There's no other word for it.

She's the Slayer, and I know it shouldn't happen. I know it probably never

will. But at least I've stopped trying to convince myself that it's not

true. I wasted a lot of time doing that, I tell you.

But at least... At least she's coming to me, now. At least she's letting me

in her life, which is more than I could have expected if I'd lived to be a

thousand.

I tried to get her to try the dark side tonight. Didn't happen, of course,

but that isn't really the point. The point is that she let me take her to

that dive-- a place she never should've set foot in-- and she put up with my

shit and she even teased me, a very obvious tease, about staking me. And

through all of that, all of those moments where I knew that, as a demon, I

should get frustrated and want her gone because she's so pure in her

righteousness, I just wanted her there. I even got a kick out of when she

let the kittens free, because it's exactly the sort of thing she'd do under

any circumstances.

And I love her. God, I love that woman. Shameful as it is.

I keep telling her that. Not in specific words, but in the things I do. And

she lets me. She's started letting me tell her that I love her without

moving away in disgust. She let me call her my lucky charm. She didn't even

flinch when I called her 'pet' and 'luv' and 'my lady.'

Maybe it was because she was drunk.

But she was there. With me. Working out her problems, hoping I could solve

them. It's possible she came to me because no one else could, but it's not

like I care about trivialities like that. She needed me. For... Something.

Something important.

I've gotten used to her coming to my place late at night. Usually we just

talk, or even just watch the telly, but I think she likes having me around.

Knowing that I know about... where she was, and what happened to her, I think

it comforts her not to have to pretend. And I don't make her pretend. I

would never want her to.

I like that she told me. I like that I'm the only one she trusts on that.

But tonight, when she came in, I knew immediately that it was different. She

just looked at me and then hopped up on the tomb expectantly before saying,

"Got anything to drink?"

It took me a minute to say yes and fetch some shot glasses to drink from--

she's not the kind of girl who drinks from a flask. When I brought them to

her and poured her first drink, she threw it back with no hesitation, making

her first grimace of the night immediately afterwards. That cute look, the

wrinkled nose and wide mouth and glassy eyes. The shuddering sound choking

out of her throat.

That was when I fell in love with Buffy being cute.

She stayed with me for the rest of the night. Followed me, trusted me,

leaned on me, annoyed the demons I was trying to play poker with, annoyed me

even a little bit, but still I thought she was cute. And I hate that damn

word.

And even as she was yelling at me, I entertained thoughts of how it was our

first fight where she didn't hit me. How we were almost a couple, really,

because it seemed like a couple-fight-- her wanting me to change her life and

how all I want to do is play poker. Even though I always get a rush out of

physically fighting with the Slayer-- and not just the Slayer, with her-- I

had to admit that this was better. More personal.

She was cute. She rocked me back, took me off my feet with that little-known

(to me, at least) fact.

So I can't wait. I can't wait until she comes to me again, which I know she

will sooner or later.

I can't wait until she comes to me, and asks for another drink.

The End