic emotion he had possessed? How had this love even been permitted to sow its first seed? Where had the soil come from? It should have been doomed from the beginning. It should have been sickened by blackness, unable to struggle through with this searing light. It should have died before it began to make him live. Live like this. Through her.

Bloody hell.

He really was a wanker.

But he needed her now. He wondered if he had ever needed anyone quite like this.

No, not quite like this. Not even Dru.

She had strengthened what was already in him, while Buffy had brought forth something that shouldn’t even be there.

He glanced at her.

She had said she trusted him... Would she trust him without the chip? Would he trust himself? Had he declined the chance to rid himself of this barrier, because he was petrified of what lie beyond it? But even the thought of feeding felt so far away now. He knew it would render his love for her worthless if he ever did anything to betray her in that way. No, he could never do that. But, God, why was she so bleeding scared of letting him in?

“What are you thinking?” she asked, just as they entered the cemetery hosting his crypt.

He smiled.

“Questions that I’d like answered,” he shrugged.

“Like what?”

He stopped and she did the same. For a few seconds he simply eyed her, and then he slowly furrowed his brow.

“Like ‘who sent the invitation’,” he then replied and she blinked, wonderingly.

He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t need to as he simply looked over her shoulder. The next moment she had a familiar sensation fill her, and when she turned around she stood face to face with the last person she would have expected to show up in this undeclared fashion.

“Angel,” she mumbled, her mind going numb.

Indeed, it was. He smiled gently as he stepped forward.

“Hey,” he greeted, glancing at Spike as he added: “This the company you’re keeping these days?”

“It’s a step up from you, I know,” Spike nodded; adding in a conspiratorial whisper: “She’s still adjusting.”

“What’re you doing here?” Buffy asked Angel; giving Spike a look and making him merely raise his eyebrows in retort.

“That phone call sort of made me... curious.”

“Nervous,” Spike translated helpfully. “See how his left fingers are all twitchy? Nerves are all tingly. I remember the signs.” He paused. “Then again, I guess you already know them, don’t you?”

The last came out rather sourly, and Buffy sighed unnoticeably before she turned to him and said:

“Maybe you should head home?”

“Maybe I should,” he agreed, not moving.

“Spike,” she murmured.

“Oh, wink-wink-nudge-nudge,” he replied. “Right, of course, wouldn’t wanna be in the way of you two catching up and... catching up. The way I reckon you would. You would, wouldn’t you?” he asked Angel, who narrowed his eyes and then smiled self-assuredly.

“Sure would,” he replied.

Buffy could feel the tension building and she laughed to break it.

“Yes, catching up is much needed, so you go home, Spike, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Great,” Angel said, taking a step forward to stand at Buffy’s side.

“Great,” Spike mimicked him, though his face was far from relaxed and his gaze was nearly burning a hole through the other.

“Great,” Buffy nodded, grabbing Angel’s arm and beginning to walk away. “Goodnight!” she added.

Spike gritted his teeth. He couldn’t move his feet from the spot for another two minutes.

Angel got his arm out of Buffy’s hold as they rounded a row of tall hedges, which rendered them out of sight from the other vampire. Angel had a soft, questioning crinkle between his eyebrows, and as Buffy looked up at him, she came to the conclusion that she didn’t particularly like it.

“What exactly has happened since I left here?” he asked.

“You mean since the last time you dropped by uninvited?” she shot mercilessly, crossing her arms over her chest in a defiant gesture.

He decided to overlook it.

“You’re patrolling with Spike now?” he inquired, incredulous.

“We weren’t... patrolling, per say.”

“Then what, per say, were you doing?”

“He was helping me...”

“Now, there... right there. That’s the problem.” Buffy frowned, impatience seeping into her features. “’Helping’ shouldn’t be present in that sentence,” Angel elaborated, but his sarcasm was lost as her expression merely grew annoyed.

“Yeah, well, you haven’t exactly been around to know what’s going on, have you?”

“You’re putting this on me? You hanging out with Spike is my fault?”

“That’s not...!” she trailed off, drawing a slight breath to calm down. “That’s not what I’m saying,” she continued. “It’s just... I’ve barely spoken to you since Christmas. It wasn’t easy for me to call you. And I hate not being able to talk to you.”

“I’m here now,” he said with a smile. “Lines of communication are wide open. Talk to me.”

She clenched her jaws together.

“It’s the same old. ...Big Bad seems larger than life and impossible to destroy. We’re working on a way to get to him... He has a plan we’re trying our best to figure out. Willow and Giles are heading up the brain of the operation, and me and...”

She stopped herself, eyes in Angel’s, and he was hit with realization as to where that sentence had been going.

“You and Spike,” he filled in. “He’s actually working with you on this?”

“Can you stop with the bafflement? It’s not like he never did anything good in his life.”

“In his life, I don’t know what he did. In his death, he never was much for benevolence.”

Buffy met his gaze steadily.

“Until now,” she replied.

He stared at her, then slowly began to walk, and she followed the movement.

“You’re call was about him, wasn’t it?” he asked, and when she refused to answer he shook his head a little. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” she muttered.

“And you believe him, don’t you?” he merely continued.

“I don’t need this from you,” she said.

“You ask me about vampires capability to love, I’ll tell you what I think is the truth. But Spike! If you’d told me you were asking on behalf of that bleached...”

“I was asking on behalf of me!” she interrupted him, coming to a halt and facing him. “And so what if I’d told you? You’d told me he isn’t capable? He isn’t like the rest of you? That I shouldn’t believe a single word he says, because everything that comes out of his mouth is untruths and deceit!”

Angel observed her, then replied:

“How’d you know?”

She pulled her hands through her hair in frustration.

“I’m getting so sick of this,” she said. “Of people telling me what I should or shouldn’t believe. You haven’t been close to him in a century, what the hell do you know!”

She exclaimed the last, and his eyes widened.

“Implying that you have been close to him?”

She swallowed, then raised her chin a little, but her confidence was wavering.

“It wasn’t... supposed to... I made a wish,” she then said.

“To be close to Spike?”

“No, you idiot! ...To be fifteen again. And I ended up in Spike’s... care, or what you wanna call it.” Angel looked stricken, and she smiled, though it was melancholy. “He saved my life, Angel.”

“So you decide to depend on him?”

“I’m not,” she shook her head. “But I would, if it came to that.”

“Of course it’ll come to that. He’ll see to it that it comes to that. Dammit, Buffy, you can’t...”

“It’s already done,” she once more cut in, this time gently. “I’m sorry if you came all this way for nothing. And I’m sorry if you can’t understand. But things are different now. Between you and me. Between me and him. There’s no use arguing about it, or saying it shouldn’t be this way, ‘cause there’s nothing either of us can do about it.”

Angel took a step closer, watching her face.

“Are you telling me that you...?”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. She looked at him for a short moment, then said:

“No.”

There was a lapse of silence, where they both observed each other.

“Things with you and me... They’re not that different,” he finally said tentatively, smiling a little.

She returned it.

“But things with me and him are,” she replied.

“Then I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Does any of us really know what we’re doing?” she retorted, and he smirked. “Don’t worry about me,” she added.

“Never,” he smiled, and she huffed, but smiled as well.

Spike put the flame his lighter produced to the wick of one of the candles still standing in the niches of the small windows of his crypt. He had lit most of them already. He didn’t know what for. Perhaps in hope that they’d serve as a beacon. That she’d find her way there. He wanted to see her. Even if it was briefly. See if he could smell the bastard on her.

There was a knock at the door and he paused, glancing that way and then clicking his lighter shut, waiting.

Soon enough the door slid open, and the bastard stepped through it.

“Well, well,” Spike grumbled. “I’d say welcome, but we’d both know I’d be lying.”

Angel offered an ironic smile, then sauntered further into the room, looking around.

“Wow,” he said. “This place must be a sure card with the ladies. Or is that... ‘lady’ these days? Feel like I can never be sure, time does fly so fast when you’re happy never seeing each other.”

