His entire body was covered in bruises, blood and scars. He had cuts and scrapes almost everywhere. And tattoos. Black, tribal-like lines swirled about his upper left arm, almost covering it entirely. Weird symbols ran down the inside of his right forearm, some of them looked fairly like Chinese symbols but she wasn't sure. There was almost some stuff that looked faded and blurry, so she couldn't make them out. They looked like they had been made by an amateur who was just using ink and needle.

His skin was smooth where ever it wasn't marred and pale. His hair was bleached platinum blond and curled a little at his forehead. He had razor sharp features, high cheekbones, and a well defined-chin. His left eye was swollen shut, and his bottom lip was split.

His black t-shirt had been drenched in sweat, rain and blood; his jeans were split at one knee. Blood also stained his pants where they weren't covered with dirt. It looked as if he'd been dragged over gravel or at least he'd hit the street in a not very pleasant way.

***

Buffy knelt down beside the couch, a first aid kit in her hands. She had changed quickly to get out of her rain soaked clothes. Now she had to tend to the young man's wounds.

She wondered what could have happened to him. He had been beaten up. Badly. But why?

Had he been mugged?

He didn't appear all that innocent himself, but she couldn't honestly judge from his appearance. And she couldn't worry about that right now anyway, she had to take care of his wounds first.

*

With a pair of scissors, she cut his t-shirt open, revealing a chiseled chest covered in purple bruises and hair-thin cuts that were smeared with dirt.

At the sight of that, Buffy went back to the bathroom to retrieve a wash cloth and a bowl of warm water to clean him up first.

He didn't even stir when she touched him, he was so far gone.

She carefully cleaned up the blood and dirt before she started to cover his wounds with bandages and gauze.

It wasn't usually her style to pick up strangers from the street especially when they'd been beaten to a bloody pulp. So why had she taken him home?

Chapter 1

Rupert Giles was probably the most famous man in London's underground. He was ruthless when it came to his enemies, which had earned him the nickname Ripper. He organized and promoted illegal boxing fights. Bare-knuckle fights to be exact and he was making a whole lot of money with it. Especially since he had stumbled across Spike about five years ago.

The young man was a treasure, his fists were made of steel, his muscles were like wire, and he had the stubbornness of an old mule. Whenever he entered the ring, he won the fight, usually in the first two rounds.

But today…

*

They were in the break before Round 4 and Sledgehammer Jack was on the sunnier side. Nobody had expected him to last that long. He had a powerful build that totally betrayed his grace and mobility. And he'd beaten Spike all over the ring instead almost knocking one of his teeth out.

Now, Spike hung a little limply in the ropes. His head was rolled back and blood was dripping from his nose and a small cut over his right eye. He already felt his left eyes swelling shut.

That wasn't good. At all.

"Spike, what's wrong with you?" Ripper appeared behind him, padding him on his bare shoulders.

"Bleedin' wanker hit me in the kidneys. Hurts like hell." He panted, trying to straighten but sharp pain flashed through his back.

"You up for the next round?"

"'Course I am. I'll knock that poof's teeth in right 'n' proper."

"You better. I have a lot of money on your head and I don't fancy loosing it. So you go out there and knock him out."

At that moment, the bell for the next round rang and Sledgehammer Jack started prancing towards him. He was quick for a man of his height and weight.

Spike just had to be quicker. And he still had the resources to do so.

*

Spike saw Jack's knob-knuckled fist whistling towards his head but this time, he leaned backwards and ducked away from the blow. He used the man's forward momentum and drove his fist into his belly, knocking the breath out of the larger man.

Jack stumbled forward, giving Spike the chance to give him a hard swing in the jaw. The man tumbled into the ropes. Spike grinned a bloody grin. He had him exactly where he wanted him.

When Jack turned towards him, a rain of flying fists hailed down on him. It wasn't pretty.

Spike let him go for a second and took a few steps back. Nauseous, Jack tumbled forward. That was his end.

Spike watched him for a moment, then drove his left fist into the man's jaw. Blood spattered to the floor and he could swear that he heard something crack. Jack stared at him incredulously as if his brain had to process what had just happened. Then, his eyes turned up, leaving only the whites visible and he sank gracelessly to the floor.

*

The crowd erupted into cheering, hollering, and clapping. They were shouting his name, only a few had the guts to boo him.

But that didn't mean anything to Spike. Not anymore.

He had lost most of the sensation in winning a whole ago. Not that he didn't feel any satisfaction; it just didn't give him the thrill anymore. It was just a job he had to do to earn some money. But the glory was definitely gone.

"I knew you could do it." Ripper came to him, laying a towel around his shoulders.

"Yeah." Spike nodded. He knew that Ripper didn't care much about his feelings or anything. All he cared about was his money. Spike was just like one of those dogs they used in some fights. He just let the leash go whenever he needed to. "Mack's throwing a little party down at the pub. You come along?"

"No." Spike mopped his face with the towel and winced as he touched his black eye.

"You okay?" Ripper asked a little concerned, seeing precious money slipping through his fingers.

"Yeah, just need some rest is all."

They shoved their way through the crowd towards the small locker rooms.

"Suit yourself. But if you want a girl, just let me know, okay?"

Spike glanced at him, trying not to let his disgust show. This man treated most people like animals, unless they did what he wanted them to do or he needed something from them. This man wasn't really treating people like animals in case he got want to he wanted. You wanted booze, drugs, girls… he had it all.

"Just gimme me money and 'm gone." Spike wiped the blood and sweat from his scarred and tattooed chest, dropping the towel onto the bench in the small room.

"Alright. If you change your mind, tell me." Ripper counted out a bunch of pound-notes and jabbed them into Spike's hand.

Without another word, Spike took his shirt and coat and left the room. He didn't dress immediately; he wanted to cool off first. Fishing a mangled pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, he kicked the back door open, and let the cool breeze hit his bare chest.

He had all but a second's warning but it was too late anyway. He saw a silver aluminium baseball bat coming down on him and it smacked into his stomach. Every bit of breath flew out of him. Another blow hit him between the shoulder blades and he doubled forward to the floor, his bare skin scraping over the gravel.

He was a fighter, always had been But whoever was beating him now had taken him off-guard and he didn't have time to react.