“Mh,” Spike agreed with a small smirk. “She tell you then?”

“No,” Angel replied, having a seat in the armchair; something which had Spike’s gaze darken considerably. Angel paid no heed. “She didn’t tell me that. She told me other, more disturbing, things. Things that brought me here.”

“You come to defend her from the evil undead? Yes, I would think that’s what you bleeding well do best? Only, usually, that involves you skipping town... So whatever did you come here for?”

Angel’s face grew set at that, and so the sarcasm was dropped, their eyes serious in the others.

“What are you doing?” Angel finally demanded.

“It’s out of my hands. I bloody can’t...”

“Don’t make excuses to me!” Angel exclaimed, rising. “I don’t know what this rooted fascination with Slayers is with you, but if you’re gonna kill her, at least be as upfront about it as you always have been. I’m not putting up with you jerking her around like this!”

Spike smiled at that, and Angel stared at him – taken aback.

“Would be so much easier if I was,” Spike said. “Would be a relief – to be honest. To be able to say this is what I’m doing, this is why I’m bloody doing it... Here’s where I stand.” He paused, shaking his head a fraction, then continued: “But now all that’s a blur. And she’s in the middle of it, stirring it the hell up. You know what I mean. I can see it on your face. She reaches into places you didn’t know were there and rips them to the surface. Ain’t pretty, but there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. ...I don’t wanna do anything about it.”

He mumbled the last, looking away from his grandsire and turning back to the candles. He lit the last three, feeling Angel’s eyes follow his every movement.

“Thought she was already taken.”

“She is,” Spike muttered, turning back to the other.

“Riley... Soldier, right?”

“Bloody poof, if you ask me.”

“Not really asking.”

Spike shrugged at that.

Angel hesitated, then added:

“So, what’s he like?”

Spike glanced at him.

“Tall, dark, irritating – regular photocopy of you,” he answered.

Angel sighed.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here... Buffy’s far from needing my protection.”

Spike smirked, walking into the kitchen and grabbing two bags of blood.

“That’s the trick, though,” he said. “She doesn’t need it, but she wants it. And you can sense she wants it. So you watch over her from afar, yeah... Don’t wanna crowd her, but still can’t help it. To ease your own mind. And even if she’ll never admit it, she’s grateful. She needs you there, right? Needs to know you’re in the shadows... Makes them seem a little less scary.”

He handed Angel the cup of blood he’d prepared, and Angel took it, looking into it before taking a mouthful.

“I guess,” he then said. “Sometimes I wonder though.”

They took a seat.

“What?”

“If she really wants it? If it’s not all...”

“Just in your head?” Spike filled in. “Yeah...”

They were quiet for a while, finishing their dinner.

“Good stuff,” Angel commented as they rose and he handed Spike the cup.

“Yeah, buy it off a new butcher. Fresher,” Spike replied.

Angel eyed him for a second, then headed for the door.

“Ever in L.A.” he said.

“I won’t come a’ knocking,” Spike reassured and Angel smirked.

“That’s my boy,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Spike turned his eyes skyward before heading into the kitchen area.

He had no idea what to make of that encounter.

Ath opened her eyes and looked at Jonathan, who was sleeping next to her.

She reached out a hand and touched his face gently.

They were in his room. All night they had talked about nothing at all, it felt, and still, somehow, about only important things. He was such a beautiful soul. He had so much goodness in him that had been wasted for so many years. She felt for him.

They had gotten so sleepy they had finally given in, and she could see dawn spread its chilled glow outside the window. So, then they must have slept for a few hours. They had done nothing more than that, and she felt like it was a revelation.

“Beloved,” she whispered, moving closer and softly placing her lips to his forehead.

He stirred a little and she smiled. Sliding her cheek against his she let her mouth find his, kissing him gently.

What a new sensation it was. Flesh upon flesh.

He woke then.

Soon the pressure she was applying was reciprocated and then his tongue carefully made her part her lips. Her eyes opened in surprise. But she met the deepening kiss and she felt the most extraordinary feeling right below her waist, in the center of her... A fire that had never been there before, not like this.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave into it.

Buffy glanced up at Willow, who was studying. Well, technically Buffy was studying too, only she had given up trying to concentrate about half an hour earlier. That time had been spent in desperate search of how to talk to Willow about what had happened last night.

“Angel thinks I’m making a mistake trusting Spike,” she finally blurted, Willow raising her head in surprise.

“Does that have anything to do with trigonometry?” she asked and Buffy whined. “Alright,” Willow said, sitting up. “What happened?”

“Well, Angel stopped by last night.”

“Angel was here?”

“Yes. Yes, he was. He stumbled across me and Spike...”

“Oh, my God, what were you doing!”

“Talking!” Buffy replied with a frown. “Jeez, Will.”

“Sorry,” Willow said. “Go on.”

“And he got all stare-y and Spike got all stare-y and so I took Angel out of there and then he asked me what was going on and I told him and he said he thought I was making a mistake. Well, he didn’t say it in so many words, but he pretty much stated it. Almost with a line under it. A thick, black line in permanent marker. And know what really annoys me? He has no right. He has no right to barge in here and presume he knows exactly what’s going on, like he’s wiser than the wise, like he’s... Giles. Yeah, that’s who he was acting like. The father patting the child on the head saying no, no, don’t jump off the bridge or you’ll drown, little one. What does he think, that I can’t swim!”

Willow furrowed her brow, unsure of if she was expected to comment.

“Um...” she tried. “You did drown that one time.”

“Hey! Not the point,” Buffy said. “And it wasn’t from jumping off a bridge, so it doesn’t count.”

“Were you gonna... jump off a bridge?”

“No! Not a bridge. Spike’s the bridge.”

“Spike’s the bridge?”

“Yes.”

“Where does he lead?”

“What?”

“If Spike’s a bridge, where’d he take you?”

“I’m not walking on the bridge; I’m standing, holding the rail, about to jump off the bridge.”

“Oh... But wasn’t Angel talking about how it was wrong for you to be with Spike?”

“Not with.”

“Near Spike?”

“Yeah...” Buffy said hesitantly.

“So then, if you’re jumping off Spike... doesn’t that take you away from him? Shouldn’t Spike be the river?”

“What?”

“The river. You know, like how you know how to swim, ergo you can take care of yourself and make whatever decisions need to be made about whatever relationships you wanna engage in. Wasn’t that what you were saying?”

Buffy pouted, sitting back.

“I don’t know; I’m all confused now.”

Calor looked up as the front door opened. Ath practically twirled her way through it. Her face was split in a smile. He felt irritation billow up inside of him.

“Where’ve you been! I’ve been worried about you,” he stated as he met her half way.

Her smile widened.

“Humanity’s catching up with you,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek before heading into the kitchen. “I’m starving,” she stated, opening the fridge.

“Joyce made something with meat last night,” Calor said. “It was quite good. The texture was rather odd. I suppose it’s all a matter of taste. Why are you beaming?”

“Cale, you’d never understand why I’m beaming,” she replied, taking a pint of ice cream out of the freezer and retrieving a bowl and spoon.

“I needed to talk to you last night,” he said.

“I know. But I had better things to do.”

“You forget why we’re here.”

She met his gaze, growing somber in the next blink, putting the spoon down.

“Did something happen?”

“Angel came.” Ath’s eyebrows rose. “He confronted Spike. The balance has shifted.”

“It might not have.”

“Ath...”

She shook her head, walking around the island to stand next to him instead, lowering her voice.

“Even if it has, it may be what’s best; what’s meant to happen.”

“What?”

“Maybe you were supposed to cast that spell. Maybe our father knew you were going to, because he set you up, ever think of that? Maybe this has all been a wild goose chase, designed to lead us in circles, bringing us back to precisely where we started.”

Calor stared at her.

“I know what happened last night,” he then said.

Her eyes widened.

“Nothing happened.”

“It must’ve, if you’re suddenly aiming at turning this into an X-file.” She grew impatient with not comprehending the jibe and he waved it away, continuing with: “Bortha is going to call on you, be sure of that. Nothing goes passed him unnoticed.”

“I just want to know what the purpose is!” she exclaimed. “After all, even we can’t control love, Calor. And that’s why they sent us down here, to strive to attempt the impossible. Love was why your spell made everything go wonky. You can’t put that emotion out there to be tapped into and expect it to not have some effect on its environment.”

“Are you calling the vampire an environment now?”

“If you have a plan, I’m willing to hear it. But don’t expect me to come up with a brilliant solution. I think my work is done.”

“Your work’s done? You’re what brought us to this point. You and your meddling, straightening out of emotions.” He huffed and she glowered. “Yes, all of this was brought forth by my mistake, but you have added your share to it. And frankly I fear there’s no way to set this straight. I have thought for some time I might not be able to rectify it. If this means banishment to an earthly existence, so be it. You’re right. I tapped into forces well beyond my control... And the repercussions are what lie before us.”

She eyed him wonderingly, but he’d say no more and she felt she needed to try and make him understand at least some aspect of where she was coming from. Why she was feeling as she was.

“We have been given a chance,” she said. “One that’s never been given to any of our kin. To see the world from its point of view, and not ours. Have you taken it yet, Cale? Have you enjoyed the Earth? It’s a grand place.”

He observed her for a moment.

“You’re in love,” he mumbled and she blushed for the first time, looking away from him. “Do you realize what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You will have to leave him. No matter the outcome.”

The sudden hurt in her gaze struck him like a blow to the cheek, and she slowly turned from him, walking into the dining room and continuing to the hall she softly replied:

“I know.”

Buffy smiled with unhidden glee as Spike threw his cards on the table. They were in his crypt, dawn just spreading its first glow outside the windows.

“Happy now?” he asked.

The emotion in her expression changed at that, and she could feel it all over.

“I think I am,” she replied gently, and he smiled as he slipped one ring off one finger, putting it on the table and then pushing it across to her.

“Your winnings, milady,” he said, and she gently reached out, picking it up.

A diamond almost blinded her as it caught the first rays of the sun and she glanced up at him. When she looked back at what she had in her hand it had turned into a small bird, blinking its black eyes as it observed her. It took flight, and banged its wings against the slanting wall above her bed.

She was in her room.

Rising she ran up to her window, trying to get it open, but unable to. She reached back one hand and was about to ram it through one of the panes, but the feel of fingers on hers stopped her, and she heard Ath’s voice softly whisper in her ear:

“It’s not the only way.”

Buffy turned her head, but the room behind her was empty.

She walked out of it and down the hall to the stairs, looking back as she heard the bird follow her. Proceeding down the stairs she opened the front door and stepped outside. Night crept its familiar paths around her, and then the bird fluttered passed her shoulder, flying into the shadows.

She looked where it had gone and for a brief moment longed for wings.

“It wouldn’t make it easier,” Calor said, standing at her side.

“Maybe it would.”

“You’d fall. I know.”

“How?”

“I know these things.” He looked at her, soberly. “You would break, and scatter, and no one could ever put you back together again.”

“And who can put me back together again now?”

“You,” Spike said, and she turned around to face him as he stepped down the ladder of his crypt. “Inside perspective, remember?”

“But I can’t see? I can’t get this off,” she mumbled, having something in front of her that blurred her sight.

“I can,” he said, reaching out and carefully brushing it away.

She stared at him, feeling as though she was a fool for believing that she could move on from this. Then she smiled, and he returned it.

“But you know I’m already gone,” he said and she reached up a hand, gently placing it against his cheek.

Suddenly he was surrounded by light and his skin burned her as she touched it. She felt her eyes widen and then he crumbled into nothing before her. Behind the spot where he had been, stood Adam. The grotesque figure of him seemed to grow into nothing but a cloud of darkness, expanding to swallow her whole.

She woke with a jerk as Giles’ hand touched her shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asked and she sat up, getting sleep out of her eyes and nodding a little, unsure of what had just happened.

“Bad dream,” she mumbled.

He eyed her for another moment, then turned back to Willow and Tara.

Really bad dream, Buffy thought, her heart still hammering in her chest.

She had to suppress a need to go and see if the vampire was alright. What if something had happened last night?

No, she told herself. No, nothing has. But something’s going to.

At that she felt a knot form in her stomach. It was big and dark and threatened to swallow her whole.

For once Spike hadn’t been able to go to sleep. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t envelope him. Wouldn’t hush all the disturbed worries circling his head. Wouldn’t grant him needed rest. Finally he thought to hell with it and got up, deciding to go see if he couldn’t find her, since she seemed not to be about to come knocking down his door anytime soon. He hated running after her like this, but there was only so much a bloke could take. And when she was running around with ex-blokes and current-blokes and God knew who else...

Bloody hell. She had done this to him, and then she’d left him to die. Maybe all the signs he kept thinking he saw on her every time they were close to each other, were all wrong. Perhaps he was just kidding himself. Like she had once said: perhaps he really was only seeing what he wanted to see.

Fifteen minutes later he slammed the front door of the Summers home shut behind him, pushing his duster off his head. Waving his hand a little at the smoke emanating from him, he had a look around. Seemed empty. Of course, it was a Saturday afternoon. Slayer was probably meeting up with her posse someplace and mummy Summers surely had better things to do than to...

“Spike?”

Busted.

“It is Spike, isn’t it?” Joyce asked, coming from the dining room and into the hall, where a very old vampire was growing very sheepish.

“Yeah...”

She didn’t look as welcoming as she always had before, and soon enough it hit him why.

“I know you didn’t approve of Buffy staying with me, and I want to apologize,” he said, amazed at how quickly the words fell from his mouth. “It wasn’t planned, in any way. And I did try to make her go the hell away, but she’s so bloody stubborn! ...All I want said is: I know you didn’t want her there and I know I didn’t have any right to... to take care of her.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Joyce... Erg, Mrs. Summers, your daughter is one of the best people I’ve ever known.” He paused, retracing his entire history in one fell swoop and promptly correcting himself by continuing: “Actually, she is the only really good person I’ve ever known. I want you to understand that I respect her. That I didn’t before, but that I do now. So maybe some good came out of it.”

“Is that really why you came here today? To offer your apologies?”

“No,” he confessed.

“You came here for Buffy.”

“Yes... She in?”

“No, she’s at Giles’.”

“I sort of figured that. Just not on the way here.”

She looked at his shoulder, where a small pillar of smoke was still visible. He noticed where her gaze was resting, his own going there as well, and he quickly flailed one hand at the spot, smiling a little.

“Would you like some coffee? Or tea, perhaps?”

He couldn’t hide how unexpected this show of hospitality was to him. He had been certain he was a second away from being politely thrown out the door.

“Sure,” he said. “Either.”

“Got a fresh pot just made,” she said. “Come on in.”

She led the way into the kitchen and he hesitantly followed.

“It’s coffee,” she said, grabbing the pot and a cup, putting the latter down before pouring the liquid into it.

“I don’t mind.”

She gave him a half smile, sliding the cup over to him before picking up her own, which had already been prepared. There was silence for a short while, Spike bringing the cup to his lips and taking a slow sip.

“From what I gather you’ve lived for quite some time, so you must’ve known some good people before meeting my daughter,” Joyce commented, making Spike raise his eyebrows.

“I suppose,” he agreed. “But none quite like her.”

“I don’t think anyone’s quite like Buffy.”

He smiled.

“No, not quite.”

There was the first hint of a real smile on her lips and then she leaned forward against the island, eyeing him for a long moment.

“I’d rather you left her alone, you clearly have already understood that,” she said and he nodded slowly. “I don’t understand, though,” she then sighed. “What is it about your kind that draws her to you like a moth to a flame? It seems like one of fate’s cruel ironies.”