But a baseball bat wasn't enough. Someone with steel toed-boots kicked him in the kidneys and another foot hit him in the chest. Ribs cracked. Pain shot through his body and made it numb for several seconds. He felt a tingling sensation in his arms. As he tried to take a breath, something sharp and vicious kept him from doing so. Hopefully the rib wasn't really broken. If it stung his lung… no, better not think about that.
Spike felt his senses slipping already. He wanted to get up but couldn't. There were at least two or three people around him, hitting and kicking him.

Then suddenly, they retreated. He heard footsteps shuffling away over the concrete, and then a snarling voice rumbling into his ear.

"See, you can't always win, Spike. Get used to it. A lot of people don't like you. You had better watch your back."

*

Silence.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. No kicks, no blows, nothing.

Slowly, Spike recovered his senses. He felt the cool raindrops coming down on him and it helped him to get his strength back.

He rolled to his side and then rose. He wobbled dangerously, and as he reached down for his coat and shirt he almost fell to his knees again.

With much effort, he struggled into his clothes. Pain made his entire body throb in agony. It was probably the most painful situation he had ever been in.

The fights, he could control but these guys had taken him with all his defences down.

Spike staggered down the filthy back alley until he hit the main street. Rain was splashing down on him, soaking him through to the skin.

Since he couldn't see very well with just one eye open, he didn't see the young woman hurrying towards him until he bumped into her.

*

"Wow. Watch it! " Buffy exclaimed. She had pulled the hood of her coat so far down into her face that she hadn't seen the battered young man until it was too late.

He looked at her for a second before he plopped down on his butt before toppling over backward, his head smacking down hard on the concrete.

When Buffy saw his bloodied face, she dropped to her knees beside him. "Oh my god, what happened to you? Are you okay?"

Spike just coughed a bubbling cough and tried to get to his feet again but Buffy held him down.

"No, stay down. I'll call an ambulance." She was already reaching for her purse when his fingers closed around her wrist.

One single coherent thought had popped up in his mind. No hospitals. They would just ask questions he couldn't answer for various reasons.

"No," he grumbled, his voice barely audible. "No… hospital."

Buffy stared at him, looking him in his right eye. Then she nodded. Something inside her had already made the decision for her. "Okay, then I'll take you to my place. It's not far. Can you get up?"

'Buffy, what are you doing?' her inner voice screaming with flailing arms. 'You don't know this guy. Who cares? Get an ambulance and be done with it.'

But she was already trying to get him to his feet. They both struggled for balance until Buffy slipped her arm around his waist and his over her own shoulder. Thanks to some martial arts classes she'd taken during high school, she had enough strength to keep him more or less upright.

*

Buffy's small apartment was on the third floor of an old brick stone building. It was quite a fight to get Spike up the stairs and she was panting heavily when she unloaded him onto the couch.

Another hard piece of work was to get him out of his heavy coat and boots but as soon as that was done and he lay down on the couch, blackness washed over him and he drifted into deep sleep.

Chapter 02

Buffy sat down in one of her armchairs and pulled her knees up to her chin. She had patched up the young man as best as she could and now he was sleeping on her couch. She was chewing on her finger nail while her mind was pondering why she'd brought that guy home.

He looked as if he'd been run over by a truck, anything could have happened to him. Maybe he was dangerous, maybe he was a killer on the run, and she had brought him here. Great. It's a good way to start with the paranoia.

At least she could see if he had wallet so that she knew his name when he attacked her. Slowly she rose from her seat and padded over to where she'd dropped his coat to the floor. The worn leather smelled of cigarettes, booze, and something else. It was a comforting smell.

Her hand rummaged through the few pockets, finding a ring of keys, a pack of cigarettes and, in the inside pocket in the left, a mangled leather wallet.

She flipped it open to reveal a black and white picture of a beautiful young woman. Even though she couldn't tell for sure, the woman's hair had to be black or dark brown, so where her eyes. Her gaze seemed hypnotizing and she had sort of a gothic vibe about her. Maybe she was his girlfriend. It would fit that punkish sort of attitude he was carrying.

As she went on searching, she came across some cash and at last an ID card. Buffy had to look twice or she wouldn't have believed that the man on her couch and the one in the picture were one and the same person. The guy on the picture had dark blond unruly curls and he wore wire-rimmed glasses. His features looked smoother, more boyish. He was more the guy who you don't notice when he walks past you in on the street. And he didn't make any kind of dangerous impression to her.

When she looked at the name, she had to smile a little. The ID read: "William Gabriel Randall, age 26, born in London." It was signed with a flowing, almost girlish signature.

At least now she knew what his name was. That gave her a little comfort. Even if her mind was still yelling at her, asking how she could be so stupid. But deep down, it felt right. She had always been there for people who needed help, whether it was her friends or someone she'd just met. She just had to help whenever she could. Maybe that was her curse. And so she had helped him, too. And by god, he had needed some help.

With a small sigh, Buffy curled up in the armchair again, draping a knitted afghan over her knees. She didn't want to leave him alone just now. And if it turned out that he was indeed some sort of criminal, she'd know it right away and not just when he came storming into her bedroom. That was a plus.

She leaned her head back and soon after, she drifted off into sleep as well.

*

Spike woke up when the smell of fresh coffee seeped into his system. It smelled like heaven.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open. Well, just one eye, since the other one was still swollen shut. His head was throbbing painfully and it took him about a minute to start thinking a little clearer. Then he could take in his surroundings.

He was in a room that wasn't too brightly lit and his headache thanked the almighty heaven for it. As it turned out, it was a living room held in light pastel colors. He was lying on a couch set in front of a TV/VCR set. There were two matching armchairs and a small coffee table. Across the room stood a table with a laptop and several books stacked on it.

Carefully, he rose. His head protested with another round of agonizing throbs but he fought them down. He was used to headaches. As long as he didn't move all to fast, it would be okay in a couple of hours.

His feet sank into a plush carpet as he sat up. Letting his eyes drift across the room, they settled on a young blonde woman who was standing in the kitchen door across the room. She held a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. The face of his salvation.

"Morning," She said with a half-smile as she came over to him, holding out the mug. "Here, that might help."

He just stared at her for a long moment before his head started to progress. She was the girl who had picked him up last night after the fight. After those guys had beaten him to a bloody pulp. She had brought him here because he had told her that he didn't want to go to a hospital. And now she was offering him a mug of coffee. Maybe he was dead and this was heaven.

"Thanks," He heard himself say as he took the mug from her. She sat down in the armchair, watching him intently.

"How do you feel?" She asked after a while.

He sipped from his coffee, the hot liquid burning inside his chest. But at least it helped to get the gears in his body to work again. "The way I look, I suppose," He said.

"Oh," Buffy said and nodded. 'Dumbass, ask him who he is and who did this to him?'

"Where is your bathroom?" Spike asked and put the mug down on the table.

"Down the hall to the left." Buffy rose with him even though his rising consisted a lot more of grunts and mumbled curses.

Without another word, Spike made his way into the hallway.

*

After giving nature it's say, Spike washed his hands, then looked in the mirror over the sink.

It was bad. It was really bad. His eye was completely swollen shut; the other one had a deep black circle. His lip was split and his nose looked almost broken, at least it was one big bruise. Also, his chest was covered in bruises and cuts but those were nicely taped and wrapped in bandages and gauze. The girl must have tended to him. She had done a pretty good job. Despite the fact that she'd cut his t-shirt in half.

How the was he supposed to get home like this?

Well, first he had to find out where he was and who this girl was. She was pretty hot in a way. Usually he wasn't into blondes but this woman definitely had something. She was petite but with a tight body formed by sports. Her skin was slightly tanned, probably from a tanning booth since the last months in London hadn't been all too sunshiny.

Slowly he staggered back into the living room. Now, another smell filled the air. Pancakes.

His stomach rumbled in protest. He was starving. He hadn't eating something since last night and that had only been a cheeseburger and a coke.

*

"Hey, ehm.. I made some pancakes. I bet you're hungry." Buffy said, smiling a little. She felt more than awkward with this wreck of a man walking through her apartment. If he would at least talk some more…

"Yeah," Was all he said before he grabbed one of the pancakes piled in a plate on the kitchen table. It was gone in less than twenty seconds.

Buffy watched him. He wasn't much taller than her but had a lean and powerfully muscled build. And what wasn't covered in welts and scars seemed to be smooth skin. Her fingers were itching a little to find out if that was true. 'Buffy, would you please stop that? You don't know this guy. At all. He could be some sort of serial killer.' Her inner voice tried to remind her, but it was silenced when Spike turned around and looked her right in the eyes.

It was his habit to look people in the face to see what they were up to. Especially during the fights, that came in pretty handy. So now he was looking at the girl who had apparently saved his poor ass. Her green eyes glittered at him as if she was expecting something. "Thanks," He said. His tongue was working way faster than his brain this morning. He couldn't blame it. "Thanks for helping me. You didn't need to, means a lot," He nodded a little for emphasis.

Buffy didn't know what to say. His intense gaze startled her, throwing her off balance. It almost seemed as if he was staring right into the core of her being. And that felt very uncomfortable right now.

"Sorry about your shirt," She blurted then and mentally slapped her forehead."

"Yeah, no problem," Spike fumbled with the remnants of the piece of clothing that was still hanging from his shoulders.

"Oh, wait. I've got another shirt." She zipped over into her bedroom and came back in an instant. "It's a left-over from my ex. Might be a bit big but it's something." She held out a dark blue shirt to him and he took it with a short nod of his head.

"Thanks." Still, he was looking at her.

An awkward silence settled between them, his stare made her more and more nervous. Usually, she was a pretty outgoing person who didn't have much problem talking to people she didn't know. But this guy… he had this sort of mysterious and somewhat dangerous vibe about him that threw her totally off balance.

Spike was the first to break eye contact. If he looked at her for another minute, he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't make an approach. Not that he was desperate, but the girl was hot and he couldn't deny that he was up to a little something despite his injuries.

So he turned towards the table and stripped out of his ruined shirt.

"Oh my god!" Buffy exclaimed in a hushed tone and clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widened in shock.

"What?" Spike turned halfway toward her but she put a hand on his shoulder to keep him in position.

"Your back." She stared at the lower portion of his back, which was a solid mass of purple bruises. A thin cut ran from a bit over his kidneys down to where it disappeared below his belt line. It was still oozing a little, staining the purple with a little crimson.

Buffy knelt down behind him, taking a closer look at the injury.

Carefully she reached out a hand but before she could touch him, she thought better of it and lunged for the first aid kit she'd left on the kitchen counter last night. She dabbed a ball of cotton wool drenched in disinfectant on the wound and Spike winced in pain. "Oww, watch it!" He hadn't taken notice of the injury before, considering the overall pain he was in.

"Sorry," Buffy replied, continuing to tend to his wounds. "Who did this to you?"

Spike hesitated. He couldn't tell her the truth, at least not all of it. He couldn't tell her that he was beating other people to a bloody pulp for a living. "Some thugs jumped me. One of them had a baseball bat," He told her. At least that part was true.

"You have to go to the police."

"No," he almost snapped, regretting his harsh tone in the same instant. She didn't know him, she just wanted to help. "I mean.. I.. don't know who it was. It wouldn't do any good anyway."

That seemed to satisfy her; at least she didn't push the matter any further.

After a moment, Buffy coughed a little embarrassed cough. "Can you.. uhm.. pull your pants down… a little." A crimson blush erupted on her cheeks and being confronted with a hot guys naked butt wasn't helping very much.

So he didn't only have the paralysing stares but was also not wearing any underwear. "Yeah.. well.. thanks." She breathed quietly.

Spike closed his eyes to keep the sensation of her touch from overflowing his system in an all too manly fashion. Her warm fingers glided over his skin and despite the light pain they caused, it felt extremely pleasant. A sharp contrast to all the violence and pain he was used to. It felt soothing and extremely erotic at the same time. 'Oh no, not good. Don't go down that road. You can't go all right and shine here while she's patching you up.'

Buffy was having similar thoughts though, being eye to eye with an extremely firm butt was also fueling her fire. She wasn't exactly everybody's club slut but she wasn't a nun either. If she could only say something. Something witty and cool. And it might help if he would say something, maybe something horrible and violent about those thugs. That might help to get her hormones back under control.

"Alright, you're all patched up." Buffy stood and busied herself with packing the fist aid kit back together. As she turned around again, Spike stood stock still with his hands propped on the back of one of the chairs. "Hey.. uhm.. are you alright?" she asked, carefully putting a hand down on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm.. good." He replied, his voice coated with something dark and husky. 'And hard as a freaking rock,' His mind added. Thank god, he didn't say that aloud. In situations like this, his tongue was usually faster then his mind.

But this time, Buffy did push it. "You look a little tense to me. You sure you're okay?" She stepped a little closer to him, trying to take a peek at his face.