“One of them,” he nodded. “The other big one is our kind being so completely drawn to her...”

He trailed off after that, wondering if he should speak so openly about this unyielding devotion he held for her daughter... She didn’t approve of it, after all.

But as she once again observed him he felt he should be entirely frank with her. She spoke before he got the chance to, however.

“I can’t say anymore what’s best for Buffy, and it pains me immensely, but I have to admit it to myself. She has grown on her own, has been forced to, and she’s moved out from under my wing. My protective urges seem fruitless, even pointless. Well, don’t they?” He gave a nod. “I guess I’ll never truly outgrow them, but I’ll have to overlook them. Let her make her own choices. Her own mistakes.”

“I think, once she makes a choice, it’s usually the right one,” he mumbled. “She’s not very prone to mistakes.”

“You think?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’ve only seen her... fight a few times... Every time it’s like the first. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

“I know what you mean. She’s got one mean left hook.”

Joyce raised her eyebrows at that and the vampire again grew sheepish, smirking a little.

“She’s a clever girl,” he then stated.

“Yes,” Joyce said slowly, “but she is only a girl.”

He smiled.

“She’s so much more than that,” he remarked.

“How old are you, really?”

“Wouldn’t it be better you didn’t know?”

“No,” she replied firmly, “tell me.”

“Almost a century... and a half,” he finally said and her eyes grew.

She was silent for two dragged out minutes, where he waited for any kind of reaction but she just stared into her coffee. Finally she shook her head a little and fastened her gaze in his once more.

“Buffy’s only nineteen,” she said, voice soft with incomprehension.

He couldn’t help the nearly apologetic look that came into his eyes. He didn’t know how to explain this to her.

“I know,” he finally said.

“Compared to you, she’s still a child.”

“No, she’s far from a child,” he replied gently. “I know you know that.”

She took a mouthful of coffee, making a face as it had cooled considerably, then she gave a small shrug, not quite looking at him.

“She’s been talking about a boy... At her school,” she said, locking eyes with Spike again.

“Mrs. Summers, Buffy and I are associates, partners...” he said, filling in with: “Nothing more.”

“You don’t like it very much, do you?” she asked.

“’S fine,” he said, defensively. “’S not the plan I had when I came to this bleedin’ town, but I suppose it works, since it’s the only way to work out the kinks between us. As it is, I’d rather be on her good side than her bad side anyway.”

She looked as though she could see right into him.

“That’s not what I meant,” she then said.

His resolve from before had left him and now he didn’t know how to respond.

“She’s with the boy,” he finally murmured.

Joyce watched as he drank some coffee. An odd feeling rested at the base of her spine, and it disturbed her. She remembered the few encounters she had had with him. He seemed different. More together, and yet somehow completely torn apart. His eyes held such sadness now. The power she had seen on him seemed changed as well. He had strength about him which she took to be a part of his being; she had felt the same emanate from Angel. But the destructive force of that strength now seemed lessened.

“Refill?” she asked as he put the cup down.

Buffy stepped through the door at a quarter passed eleven that evening. Her head was pounding. She had hit her temple on the edge of a tombstone walking home. No attacker, not even a branch to stumble on, just her feet... She felt like a complete fool and had thanked her lucky stars that no one had been around to witness the embarrassment. She supposed she had been slightly preoccupied, though. Trying to keep from walking passed Spike’s crypt; purely to see if there were any candles lit, of course. She had no idea what she would say to him when she saw him next. And she wondered what sort of mood he’d be in.

Maybe that was why she was pushing the encounter on the future as much as possible. The longer it took, the more time he would have to... forgive and forget? Damn it, it wasn’t like she was betraying him. She and he weren’t... involved. If he got a little jealous there was nothing she could do about that. She would see Angel again. And again. And probably again after that. She didn’t want Spike pouting and whining and behaving like a child just because she happened to still get along with her ex...

The sound of laughter interrupted her thoughts and she paused in the doorway before closing the door behind her, a frown placing itself on her brow.

It was her mother’s laugh. And... But it couldn’t be.

She unbuttoned her jacket as she walked forward into the living room, stopping short, her brow untangling as her eyebrows rose instead.

Spike looked slightly taken aback, but Joyce kept her smile on, getting to her feet.

“You’re home,” she said, stroking Buffy’s arm as she passed her. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

“I’m... I’m fine,” Buffy said hesitantly, her eyes not having left Spike’s. As Joyce left the room – not paying her daughter’s decline of a beverage any heed – Buffy added: “What is this?” Spike gave her a look, not understanding. “What are you doing in my house? With my mother?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Where’s the trust?”

“Spike, I’m only asking...”

“Are you?”

She felt how tense she was getting. The last time she had seen him... This was the last place she had expected to meet him. And this was a situation she would never even have fathomed.

She slipped her coat off her shoulders, throwing it aside and coming up to sink down on the couch next to him.

“I came here looking for you,” he said and she turned her head to him.

“Adam?”

“No...”

She eyed him.

“Angel,” she then said and he smiled slightly, unsure of why he suddenly felt younger than her. “Look...”

“You’re not gonna tell me anything I haven’t already heard you say in my head,” he silenced her. “Let’s leave it.”

“Fine,” she agreed.

He was silent for a moment, then asked:

“Snog him?”

She gave him a reproachful look, then had to smile a little.

“No,” she answered, giving his leg a push with her own. “What kinda girl do you take me for?” she added.

He smirked.

“Apologies, lady,” he said, inclining his head, making her smile widen.

Joyce returned with Buffy’s coffee, Buffy taking the cup, but refraining from drinking. The caffeine wouldn’t improve the still pounding sensation in her head.

“Thanks,” she still said as Joyce sat down in the armchair.

“Spike was just telling me a pretty amusing story,” Joyce said. “Perhaps you’d like to hear it?”

“Maybe I’ve heard it,” Buffy remarked, eyes on Spike.

“No, you haven’t,” he replied. “It’s about Drusilla.”

A flash of Spike entwined in deep lip-lock with the vampiress came before Buffy’s eyes and she blinked it away quickly.

“Oh, do tell,” she simply said, her heart beat elevating precariously.

“We were in Prague. A while back. She was getting weaker by the day, and I wanted to do something nice for her...”

“This doesn’t involve children, does it?”

“Think your mum would find it amusing if it did?”

He had a point and she settled back to listen. She glanced over at her mother, who seemed relaxed. Enjoying herself. What had happened to bring this about? Spike went on telling his story, Joyce smiling and Buffy doing the same, though she was barely hearing the words. Her mind was racing with other thoughts. With a rush of possibility, belief that this was the beginning of something. A diamond blinding her.

“Buffy,” Joyce’s voice broke through.

“Sorry...” she said. “Must’ve zoned out. I’m a little tired.”

“Go up and go to bed, I’ll deal with the dishes,” Joyce instructed.

Buffy glanced at Spike, but feeling how tired she truly was she slowly rose, walking around the table to give her mother a kiss goodnight. When she turned, Spike got to his feet and there wasn’t more than a few inches separating them. She looked up at him, feeling her heart jump into an eager thump within her. His fingers moved up, slipping over her forehead to her temple, moving away her hair and eyeing the bruise beginning to show.

“You okay?” he asked and she brought her hand up, sliding it over his and then bringing his down with it as she lowered her arm.

“Aren’t I always?” she asked with a small smile, but her hand still rested lightly in his and she thought of what he was going to do for her, what he was willing to do for her, what he was risking for her.

Because it was for her he would go and stand face to face with Adam. She didn’t want to consider what might happen if his poker face ever slipped.

She remembered her dream, what it had felt like when his ashes had scattered before her. Like a piece of her went with it, irrevocably.

“No,” he murmured now, his free hand gently touching the shoulder that had been wounded, what felt like years ago now, and adding: “Not always.”

She suddenly grew aware of how not alone they were in the room, and made herself break away from him, stepping back and turning a smile on her mother.

“Goodnight,” she said and Joyce gave a nod, watching as Buffy left the room.