He had his eyes squeezed shot, his nostrils flared a little and he swallowed hard.

"Believe me, I'm okay."

Without a seconds warning, he whirled around. His eyes had a hungry, almost evil gleam in them. And any other person without a fighter's grace like his would have tripped over his pants. But he put his hands on her shoulders, yanked her towards him, and crashed his lips down to her's.

Buffy froze in place, becoming stiff as a board. She was taken totally aback, her breath stolen out of her mouth. Her mind took a moment to register what was happening right now. There she was standing her in her kitchen kissing a total stranger with his pants down and a pretty prominent hard-on pressing against her pelvis.

After a moment, Spike let her go, panting for breath. He looked at her with smoldering eyes. He usually didn't go around kissing people but this girl was just too hot. And with her soft touches at his butt, she had just pushed the right buttons. Before he could say anything, Buffy took his face between her hands and pulled him back into the kiss. This time, he was the one surprised but at least he reacted to it.

Buffy's lips were sugary sweet with a little taste of coffee. She melted into him wrapping her arms around his neck, pushing her body against his. His hands travelled over her back, one into her hair and the other to her butt, pulling her even closer. His tongue darted out, probing at her mouth, begging for entrance.

The kiss deepened as she let him in. He was a good kisser, incredibly good. When she broke away for air, her head swam a little. The last shreds of coherence were screaming at her to stop, to at least ask him who he was, but her sudden need had taken the lead. She felt the tingle deep down in her stomach.

"Usually I don't do this, but…" Spike started to say, panting heavily.

"Sshh, no buts." She silenced him, then continued to kiss him.

He wanted her, right then and there. Despite the pain what coursed through his body, his arousal was slipping behind the steering wheel. His hand which had been entangled in her honey blonde curls was roaming over her back now and then it finally set up shop under her top.

Buffy's fingernail slightly scraped over the nape of his neck as she tilted her head to one side to let the kiss deepen even further. This was so not her but she liked the new side. She literally welcomed it with open arms. Before she could register his next moves, Spike had her sitting on the kitchen table and a coffee mug from yesterday's breakfast clattered to the floor. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was stepping between her legs now. She could feel him there although her eyes were clouded with desire and need.

One of his hands, she had no idea which, was gliding over her breast now, evoking a little moan from her lips. Her nipples went hard against his fingertips and a little electric shock buzzed through her system. All rational thoughts went down the drain. Despite every shred of common sense, she wanted this guy, right now.

As if she'd spoken aloud - maybe she had and she just didn't remember - his other hand slipped into her pants. She arched off the table at the touch. Holy goodness, this guy knew his job. How many times had she tried to show Riley how to touch her? Lots of times and they had been together for over a year. And this man didn't know her name and there she was with a foot slammed on the accelerator of love already.

In a flurry of motion, her pants were somewhere between her knees and her ankles. She could feel the cool wooded surface under her butt. Great, now she would never able to have breakfast there again without thinking of sweaty sex. Whoa.. stop it right there for a second. Did you just think sex? Yeah well, you're here with your goods open to the world and the guy who has his fingers down there is not wearing any pants. What do you think you're doing?
"Hold.. hold on." She panted, leaning her head against Spike's shoulder. Much to her surprise, he did hold on, looking at her quizzically if not a little surprised. "Protection," She mumbled as some coherence popped up again.

He was just raising his eyebrows at her, not able to form some words.

"Bathroom. Behind the mirror." Yeah, why don't you tell him right away that you didn't get laid in a great, great while?

Spike pulled his pants back up so he wouldn't trip after all and in no time he was in the bathroom and then back in the kitchen. With hurrying fingers, he tore one of the little tinfoil packages open and the smell of sweet and totally artificial strawberries drifted into the kitchen. Kitten likes to play, huh? But he couldn't waste any more thoughts on the presumably fruity taste of the condom in his hands. His fingers were shaking a little as he pulled it on, he wanted her so much.

Buffy scooted a little closer to the edge of the table, her bare skin made a little squeaking noise on the tabletop. His hands slipped under her butt, lifting her up a little for better access. She felt him against her and she didn't even have time to blink before he pushed inside her.

Her chin dropped and she gasped for a second as her body adjusted to him. It had been a long time, but god, this was good. Really good. Just feeling him right there was…

Spike looked at the girl through a thick haze of simple, raw need. She looked gorgeous, with her face all flushed and her hair a little unruly. He had to wait for a second before he started moving. She felt so damn tight around him that it was almost driving him over the edge just being inside her.

His thrusts were slow and shallow at first as they tried to fall into rhythm with each other. But after almost a minute, his movements became a little faster. Buffy's body was arching into him, her fingernails raking over his bare back.

He leaned against her, forcing her to lie back down a little. His right hand was propped up on the table while the other was hooked under her thigh.

Buffy was panting into his ear, urging him on. She wrapped her free leg around his hips, drawing him closer inside as his thrusts sped up even more. Heat erupted inside her as he touched the little bundle of nerves between her folds with his fingertip, dragging her along towards sweet release.

He wanted her to come, too. It had always been one of his priorities. And as far as he could tell from the way she gyrated her hips against his and the way she was moaning into his ear, he was doing a good job.

For a fracture of a second, everything went black. Buffy shuddered against him as her body exploded into liquid fire. A wave of heat rolled through her body and she was clinging onto him as if for bare life. Not that she didn't know how to please herself in the best way but this was just… it was basically beyond words considering that they were doing it on her kitchen table between a pile of pancakes and a pot of coffee. She felt him coming inside her, his body arching towards her with a little primal roar coming from his lips. He had his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth opened and closed in a wordless mumble.

They stayed like that for a while; she leaned back with her arms propped up behind her and he leaning against her, panting into her ear. Reality seemed to be anywhere but here for endless minutes until Buffy wrapped one arm around his neck for better balance. And then she said the one word that made the outside world bang the door back open.

"William."

Spike broke away from her as if burned. He stared at her in total disbelief as if she'd just told him that she was a man or something similarly shocking. What did she just say? Did just call him by his real name? That wasn't possible. They knew each other for what? Half an hour? And she was saying the name his parents gave him.

With a sharp motion he yanked his pants back up, not bothering about the condom. He was still staring at her as he took the shirt she'd offered him and stormed out of the kitchen.

Through the cloud of post orgasmic haze Buffy heard the door banging shut.

Chapter 3

The bang of the door against it's frame rang in his ears and the headache started flooding back in. But all Spike could think of was to get out. Get some fresh air and maybe a shower later on. He had to get away from there as fast as possible. He didn't know for sure what it was that made him flee the scene, he just had the urge to leave.

The morning air was cool, even a little chilly. The rain from last night still hung in the air but at least it had stopped more or less. He had no idea what time it was but judging from the traffic on the street and the people hurrying past him, it couldn't be too late. He had to get a watch one of these days.

He made his way to a small alley close by to get rid of the rubber. For a second, he was disgusted by himself but he pushed the thought away as quickly as it appeared. He leaned against the wall and took a deep breath to get his five senses back together.

What had just happened? Right, there was this beautiful young woman without a name he'd just laid on her own kitchen table. And then she'd called him by his real name, he panicked, and there he was now, standing in an alley.

Spike fished his cigarettes out of his coat pocket and lit up. Blowing the blue-grayish smoke into the humid air, he started to relax a little. Thank god he'd had brains enough to snatch his coat from the armchair in the living room.

So what if she knew his name? She'd probably searched for his wallet, considering that she'd picked him up in a street all covered in blood. What use did his name have for her? Mostly none. But that wasn't what was bothering him in the first place.

Almost nobody knew his real name. Ripper and his little weeny assistant Doyle, his parents, the people who had raised him, and Dru. The rest of the world just knew him by the name Ripper had given him the day he'd bailed him out of jail. And that had been almost seven years ago.

He didn't have any friends. Nobody wanted to be friends with a person whose life was ruled by violence. And he didn't want to have any friends. In this business, they were a burden. Something you had to watch after. They distracted you from the job you had to do. And you had to be hard and tough. At least that was what Ripper had told him from the very beginning.

And up to a certain point he believed him.

He tried to hide his inner self, the guy he'd once been, the guy that made him weak. He wasn't schizophrenic, mind you. Just deep down inside him, buried under layers and layers of grief, anger, hate and a whole lot of violence, was what he'd like to refer to as his inner demon. The guy that made him still feel the blows his opponents delivered, the guy that gave him a tweak of conscience when he knocked somebody out, the guy that made him feel lonely when he was home in his dank appartment.

And this girl he'd just met last night had tapped right into that part by saying his real name.

If somebody would ask, he couldn't explain, but it had made him feel vulnerable for the first time in years. She had bypassed all the cool guy attitude he was surrounding himself with and struck home hard.

And he had no idea how to deal with that.

*

The door to his apartment gave a terrible shriek when he pushed it shut behind him.

The place was dark and even as he flicked on the lights it wasn't getting any better. The walls were bare stone, mostly battered red bricks. He didn't have much furniture, a table with two chairs in front of his makeshift kitchen, an old couch made of dark red leather in front of a small coffeetable and his TV/VCR (the only piece of attempted luxury he was sporting), and his bed in the far corner of the single room apartment.

Spike stripped out of his coat and threw it over one of the chairs. He wanted a shower, desperately. Maybe that would get the kinks and aches out of his body. Since the post orgasmic haze had faded on his way back, all the pain came rushing back to him.

The small bathroom was the only room he could consider well light, even though the bare light bulb wasn't very fancy. The mirror showed him again a picture of mass destruction. Carefully he discarded the shirt before he started peeling off all the tiny bandages and band aids. It hurt like hell but he grit his teeth through it.

Being done with that he stepped under the shower. With a little luck there was still some hot water left for him. The shower spattered a little as if it was unsure what to do with the sudden request for work.

Luke warm water dribbled down on him and within maybe a minute it was actually considered hot. The tub was quickly filled with redish water from where the dried blood was running in rivulets down his body.

His sore muscles started to ease up a little and another wave of fatigue washed over him. But he had to stay awake. He had to be at the gym this afternoon to meet with Ripper. It was their habit to talk about the fight and to see when they could put up the next one. Ripper was insatiable that way.

When he was done, he wrapped a more or less clean towel around his hips and went over into the main room. Grabbing a bottle of single malt whisky from the coffee table, (Ripper had given him the bottle as a little bonus for the previous fight) he settled on the couch and started flipping through the morning program. Maybe he could turn up another re-run of Passions.

Although he tried to push all thoughts about this morning away, the image of the young woman all flushed and in disarray was burned into the back of his mind and he couldn't forget it.

***

"You did what?" The redhead's face was flushed as Willow started choking on her cappuccino.

Buffy had just given her the run-down on what had happened this morning. She hadn't given her the sweaty details, but some more or less graphic glimpses. And now her best friend sat in front of her in the coffee shop coughing her lungs up.

"I know, I know, it's just so.. wrong, but…" Buffy hid her face in her hands. She still had no idea how that could have happened at all. And she was still tingling a little whenever she thought about it, although it was past noon already.

"And you just met this guy yesterday?"

"Well, meeting might not be the right word. He just.. bumped into me."

"And you took him home?"

"Yeah, Willow, I took him home." Buffy wasn't willing to tell the whole story again. She still felt incredibly embarrassed about it. "And there's no need to repeat it."

"I know but.. and he just left? Like, no goodbye or anything?" Willow kept asking and started nibbling on her donut.

"Yeah. I said his name and whoosh.. he was gone. I have no idea why. I mean we were all.. well.. like that." She made a vague gesture and blushed a little more. "And suddenly he's gone."

"Well, at least he didn't rape you or anything," Willow suggested.

"Thanks, Will. That's really the support I need," Buffy sighed deeply and sucked on the straw sticking out of her latte macchiato.

"Sorry. You know I'm your best friend. Why else would I have come here? It's just.. it's so not you, hooking up with a guy you don't know. Not after that incident with Parker."

"You're not making it better, Will," Buffy glared at her friend. She was right. It wasn't her. It wasn't her style to go around and fuck the next best guy. And yet, she'd done it.

"You're going to see him again?" Willow asked after moment.

"What part of 'he dashed out of my apartment' was so complicated?" Buffy snapped, growing a little impatient. And she started feeling terribly guilty.

"There is this little invention named the phonebook where you look up people whose name you know cause you searched their pockets for their ID. That might be start."

"And what am I going to say to him? 'Sorry for calling you by your real name but that little thing we had on my kitchen table just blew my brains out'? Sorta not. That was it and I'm done with it, I guess."