“Well,” the elder said, rising.

“Let me help you with that,” Spike offered, grabbing the emptied plate of brownies – supplied by Ath – and his and Buffy’s cup, leaving Joyce her own to bring into the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Joyce said and they walked through the living room in silence until she said: “Drusilla... You talk of her with great affection.”

“I think I’ll always feel affection for the crazy bird, doesn’t matter what she did to me.”

“I think I understand that,” Joyce nodded. “Buffy’s father and I... Well, it’s sort of the same.”

“Mh. Can’t choose who you love, or isn’t that the tune?”

“Yes, and isn’t it unfortunate?”

Buffy leaned against the wall at the top step of the stairs, wishing her legs didn’t ache to go down and rejoin them.

Spike glanced up at the ceiling. If the Slayer thought he couldn’t sense how close she was, she was delusional. He wanted to will her back down, almost tried to reach out for her with everything in him and persuade her to come stand at his side, but then the door opened and Ath and Calor came through it.

Joyce turned around, a smile on.

“Hello there,” she greeted.

“Hey, Joyce,” Ath smiled back. “Still up, I see.”

“Unexpected company.”

“Ah. Where’s Buffy?”

“At the top of the stairs,” Spike replied in Joyce’s place, waiting for only a moment before he heard soft padding of feet aloft.

He couldn’t hold down a smile.

Ath noticed it, and he noticed that she noticed it, but he merely cocked an eyebrow, bringing out a fag before heading to the door.

“Joyce,” he gave a nod goodbye and she smiled, returning it before he exited.

“I’m off to bed,” she said. “Don’t stay up too late.”

The twins gave her a smile each as she walked out of the room, proceeding upstairs.

“That vampire really doesn’t like me,” Ath muttered.

“He barely seems to see me,” Calor commented.

“You’re not close to Buffy. He can sense that I am. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m pretty close to Buffy,” Calor disagreed silently, making his sister smile another smile.

“I might try to make amends,” she said.

“For what?”

“For barging into their lives unannounced. He didn’t like it. He doesn’t like things he can’t trust.”

“Hmh,” Calor huffed, “no wonder he’s the way he is.”

“I’d like to rebuild whatever bridges I’ve burned,” she said.

“What for?”

“Because I want to.”

It had been a good evening, though he never would have expected to have anything in common with Joyce. They had been able to speak quite freely about a lot of things. She had been curious about the life he had lead, and though he hadn’t told her the more gruesome details, he had tried to be as honest as he could. She knew things, of course. Things she must’ve heard from Buffy. Slowly but surely, though, she had started to open up about the fears she had for her daughter. Once she started talking it seemed like such a relief to her to get to speak about it. It was strange how much he had to realize that he shared them. The thought of Buffy actually ever dying...

No, he didn’t want it even near his head.

He stepped into his crypt and immediately knew he wasn’t alone. Turning his head to the right his gaze landed in Adam’s.

Alright, he thought. Here we go.

Ad Noctum

“I am hoping for good news,” Adam stated.

Spike closed the front door behind him, stepping into his crypt and facing the large demon.

“Regretfully I have to tell you I don’t have any. Messing with the Slayer’s head... Didn’t work. Tried to split the group. No luck. But I told you, they’re a tight-nit little click of teenspirit.”

“And you tried?”

“Even put some elbow-grease into it... Didn’t help.”

“I see,” Adam said, though he looked hugely disapproving and far from seeing eye to eye with anything he had just been told. “Are you still welcome among them?”

Spike smiled.

“You know it,” he replied.

Adam pressed a button placed in the metal plating of his chest and a floppy disk popped out. He held it up.

“Take this to her,” he said. “It’s imperative that she has it in her possession. Soon the wheels will start churning, you see. And I do so need her help to grind the bones.”

Buffy spun around, lying on her back, refusing to open her eyes. She was going to go to sleep if it so killed her.

Stop thinking about him, she grumbled to herself. Stop thinking about him. Stopthinkingabouthimstopthinkingabouthimstopthinkingabouthim!

But the look in his blue eyes when he rested them in hers wouldn’t leave her this time.

“This is impossible,” Calor grumbled the following morning, huddled over a crossword puzzle at the breakfast table.

Buffy leaned closer to look at what he was doing, frowned and refrained from even attempting to help.

“Thought you were supposed to be a smart guy,” she remarked, teasingly.

“I am a smart guy!” he assured, too sulky to pick up on the tease. “I’m bright as a bloody light bulb. But I don’t connect the short words with these longer ones and the crisscrossing and... Ugh!”

Buffy smirked.

“Anyone who uses ‘bloody’ when they curse just flashes ignorance to me,” she said, pity in her voice before she rose, patting his shoulder and heading into the kitchen.

“That’s harsh,” he merely muttered. “Oh, and, by the way, did you invite Spike last night?”

“No. Apparently he stopped by and he and mom got to talking and... Why?”

“No reason. Ath was wondering.”

“Really? Why?”

“If you were okay with Spike coming over.”

“Oh... why? She wanna invite him over?”

“I don’t know,” Calor replied truthfully.

“Where is she?”

“She went to the store to get some supplies.”

“Baking again?”

“Yeah. She’s inexhaustible.”

There was silence for a short while.

“I didn’t know Ath liked Spike that much.”

“I don’t know that she does... I don’t even know why she wanted to know. I’m purely speculating. Don’t pay any attention to me.”

She smiled a little, but it faded.

Ath was a beautiful woman. The Slayer knew that in all practicality and reason she had no right to feel any stir of jealousy, not the way she had last night at the mention of Drusilla, and not the way she did now at the thought of Ath hosting any warmer emotions toward the vampire... that could be reciprocated. She was a very beautiful woman...

But she was starting something with Jonathan, wasn’t she?

Buffy looked at the kitchen door, but her hopes of it opening within ten seconds, letting Ath through it, proved false and she sat down on one of the stools, pulling the newspaper spread on the island to her and beginning to read with feigned patience.

She didn’t see Ath that morning since Willow soon called and asked her to come to Giles’, this before Ath had gotten back. So Buffy had spent most of the day at the apartment, talking things over with the Scoobies, reading up on old as well as new ways of war, trying to prepare for whatever Adam may throw their way. At seven o’clock there was a knock on the door, and without waiting for an invitation, Spike stepped through it.

Buffy, who had been lying on the couch, sat up a little too quickly at the sound of his voice. Feeling herself flushing as he turned his gaze in hers, she smiled a little and moved around, back then to him.

“Red,” he said as Willow came into the room.

She looked at him wonderingly and he brought out the disk, handing it to her.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, but it’s important that you find out. At least it is to Adam.”

Willow raised her eyebrows, then walked up to her laptop, already set up, and popped the disk in, taking a seat. Buffy rose, clearing her throat and straightening out her clothes, nonchalantly running a hand through her locks as she came up to join the others.

“What you got?” she asked, leaning with one hand against the desk.

“Not sure,” Willow mumbled.

Then Spike placed a hand on Buffy’s wrist and gently pulled her aside.

This new thrill of desire rushing forth whenever she was near him now, what was it the product of? Her trust? The small surge of longing that kept making itself known was one she knew well, and yet she wasn’t sure it was exactly the same. For some reason she didn’t care. She had finally given up trying to keep it away.

“He’s forging dark plans that involve you,” he said, voice low and she stared up at him, almost stepping into him, but forcing the want down the next moment.

“He came to see you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

He couldn’t remember. Why was he even there again? If it wasn’t to be standing in front of her... then why? His hand began to move up, his fingertips longing for the soft skin of her cheek, but he reverted it to his own neck, scratching it and taking a slight step back, saying an awkward hello to Giles, who looked at him rather funnily.

“Spike,” Buffy said, “what did he say?”

“He’s skirting the details, doesn’t wanna give it away,” he answered, wondering how to interpret the way she was studying him. “But it has something to do with that disk, and the final stages of whatever he’s planning. He needs you for it to succeed... I didn’t like the way he put it.”