***

Ripper was standing outside the boxing ring in the gym he'd built up. Well, rather taken over than built up. The former owner had owed him a huge amount of money and when he couldn't pay up he'd given him the gym. As simple as that. If more or less legal trading didn't help, he could also be pretty violent and messy. You didn't earn nicknames for free.

"Spike," He turned and looked at the young man as the doorbell rang. "You look like hell. What happened to you?" Again, no real concern for him as a person, just for him as money on legs.

"Got beaten up after the fight. Someone sent some thugs. Tried to threaten me." Spike tried to keep his calm while he approached the older man who'd been sort of a father figure for him in the last couple of years even though they weren't personally close. He just kept him in cash, booze, and sometimes women.

"Who was it?" The alarm bells were shrilling in Ripper's head as he took in all the injuries Spike had.

"Don't know, don't care." He glared at Ripper as much as it was possible with his one eye.

"And you don't need to. We'll find those assholes and if need be, we'll kill them," Ripper pressed through gritted teeth as anger started to boil up inside him. As the result of nervous habit (probably the only one he had) he took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a white hankerchief.

"Yeah.. whatever," Spike scoffed before he turned for the locker rooms to change for his training. He still felt a little jittery from the situation this morning. And he had some major emotional issues pent up that needed to be released. He could only hope that Ripper didn't give him one of the poor new fellows to spare with. They probably wouldn't survive it.

Chapter 04

The guy had a broken nose and maybe one or two ribs were cracked, too, when Spike let go of him. He hadn't intended on beating him so badly but whenever he put a foot in the ring it felt as if he became a totally different person. As if he had some Mr Hide lurking inside him who only waited to come out and play.

Now his body was coated with sweat as he sat in the locker room with a bottle of water in his hand. He had worked most of the kinks out of his body but he still felt a dull throb everywhere. He was literally aching for his bed even though it was mostly lumps.

"Hey, Spikey," A feminine voice tore him out of his reverie.

"Harmony," he pressed through gritted teeth. He didn't need to open his eyes to imagine the plastic blonde woman standing in the door. She was from some town in California and Ripper had brought her over for god knew whatever reason.

He had probably used drugs as bait or had promised her a career. And now here she was, being the man's lapdog. In the most literal way possible.

"Ripper said you could use some lovin'?" Her high-heeled staccato steps came over to him.

"Did he?" Spike opened one eye. That was typical for his boss, thinking to know what other people wanted. And it was typical for Harmony, doing exactly what Ripper wanted her to do.

"Yeah, he said you were a little tense today." She ran her perfectly manicured hands over his thighs and slipped her fingers under the legs of his pants, batting her eyes up at him. She had a crush on him. Spike knew that, although she tried to hide it during their brief but mostly steamy encounters.

"Must be true then." He put the bottle aside, watching the blonde as she started to untie his pants. You had to give her that, she didn't try to cover her intentions. She was probably too stupid for that.

What does it take you to relax a little, to give in to what she's offering? You never complained about it before, no need to start now. Let her do what she has to do, have some fun while she's at it and then go home and sleep.

By the time he was done pondering the rights and wrongs of this situation, Harmony had her hands already inside his pants, stroking his cock slowly. Despite being tired and battered, he was just a man who reacted to a pretty woman's touch. So he closed his eyes and let it go.

He felt his blood rushing towards his belt line and further down and he was hardening against her hand. And he became even harder when her hot mouth encircled him.

"Oh bloody hell," he gasped. He knew Harmony had some serious skills giving head. He had been on the receiving end enough times to figure that out.

"You like that?" she asked with cocky pride in her voice.

"Oh yeah, don't stop." He twisted his fingers into her hair, guiding her back to his throbbing member. And she continued her blowjob with the same eagerness.

A truckload of testosterone flooded through him, making his hips twitch off the bench. He need to get off really bad. But not in her mouth, he wanted to come inside her.

His hand was shaking as he pushed her away, and his knees wobbled when he got to his feet. Harmony looked a little confused but as he dragged her up and pulled her into a heated kiss, she didn't complain.

Spike almost tripped over his pants, but managed to shrug them off in the last minute, kicking off his shoes along with them. Then he pushed her over into the large shower room, yanking her skanky blouse open to reveal her voluminous breasts.

They staggered backward/forward into the shower. Spike bumped with his back against one of the buttons and water splashed down on them. It soaked Harmony's clothes within seconds, but that was just as well.

He pulled her skirt up, grabbed her by her ass and pulled her against his raging hard-on. He whimpered a little against her mouth, and as she gyrated her hips against his, the whimper turned into a full-fledged moan. He wanted her so badly that it hurt.

With a twist of his hips, he spun her around so that she was facing the tiled wall and came up behind her. His hands closed around her breasts, teasing her nipples with his fingers.

"Oh yeah, Spikey. Please."

He leaned into her, pressing his cock against her soaked panties. "Don't you ever call me that again," he grunted into her ear, but only evoked a giggle from her.

"Oh, you're the big bad Spikey? Why don't you punish me then?"

"You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh yeah." She wriggled her butt against him and he groaned again.

With nimble hands, he slipped his fingers under her thong and yanked it down to her knees, leaving her lower body bare.

"Oh please, take me. Take me from behind."

If he could make her shut up for just a minute, what would he have given for it. But the raw need for release erased that little flaw and he pushed inside her in fluid motion.

Harmony moaned loudly and pressed back against him. She propped her hands against the wall for leverage as he started to thrust into her, holding her in place by her hips.

"Yeah, baby. That's it. Harder, baby, harder. That's my guy."

"Shut up," Spike grunted and much to his surprise, she did. He closed his eyes when his thrusts became more frantic. A fingernail graced his cock briefly as Harmony slipped her hand between her legs to finger her clit by herself.

Suddenly, a picture flooded into her mind and made him stop dead in his tracks.

The young woman in whose apartment he'd woken up this morning. Her hair was a golden mass that clung to her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed and body shone with sweat. Her rose lips were parted and her pink tongue darted out to lick a drop of salty liquid from her upper lip.

"I'm..I'm..oh god, I'm gonne...." Harmony choked out in a high pitched stutter before finally succumbing to her orgasm with a ear piercing screech. She seemed totally oblivious to the fact that he wasn't even moving inside her while she humped her way.

As her inner walls quivered around him, he resumed his thrusts. He had even forgotten his own need for a second. But the picture in his mind fueled his fire again. He could almost hear her quiet pleas, and it was music to his ears in comparison to Harmony's frenzied cries as she trashed against him in the throws of her climax.

Soon after, she sank to her knees in front of him and picked up her blowjob where she had left it off before. Spike wanted to complain but he didn't have the chance to. She had her mouth already sheathed around his cock, sucking on him vigorously.

He put one hand against the wall as his legs started to shake. He was close, almost on the edge and all it took was for her to lay a hand on his balls. And he stumbled half a step forward, thrown off-balance by his own orgasm.

Harmony swallowed eagerly, still sucking on him with gusto.

When his ecstasy finally subsided, he stepped back from her, running the back of his hand over his mouth. He looked down at Harmony as she pulled her panties back up. And again, his brain was clouded with images of the other woman. The picture of her lying in his arms after they had shagged on her kitchen table, was dancing in front of his inner eyes. He couldn't get rid of it, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

He held out of a hand to Harmony and pulled her to her feet. Without another word, he turned and went back to the locker room to change into some dry clothes.

"It doesn't have to end here." Harmony followed him, trying to her clothes back into modesty again.

"Yeah, it does. I wanna go home. I'm tired." He slipped into his jeans, zipping them up.

"Well, I'm not. But you can help and tire me up." She wrapped her arms around his waist but he broke away from her.

"No," he replied shortly, pulling the t-shirt over his head.

"But we had fun when we were together." Her voice got a whine edge and she haughtily crosses her arms over her breasts.

"Harmony, I said no." Spike whirled around, anger flaring up in his eyes, and Harmony took a step back from him.

She lifted her hands defensively but her eyes showed honest disappointment that almost made Spike regret his harsh words. Almost.

He yanked his coat from its peg on the wall, slipped into it and left her standing in the locker room.

*

The cool air of the oncoming evening chilled his heated temper a little.

Spike lit up a cigarette and made his way home. He wanted to sleep, to rest his body from the troubles of the last two days.

Again, his apartment greeted him with it's familiar darkness. In moment like this, it almost felt comforting. It enveloped him, made him feel safe. When he was alone in the dark, he could be as vulnerable as any other man. It gave him the freedom to be himself for some time.

He let his coat drop to the ground and since he knew his place by heart, he made his way to the bed without bumping into anything. Face forward, he slumped down on the mattress, already half asleep.

But something caught his attention, before sleep could finally welcome him. Something soft and silky under his head.

He reached out a hand to the bedside table and switched on the naked light bulb that was dangling from it's cable in the wall. Spike had to blink against the sudden light, but then his eyes fell on the dark blue something on his pillow. The shirt that woman had given to him.

What was that doing in his bed? He could have sworn he'd left it on the bathroom or at least somewhere else. But here?

Again, her face flashed into her mind and he shook his head. Would he ever get rid of her? She'd been haunting him the entire day. Ripper had already complained that he wasn't fully there. That wasn't a good sign. How could she have such an influence on him? He wasn't a person who got easily distracted. What he did, he did with full ambition.

It was probably the weariness from the fight and the attack last night and this little rough and tumble this morning, that had loosened the net of self-defence a little. Yeah, that had to be all.

With a groan, he got up again and tossed the shirt into the trash can in the kitchen. He had to start getting her out of his system right now.

Chapter 05

Spike's head smacked down on the boards and stars swirled in front of his eyes. He wished he could marvel at that picture a little bit more, but he knew he had to get up again. His body almost worked on it's own as he got to his feet and stumbled backwards against the ropes.

He felt sick, his stomach twisting. The blow to the head had made him fall on his back and he hadn't landed very gracefully. His vision blurred and his hand touched his forehead for a second. There was blood on his fingers from a cut above his right eye.

Much to his luck, the bell rang and ended his torment for this round. He was pulled back into his corner and in a blurr of motion, Ripper stepped into his vision. The eyes of the taller man shone with white-hot anger.

"Can you tell me what you are doing in there?" He growled, towering over his very battered fighter. "You've beaten the crap out of Mario before and now you're stumbling around like a prissy little girl. What is wrong with you?"

Spike could only shrug. He couldn't form words. He couldn't explain. He could never tell Ripper that he hadn't slept very much in the last several days. Not since the last fight. He'd woken up from dreams that left him tense and antsy. The kind of dreams that made you get up and take a cold shower in the middle of the night. They weren't all that bad but they were all he could think of ever since. He had tried to get rid of the picture, using Harmony and some other girls as scapegoats. But it didn't work.

All he could think of was that other woman, the one who'd picked him up after the fight last week. She was haunting him. She was all he could think about, dream about. She was everywhere. He couldn't get rid of her no matter what he did. She was even keeping him from doing a proper fight.

He could never tell Ripper any of that, he would never understand it. He had told him often enough that women were bad unless they were working as a whore for him. They were a distraction best avoided. He had always thought it to be exaggerated. Now he knew that Ripper had been right.

This girl had shaken something loose inside him and he didn't like that at all.

"You listen to me," Ripper shook him out of his thoughts. "You go out there and defeat this guy. I have a whole lot of money on your head and I don't fancy loosing it. And if you don't, you and I are going to have a serious talk." Silent, quiet voices could be very intimidating. Spike wasn't really scared by the man, he knew he could beat him if it came to a fight, but he knew that Ripper always had something up his sleeve. And that was scary.

Spike shrugged again and the bell rang for the next round. As he stood, his head gave one massive throb of protest before a dull ache settled in. He let his fingers crack one last time before Mario the Machine Gun approached him.

The Italian was about his height but almost twice as wide. He had fists the size of a small child's head. Now that was a disturbing thought.

Ripper had been right. About one and a half years back, he'd beaten Mario. But ever since, the man had improved. He knew how to dodge blows instead of running into an open fist. And he had gained some speed. All in all, he wasn't his easiest opponent.

Just as Mario drew back his right fist to deliver another solid punch, another picture of that woman flashed through Spike's head. He blinked in confusion for a moment but came back to the present situation at just the right moment to dodge the blow. He stepped to one side and slammed his fist into the man's belly. He could feel the puff of breath in his face, as Mario stumbled a step forward.

"Won't let it happen," Spike growled. The guy looked at him in surprise, but he hadn't spoken to him. And it hadn't been about the fight either.

He wouldn't let this woman ruin his life. She just came along and everything started falling to pieces. He wouldn't let that happen. He was better, smarter than that.