“Did he act differently around you in any way?”

“No.”

“That’s good. I think. That’s good, right?”

“Should be,” he shrugged. “If he’d wrung my neck a little out of place... not so good.”

She smiled unexpectedly and he returned it, not able to restrain himself any longer as his hand moved up to her temple, using the injury she’d sustained the night before as an excuse as he touched the bruised part.

“Any pain?” he asked and he thought he heard her breath quivering as she gentle inhaled.

She shook her head a fraction, her eyes in his. They nearly flickered closed when he slid his fingers down her cheek, letting his hand fall away. She was so drawn to him she nearly followed the movement he made as he stepped back and turned around, heading for the door again.

“Good luck, Red,” he said and she gave him a crooked smile as he opened the door.

“I might come by later,” Buffy called after him.

“You do that,” he replied, stepping outside and disappearing from view.

Oh, but I shouldn’t, Buffy told herself. I really, really shouldn’t.

Her defenses were crashing and burning. However had he managed it? Or was the fault really her own? She struggled to remember what had brought them up in the first place.

Vampire. Right. Evil and undead. Right.

She glanced at the door, her fingertips carefully touching the bruise at her temple.

“Calor?”

He looked up as Ath entered the living room.

“You look tired. I thought you went to sleep.”

“No, I couldn’t... I wanted to talk to you, about what you said to me; about Jonathan... and me.”

He eyed her for a few seconds, then sighed.

“I’m sorry. But it’s the truth.”

“I know. And I know I never should have gotten involved with him, but... You can’t understand what it’s like, to look at someone and feel like you would give anything to make them smile. And once you realize you can, just by being there... being yourself... then you feel like you’re flying. It sounds so... human, I guess, and sappy-human at that, but it’s true.”

He looked sad.

“But you’re wrong,” he said softly. “I do know.”

She frowned, questioningly.

“I would give anything to make her smile again,” he continued, and Ath felt a flare of compassion rise within her. “I took it away from her. I was so foolish.”

“No,” Ath disagreed, sinking down next to him on the couch. “Not foolish, Cale. You thought you knew what was best for her. What she should want. What would bring that smile out.”

“You know that’s not true,” he murmured bitterly. “I wanted to show her how wrong she was. How the happiness she was experiencing, in the midst of the hardships and trials, should be cherished. But instead I stole it, and locked it up. I only brought more misery.”

“You’re wrong. You’re wrong, because once she understands...”

“But how can she ever relent to him!” Calor exclaimed. “It is too soon! All the growth they both were prescribed before submitting to any deeper emotions toward one another... If that does not take place, how can they truly find each other?”

Ath smiled at that, taking his hands in hers and making him settle down, catching his gaze and holding it as she said:

“They have grown. Can you not see how much they’ve grown?”

“Not enough,” Calor murmured. “We only have two more days. I feel I can’t see the right path anymore. I don’t know where to go from here.”

Ath didn’t know how to respond to that.

Buffy left Giles’ around eight and walked slowly, keeping an eye on the streets she passed for any sign of activity. There was none, and she hadn’t expected it. She was thinking about mundane things, trying not to let herself wonder what it was that was driving her to Spike’s crypt this evening.

I need to see Riley, she finally thought, unsure of where it had come from and why it had appeared.

Then again, she hadn’t seen him all weekend, so she supposed it was right.

Her mind drifted to her brief encounter with Angel. It had been nice to see him, though he had made her mad at him. On the other hand it had been weird. It felt like he was part of something far away... She had never believed that she could move on, that she could ever get over him, and she knew that a piece of her would always belong to him, but he was her past, and two nights ago she had understood just how much she had come to terms with that over the course of a year. So much had happened to her; she had grown in so many ways and learned so much about herself that she’d never known.

She hadn’t fully come to terms with how Angel had stepped into the Now and pointed his finger at her, as though he knew her better than she knew herself. As though he knew Spike better.

“But he doesn’t,” she said aloud, trying to punctuate her own argument against her old love.

And I’m seeing him tonight, as a friend, she then thought firmly. Ally, even... to see what he’s learned of our common emeny... enemy and to talk to him about... things that are of no real consequence to anyone but... him and me because that’s what friends... allies do. They talk. They sit on the couch and talk. And they light candles. To see. Maybe not candles. Sets a different mood in that dark crypt of his. Not really the friendly type of mood you’d need if you’re gonna sit on a couch and discuss strategies and the ugliest monster in the world and stuff of no consequence... But he doesn’t have a lamp. Because he doesn’t have any outlets. Because he lives in a crypt. Because he’s a vampire. Because he was bitten. And killed. A long, long time ago. Where was I again? Right. Lamps. Well, then we’ll just sit in the dark.

She could see the outline of his face, pale in the moonlight, opposite her on the couch and there was a suction of desire that she didn’t want to acknowledge in its fierceness.

No, no dark. Lot’s of candles, and separate seating.

She slowed down, having reached a fresh grave, the casket having been buried no later than that very afternoon.

“Hey,” she mumbled, reading off the tombstone. “Died yesterday, did you, Stephen?”

There was a knock on the door and Spike turned his head from the telly.

“Yeah?” he said.

The door slid opened and Ath stepped through it.

“Hi,” she said with a smile, holding up a basket of cookies. “Brought you a snack.”

“Ya-bloody-hoo.”

She raised her eyebrows, closing the door and setting the basket down on the nearest sarcophagus before coming up to where he was seated on the loveseat. Sitting down beside him she looked him over, then said:

“Your enthusiasm is very flattering.”

“And here I meant it to be sarcasm.”

“Look, I have a feeling that despite all this hostility... you have just a slight hunch that you can actually believe what I’ve been telling you over and over again.”

He held her gaze for the longest moment, then sighed barely noticeably.

“Reckon I might’ve a slight twinge, or the sort. With the type of energy flowing through you that you seem to have... You wanted the Slayer dead, she’d be dead by now.”

Ath smiled a small smile.

“Indeed.”

“When you touched my hands the other night,” he said, eyeing her now. “I felt like you read me.”

He didn’t know how else to phrase it. Her smile broadened.

“And I let you read a few pages of me,” she smirked.

As she said it, he remembered. He hadn’t before, but now he could see stars, all around him, as though he was in the middle of a memory. And then brightness, and safety. A feeling of complete safety. As though whatever happened to him was in some way meant to happen, even if it wasn’t planned.

He shook his head, then stared at her.

“What the bloody hell are you?”

“My brother and I... We’re guardians.”

“Guardians?” he repeated, then his expression changed as he thought he understood. “Of Buffy.”

“Of her linage,” Ath nodded, observing him closely.

“Why are you here, then? Is something... going to happen to her!”

“No!” she shook her head, smiling brightly now. “No, you mustn’t think that’s why we’re here. It’s a rather... tiring story. One I believe I would rather disclose to her first. If I must.” She added the last under her breath, keeping her smile on as she finished: “But the reason I’m here is because I don’t want you to fear me, or my brother. We’re leaving soon, anyways...”

“Your brother...” Spike murmured, failing to remember what this brother was supposed to look like. “Have I met him?”

“Yes,” she replied, unsure of where this was going, “many times.” She frowned. “You can’t recall it?”

“Strange, isn’t it?” he said.

Ath looked toward the heavens, wondering if her father had a part to play in this. When she moved her eyes down again they caught on letters carved into the crypt wall.

“What’s that?” she asked.

He looked wondering, then turned his head to what she was referring. It was a small inscription, engraved into the stone of the wall next to one of the windows. He had forgotten all about it, and now a rush of memories came flooding him. Of Buffy. Of why he had carved it there. As a reminder. Not a very long time ago.

“Ad noctum,” he said.

“Mh,” she nodded. “’Into darkness’.” She watched him for a moment. “Is that where you see yourself going? Is that all that you believe is there for you?”