Anger started to boil up inside him and it made the headache seem less painful for about three and a half minutes. He used the little time he had, and smacked his fists into Mario face. Blood spattered to the ground and he could feel the man's nose breaking at the impact. It wasn't pretty.

Spike let him go for a second and stepped back from his latest piece of destruction. Anger had always been the key to his power, it worked like a subconscious trigger. And it was working well now.

He just had to finish the guy and another victory was his.

Mario's head snapped back with a hard left up-swing and the Italian fell backward. This time it was his head that smacked down on the boards. But he didn't get up again before the referee counted him out.

This time, Spike did feel relieved. It wasn't only the fight he'd won, but also his inner turmoil had subsided. Maybe now he could forget this woman and go on with his normal life.

***

When Buffy entered her kitchen, she stopped for a second. She couldn't get rid of the picture of her and this guy entangled on her table. It was burned into her mind. And her body started tingling whenever she thought about it.

She hadn't been with many guys before but this... She had never felt very wanted and so overly feminine at the same time. Even if it had just been a little quick little thing between her coffee mug and the morning paper, the things he'd done to her…

She shuddered at the thought as she continued to collect her dirty laundry. She had to go down to the laundromat about a block away since she'd run out of cleans clothes. But it wasn't half that bad. She could always go over to Agnes and have a coffee while she waited. Or she could work on that paper that was due to next week. She was already behind on her art project; she couldn't be late with the paper as well.

So laundry time was good time to do over-due homework. She had nothing better to do anyway.

***

Rain was coming down as a solid sheet from the pitch black sky. It had become even colder and the chilly wind tossed leaves and paper down the street.

Spike hurried through the rain, a bundle tucked under his arm. The coat kept off most of the rain but his pants soaked up the water from the street and they were damp almost up to his knees.

He hadn't planned on going out that evening but an almost empty closet had forced him to. He was used to the weather in London but he still didn't like it.

Artificial yellow light streamed from the laundromat out into the street and made the rain drops glitter. Spike banged the door open. Warmth welcomed him. Usually, he used another laundromat but that one was closed due to some technical problems. But all these places looked the same anyway. A douple row of washing machines in the middle and a row of driers to one side. An old man sat in the corner beside a vending machine, reading a newspaper. He didn't look up when Spike came in.

After he'd set the thing in motion, he pulled one of the chairs close, propped his feet on top of the machine and started flipping through a left over newspaper. It was two days old but he didn't mind. The vibrations of the machine trailed down his legs and into his body. It was a nice feeling, somewhat soothing, in a pretty strange way.

He was just halfway through an article about a recent soccer game when he heard a voice. And he froze.

"Hey Ernie. Anything new you gotta tell me?"

He heard the rustle of paper and then a sonore voice. The old man, Ernie. "No, hun. Just some gruesome horrible stuff. Nothing for your pretty ears." The man chuckled quietly, a deep, rich sound.

"Too bad. I could really use some happy stuff." She chuckled, too. A sweet, flowing little chuckle.

Spike swallowed. No, this couldn't be real. He had probably fallen asleep and it was just one of those dreams. But the dreams had stopped after the fight two nights ago. He didn't dare to put down the paper. He didn't want to have a look.

"Anything wrong with you?" Ernie asked, concern in his voice.

"No, not really. I'm just a little stressed out, that's all. University is getting to be pretty bad right now."

"You'll make it, girl. I know it."

"Thanks, Ernie."

Spike heard the lid of a washing machine being opened and dared a peek of the edge of the paper.

It was her, it was really her. All golden hair and lean body. She wore a cream colored coat over a black turtleneck pullover. Her green eyes glittered in the neon light overhead, which made also her hair sparkle a little bit more. She was gorgeous. As beautiful as she'd been when he'd last seen her.

Spike caught himself staring at her, all coherent thoughts and even reflexes gone. So he continued to look at her when she slammed the lid of the washing machine down again.

*

Buffy froze in place. She blinked once, then again. Slowly, to give her brain time to shift gears around this. There was this guy - the guy - sitting on the opposite side of the row of washing machines, his feet propped up and a rumpled newspaper in his hand.

He looked at least as battered as he had been that night she'd found him. There was a cut above his eye that was just about to heal and a purple bruise showed on the left side of his jaw. And he was staring at her with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to shine even more blue in the light overhead.

Spike swallowed and let the paper sink into his lap. He licked his bottom lip with a touch of nervousness. What was he supposed to do now? Usually, he didn't have a problem talking to women, but this was just…

"Hi," Buffy said after endless seconds of nerv wrecking silence.

And still, Spike didn't answer. He just kept looking at her. Say something, mate. You have to say something. "Hi," he replied then. Well, maybe something a little less lame. Where have your rocks gone all of a sudden?

"What are you doing here?" Great, Buffy, you're the queen of wit, really.

"My laundry."

"I should have guessed," She grinned a little sheepishly and blushed slightly.

"Yeah," Spike nodded. Where was all his bad boy attitude? Was it on vacation together with his snarky replies and the smirks and all that rot? What was this woman doing to him? Just with one little look. It seemed everything was forgotten and he was the little fourteen your old boy again who wrote cheesy poems in literature class.

Suddenly, he blinked. She had talked to him and he hadn't listened. "What?"

"I asked you if you want to drink a coffee with me while we wait for our laundry. There is this little coffee shop across the street and Agnes makes the best cookies in the world and I started babbling. I'm sorry. You go on reading. Forget what I said." She slapped her hand across her eyes and blushed even more.

"Yeah," Spike said again. Buffy blinked in surprise. "I mean, I'd like to drink coffee with you."

He was actually surprised by his own words. For ten days, he had tried to get her out of his system. And out of sheer coincidence he had ended up in the same laundromat with her. To top all this, he had just agreed on heading out for a coffee with her. Maybe the constant blows to the head had finally shaken loose some connections up there and he was getting insane now.

Buffy beamed at him. "Great." She walked to the front door after activating the washing machine. "My name is Buffy by the way."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that a name?" Thank the almighty powers for giving him his cocky comments back. That was a start after all.

"Well, yeah. Go and complain to my mom," she grinned good-naturedly. "I just thought you might want to know since I already know your's."

Spike stopped in front of her as he remembered the moment where she'd said his name. "Yeah, but.. I'd rather you call me Spike." God, that sound lame. Like some little kid that wanted to be called Superman from now on. He almost winced at his own words.

"Spike?" She held back a grin. "Is that a name?"