“Not at all...” he replied. “It’s so I never forget where I came from. So I remember that’s where I could just as easily go back to, if I ever stop moving away from it.”

“And you’re moving away from it?”

“I’m nocturnal, there’s only so much I can do,” he quipped with a slight smile, and she returned it.

She paused for a moment, considering, and then she stated gently:

“You have a heart unlike any I have ever seen.” Reaching out she placed her hand over the still muscle in his chest and closed her eyes. “It’s beating,” she said. “Can you feel it?”

He felt a shockwave go through him, pain flitting into every pore before he had the most amazing sensation fill him. Pumping blood, and fighting pulse.

“You’re as real as anything near her,” Ath’s voice came from far away. “I was wrong. Remember that.”

Then he snapped back into the moment, her hand having been removed and her sitting coquettishly next to him, looking quizzical.

“You okay?” she asked.

He stared at her, wondering what sort of being she actually was. To have such tranquility and yet inhabit such awesome force was unlike much he had encountered.

“Yeah,” he then mumbled as an answer to her question.

“Good. Now, before I go, I need a favor from you.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s about those,” she said, nodding to the cookies. “I tried a new recipe and I feel they’re missing something.”

“You want me to eat a cookie?”

She smiled and nodded.

“It’s not paranormal in any way. No hidden sunshine or drops of holy water, if that was what you were thinking,” she assured.

“It wasn’t,” he replied, rising and walking over to the plate.

She rose as well, following in his footsteps. He grabbed one and held it up, eyeing it before turning his gaze in the goddess’. Then he took a bite, and she looked pleased, as well as expectant.

“Well?” she asked.

“It’s good,” he said, chewing. “It’s chocolate-y. Sort of spicy too... What’s in ‘ere?”

“A true chef never reveals her secrets, especially when it comes to the sweets.”

He smirked, swallowing. She placed a hand on his arm and stepped a little closer as she said:

“I am sorry if I alarmed you with my presence. I never meant to.”

“’S alright. Would like to hear the story of your reason for being here, though.”

She smiled at that, just as the door opened and Buffy stepped through it. She stopped short, staring at them and blinking in surprise.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Didn’t mean to interrupt...”

“Gosh, no,” Ath laughed, stepping away from Spike and coming up to the Slayer. “I was just dropping off some samples, wanted to see if there might be business to be made with the undead. You know, since their taste buds are different.”

“Right,” Buffy said, trying to make her smile not as strained as it felt. “Sugars turning into salt... Don’t want that.”

Ath smiled.

“I’ll see you at the house?” she said, stepping passed Buffy and pausing in the doorway, looking back at Spike. “Bring the plate back, will you?” she asked, not waiting for a reply before proceeding outside, closing the door behind her.

Buffy locked her gaze with Spike’s, who was brushing crumbs from his hands. He smiled a little.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she muttered, walking up to the plate and grabbing a cookie before heading up to the loveseat to sit down; a small puff of dust rising from her clothes as she did so.

“See you got lucky.”

She stiffened, turning her head to him with an irate frown on her brow. He tilted his head a little to one side and she looked away from him again. He brought the plate with him as he came up to her.

“His name was Stephen,” she grumbled. “I can assure you it didn’t take long.”

“Fledglings,” he huffed with a small smile, putting the plate down and having a seat in the armchair. “Lack the stamina.”

“More the technique,” she said, making him cock an eyebrow.

She drew herself up into a more seated position and held his gaze without flinching. Then she turned her attention on the cookie in her hand.

“He showed potential, though,” she added, almost defiantly.

“But when you’ve had the best, it’s hard to go back,” he retorted, and she could feel his eyes on her. She nearly glared at him before taking a bite of the cookie. “Well, isn’t it?” he asked.

“What do you want, a five page confession?” she snapped and he blinked, expression growing wondering.

“Was it something I said?”

“Forget it,” she grumbled, swallowing the rest of the cookie.

“Alright,” he agreed, simply. “So, I was thinking...”

“Just because he was a fledgling doesn’t mean he didn’t have skill, you know,” she interrupted, his mouth slowly closing as it had been cut off mid-sentence. “I mean, yeah, he was a bit green, but if I’d nurtured him instead of killing him, I’m pretty sure he’d have grown into a garden. A big, beautiful, lush garden that you could stroll through.”

“When would that be – underneath the branches skillfully trying to drown me in sunlight?”

“That’s not... I didn’t... Don’t mess up my metaphor! All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be so full of yourself, thinking you’re the best; being all... once you’ve been with me you won’t wanna go back.”

“That wasn’t really what I was saying.”

“Oh, right, of course, you were referring to all the other Big Bad’s I’ve...” she stopped herself from finishing that sentence in the wrong way and quickly added: “fought.”

He was beginning to look amused, and God, how she hated the expression on him.

“Well, then, if you were then, fine,” she huffed.

She wanted to keep ranting for some reason, but seemed to have exhausted her material and so she simply sat quiet, wondering why the stillness was bothering her so much. It was like itchy, sticky glue to her eardrums. She wanted him to break it. Needed him to say something.

Reaching over he took a cookie, then sat back and asked casually:

“Who should I have used as an example, then? Not a fledgling... Angel, perhaps? That’d suited you better?”

“Was that why she was here?” she asked, before she could even react to the words bubbling into her mouth. And easily the rest came pouring out as well, with: “Just because I spent an hour with Angel, you had to...?”

She trailed off, beginning to grow terribly annoyed with herself.

“Had to, what?” he inquired. “Eat a cookie?”

“Was that what you were doing?” she asked, the annoyance being directed at him and once unleashed, it was irreversible.

“Yes,” he answered slowly, frowning now.

She could have hit him.

“Really? Oh, guess it was me imagining things. Like what you were doing at Giles’ the other night, was that nothing but cookie-eating, too?”

He sat back at that, amazement on his face; his eyes glittering with humored curiosity.

“Are you jealous?” he asked.

“I am not.”

“No?... Then why the hell would you even think it’s any of your business who I choose to spend my time with? Now, I didn’t like her at first, but Ath is a pretty remarkable...”

“Remarkable?” Buffy repeated.

“I think you already know that,” he pointed out. “And it took a while, but now I’m starting to warm up to the bird.”

“Warm up?” Buffy muttered and he narrowed his eyes.

“I can’t see why this is such a big deal, can you? Honestly? Bloody hell, Slayer, all you do is ditch me for other men. Or worse, other vampires.”

“There was only the one vampire. And as far as I know, there’s only been the one other man.”

He gave her a look at that.

Alright, not the best defense. But... she was so exasperated with his stuck-up, sallow, all-knowing expression. Like he knew something she didn’t. Like she was so far behind. Like she was five.

“Honestly,” she mimicked him, “is it so crazy, for me to go oh, here’s someone who on the one hand’s confessing his inexplicable devotion to me, and on the other is wanting to boink one of my friends?”

The bite of cookie in his mouth went down the wrong pipe with that, and he started coughing. But she could tell he was smiling and she got to her feet.

“Oh, I can’t talk to you,” she said, throwing the rest of her cookie back onto the plate and standing.

“Buffy,” Spike got out, but she turned from him and headed for the door.

He caught up with her, not touching her, but not having to as his next words stopped her in her tracks.

“If you just admit why you’re here... it would make everything that much bloody easier, wouldn’t it?” She turned slowly to face him. “You’re crazy if you think any other woman will ever mean anything to me,” he added with a faint smile. Taking a step closer he made her take one back, looking almost frightened. “Tell me it’s not all in my head. That the tremble when I touch you... that it isn’t there because you fear me... or even ‘cause you want me. Tell me it’s there because the feeling is there, and you can’t get rid of it.”

He took another step closer and this time she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

“What feeling?” she asked hoarsely.

He leaned into her.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore,” he murmured, his nose nearly brushing hers. She felt her legs quiver with growing weakness. “Tell me what I wanna hear. And if you can’t, then tell me why. Tell me why.”

She couldn’t breathe. She wanted him closer than he was. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. The desire was raging fierce battles with her ever-trying-to-stay-clear mind. But his mouth was so close and his scent was swirling its intoxication through her head. What she said, she said without really thinking.

“Angel.”

His gaze hardened and then he slammed her back against the door. She let out a slight gasp, her hands going to his shoulders.

“What about Angel?”

Buffy felt something harden inside her as well.

“He taught me some lessons,” she replied, her hands holding Spike back.

He gritted his teeth.

“Is that still what this is all about? Me lacking the spirit part?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Would that make it easier to love me? Justifying it with a soul? I wouldn’t change,” he stated, his expression intensifying and she wasn’t sure she could take much more of it. Her arms seemed to be losing their strength. “This feeling is what’s changed me. You’re what changed me, can’t you bloody see that?” he mumbled. “Everything I am right now, I am because of you. And I’d erase my past in a second if I thought that’d make you love me more, but it wouldn’t. The difference between now and then is what makes you love me now.”

She looked at him, feeling his hands slide through her hair.

“No,” she then said quietly, but forcefully. “It isn’t the spirit part... Angel didn’t leave because of that part, he left because of all the other ones. And he was right. How could we ever work?”

Spike’s hands made her meet his gaze, her own losing the struggle and letting him step into her.

“If you love me,” he said. “Buffy, we’ll find a way.”

She hadn’t realized how starved she had been for his touch. Her body felt as though electricity was running through it, her nerve-ends tingling, goose bumps spreading rapidly, butterflies fluttering excitedly in her stomach. And the longing. Dear God, the longing for him was like ice mixing with fire, coating her in its volatile substance, from her heart to her lips to her hands.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore,” he repeated, mouth at her temple.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she cursed them, but couldn’t hold them back.

She wasn’t wavering anymore, but she didn’t want this. She truly didn’t. It was why she had stayed away, why she had held back, why she had been so deep in denial. Her heart would be broken, she knew it. He wasn’t safe. In the end it would prove impossible and it would go badly, for them both.

The dream came back to her for a third time, and so suddenly it made her open her closed eyes. His cheek beneath her palm and how it started to burn.

‘You know I’m already gone.’

Her hold on him grew tighter and she buried her face against his shoulder.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

He brought her head back softly, looking at her with such warmth that she felt herself return it easily. And then she moved her head forward, parting her lips as they touched his. The kiss softly deepened, her hands sliding into his hair, his hands on the door as he leaned her against it. She kissed him slowly, savoring every last sensation, every single movement.

She carefully made him turn around, placing him with his back to the door instead and she could feel how he smiled a little. Her heart leapt and she smiled as well, his arms going around her, pulling her closer.

All that mattered was the feel of his body, the race of her pulse, the taste of his mouth. And she had convinced herself she didn’t need it, didn’t need him. That what she needed was stability, when nothing steadied her as the look in his eyes or the promise in his kiss. Giving him up would have been condemning herself to an everlasting state of chipping her heart into bits, because it never beat as strongly as when she was in his arms.

Spike sank into her, ravished by this hunger for her, for more of her, all of her. He wouldn’t let her go again. Not ever again. Nothing on this Earth felt as good as she did, nothing made him feel this rush, and he heard in her heart beat that she felt it too. So he wouldn’t let go.

They were making out unabashedly, and time didn’t matter anymore. Forever seemed close at hand, but the eternity they were swirling through proved to not last more than ten minutes before a harsh knock on the door interrupted it. They looked at each other, both trying to discern exactly where they were and what was happening, the outside world so rudely making itself known. There was a second knock, this one even more brutal, the wood of the door creaking in pain as it settled back in place.

Buffy took a step back and Spike took one forward with her, his arms still around her. She was as reluctant to let go as he was.

“Spike,” a voice called.

He furrowed his brow, his hold slowly loosening before he signed for Buffy to be quiet and step to the side. She did as he asked and he held her gaze for a few more seconds, a small smile playing on his mouth before he stripped it and opened the door, stepping through it and closing it behind him.

She heard him address the knocker as Stokes and then they began to walk away. She also snapped up the name Adam, and felt her heart begin to pound again, but for more serious reasons. What did he want now?

She waited only a few minutes before she cautiously opened the door and slipped outside, beginning to trail them.

She thought of Spike and felt her feet pick up their pace. She had a shiver down her spine that made her start to run. Something was wrong. She trusted her instincts and they were signaling danger.

Dread filled her. It hit her right where it hurt: she couldn’t lose him. Not now. She didn’t know what she would do if she lost him.

Spike could still scent Buffy on his skin. He was dizzy with wondering what she meant. Had she, for once, taken him seriously and gotten that he meant what he had said. Or had she read how weak he was when she was that close to him and hadn’t been able to resist it herself... Were they stuck in a never ending loop of this indecision? Her indecision. Or had she just made up her mind? Had the kiss been a consent to his statement, that she did love him? She did. He was convinced of it. But she had said that she was scared. And he had known that she was. She trusted him, though. She trusted him, and she would have to see that she could trust him everywhere.

Stokes, one of Adam’s henchmen, showed the way through the forest they had entered. They walked across a wide clearing, a large cliff wall rising before them. Stokes brought a few branches of a tall bush aside and revealed the opening of a cave. Spike kept from rolling his eyes, the originality was astounding, and then walked ahead of Stokes inside.

“Spike,” Adam greeted.

“Addie,” Spike muttered, looking around. “Hard for a fellow to keep track on you.”

“I wasn’t under the impression you were supposed to.”

Spike smiled a small smile at that.

“’S not what I meant.” Adam gestured to a sofa, but Spike shook his head. “I was in the middle of something. What do you want?”

“Did you deliver the disk?”

Spike cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, matter of fact,” he replied.

“Good,” Adam said. “Good.”

He watched the vampire in silence for a few moments, then asked:

“Do you think yourself useful?”

“Useful?”

“On this earth. In society. Do you feel you fill your space?”

Spike furrowed his brow. Adam gazed upon him calmly, then smiled and said:

“I know how you can fill it. I can help you.”

Buffy slipped up behind the stem of a tree and peeked around it, watching three unknown vampires push the branches of a high bush aside and disappear in through what looked like the mouth of a cave. Suddenly a twig broke in two behind her and she spun around, her hand grabbing the stake she was holding and raising it, only to stop as her gaze landed in Riley’s.

Her eyes grew as she brought the weapon down.

Guilt poured through her. But she didn’t have time to deal with it now. The situation could turn ugly real quick and the last thing she needed was someone to feel responsible for. She was going into that cave, it was just a matter of when. And how. Stealth was key. And timing. And she knew she needed to do it alone.

“What are you doing here?” she therefore hissed.

“I was about to ask you the same,” he hissed back, clicking in a message on the radio he held in his hand.

A few clicks were heard as response and then he pocketed it, looking back at her.

“Adam’s in that cave,” she whispered.

“I guessed as much,” he nodded. “We’ve been tracking demons all day, finally got a lead that brought us to this position... How did you know where to go?”

“By tracking a demon,” she answered, turning to have the view of the cave back in front of her.

“Spike. He’s in there?” Riley asked.

She glanced at him, then murmured:

“Yeah.”

“We’re preparing to move in.”

“And do what?” she asked, looking back at him.

“Take the subject down.”

“It doesn’t work like that. Look, Adam’s stronger than all of your guns put together.”

“I’ve yet to encounter a demon that’s bullet proof.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you need a reality check, because I’m telling you, that thing in there won’t go down that easily. I swear to you, if you storm that cave, you’ll be making a big mistake.”

Ath dreamed of blood and ashes. She saw the face of the vampire, and then the face of the enemy.

Adam.

She opened her eyes and they widened quickly with terror as the dream wouldn’t leave her, staying like a veil before her eyes. A cave. Two forms. And a destiny that may be about to change in the most vicious of ways.

“Oh, God,” she breathed. “He’s gonna kill him.”