This is part 1/2 of the Spike version.

SUMMARY: What's going on in that noggin of Spike's as Buffy finds

herself drawn to him? And how will it all end?

-------------------------

Oh, I've had enough of this.

Enough of the singing, and especially enough of the sodding

choreography.

I'm leaving. There's a bottle of bourbon in the crypt that can keep

me company until it's time for me to get some sleep.

I'm just about to get away, free and clear, when I hear her voice.

"Hey," is all she says, but it's enough to stop my escape. She

doesn't belong out here with me, in the cold.

"You should go back inside. Finish the big group sing, get your kum-

by-ya-ya's out."

"I don't want to," she says, sounding like a spoiled five year old

who's just been told she has to go to bed.

"The day you suss out what you do want, there'll probably be a

parade. Seventy-six bloody trombones," I tell her, knowing I'll be

the one leading that parade.

"Spike--"

I don't even know why she's here. I'm not her friend or her

confessor, and I'm for bloody sure not her boyfriend. She should stop

giving a man hope just to snatch it away at the last second.

"Look, you don't have to say anything."

She interrupts me with her song, and I'm suddenly under the spell

again. Not the demon's spell, but hers.

I can feel what's coming, but I just can't let myself believe it.

I've barely finished singing when we've both closed the distance

between us, and I'm kissing her.

And she's kissing me back.

Well.

Her hands find their way inside my jacket, around to my back, and she

pulls me closer to her.

She's so desperate, so hungry. Her mouth is demanding against mine,

pushing me, challenging me.

And--bloody hell--is that her tongue?

I want her so much. I want to pick her up and carry her away from

here, away from her friends, the ones who've yanked her back to this

torture chamber of a world.

And I'm scared, more scared than I've ever been. Something's about to

go wrong.

I feel her shoulder tense under my hand, and I'm a fool, but I'm

hoping it's not because she's about to--

Before I can finish the thought, she tears her mouth away from mine.

Please, please tell me she just wants to ask if we can take this

somewhere else.

"I--I've got to go," she stammers, and I can see how much she needs

to get away.

"Buffy--"

"I can't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." her voice trails off, and

she starts to back away from me.

"Buffy, wait. It's okay," I want to tell her something, anything that

will keep her from leaving me. I'm struck with the sudden truth that

if she leaves me now, she may never come back. Not to me, anyway.

I catch her arm as she turns, and I realize it could literally be the

last act of a desperate man. She turns around, and I hope her other

hand doesn't have a stake in it.

She wrestles her arm from my grip and pushes me back, and I can tell

she's not messing around. I try to catch myself, but can't, and I

stumble for a step or two before I regain my balance.

"I said, I have to go."

I pull back from her, ready to defend myself in case I've brassed her

off enough to take a piece out of me.

Instead, I'm watching her back as she runs away from me.

And I'm still not sure what I've done wrong.

-------------------------

I'm playing through the whole affair in my head as I walk home, and I

still can't see where things went south.

We're kissing, right, and I know none of them have kissed her like

that. Not Angel and not soldier boy, and certainly none of the other

bit players in her life.

I know she could feel it. The way she kissed me, the way she touched

me, she wouldn't do it if it was meaningless to her. She doesn't work

that way. It's taken me a long time to suss that one out, but that's

not her.

But she still left you, you wanker.

Maybe she didn't want her pals to catch us. I'm not exactly the kind

you take home to introduce to the family. The watcher would just as

soon stake me as look at me, and he's actually one of my bigger fans

in her group.

No, it was more than that.

It's me.

It's me she doesn't want.

Sometime since I'd set out, my direction had changed. I'm a block

away from her house, and I don't see any reason to stop now.

Soon, my back is against the old, familiar tree in her front yard,

and I can still see the remnants of cigarettes under my boots from my

previous visits.

Dawn's voice cuts through the silence, and I duck around to the far

side of the tree just in time to hide myself from them.

"I still can't believe how close Xander came to becoming that demon's-

-"

"Dawn, I think that sentence is best left uncompleted," Giles chides

her.

They stream into the house, chattering about the events of the

evening. I guess I'm the only one who remembers that Xander's little

spell caused a couple of deaths before everything worked itself out.

But that isn't what makes me want to kill the stupid boy. It's his

spell that forced Buffy to reveal her secret to them, that made her

explain just how profoundly they'd destroyed her.

I will never...forgive him...for that.

"I was going to have some hot chocolate before I went to bed. You

want me to bring you some?"

I turn around to find Dawn standing there, smiling at me.

"I've got a feeling, Niblet, that it's past your bedtime."

"Nights when I almost get shanghai-ed to the underworld to be some

bumpy guy's child bride are always curfew-free."

"Something tells me Buffy wouldn't agree with you," I tell her, and I

smile when she scowls at me.

"Why don't you come in? We can watch old black and white movies and

eat popcorn. I'll even let you put chili powder on it, even though

that's really gross."

"It's a tempting offer, Morsel, but I should probably be on my way,"

I turn to leave, hoping I can get away before it occurs to Dawn to

wonder what I'm doing here.

"Spike, can I..." she starts, and then cuts herself off.

"What is it, Bit?"

"Can I stop by after school tomorrow? Just for a little while? It's

not like you can go anywhere else then anyway..."

"Just don't tell your sister, and you've got a deal."

"Great," she says, and smiles at me.

She's a nice girl, that Dawn. I've always had a bit of a soft spot

for--

"What's up with the two of you, anyway?" she asks me, and I mentally

take back all the nice things I've just thought about her.

"Not a thing. I just stopped by to make sure they got you home safe.

And here you are, so I'll be on my way."

Her eyes narrow as she stares at me, filled with teenage suspicion.

"Okay, but you're making me watch 'Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream

House' alone, and you're going to have to make it up to me later."

"Have fun, Bit, and I'll see you tomorrow."

-------------------------

Everything came flooding back to me, all at once.

I'm not a vampire with a soul, helping the helpless and all that rot.

Makes me want to gag that I ever said that out loud. I'll leave the

brooding superhero thing to Angel, thanks.

But that is Buffy down there on the ground, getting herself stomped

on by one of the shark's misfits. And if there's one thing that

stayed constant between being Randy and Spike, it's how I feel about

her.

"Buffy," I yell, hoping it'll wake her up, get her back to her feet

and kicking ass, like she should be.

But look at her. She's not moving, except to wince when he kicks her

in the stomach.

"Buff--"

The uglier of the two vampires jumps me, cutting me off before I can

get through to her. Now I've got to get through this one before I can

take care of the one on Buffy.

I punch Ugly, which gets the attention of his friend. That's better.

Why don't both of you come at me and leave her alone.

They're both completely inept, and I'm just sick at the thought that

I ever ran from these two poofters. They both charge me, but I catch

them and knock their heads together. They fall to the ground on

either side of me, with dumb, dazed looks on their faces.

"From dust," I say as I stake the first, "to dust," I finish, staking

the other.

The shark and I have words, and I get the feeling now that he's

watched me dust the muscle he hired, he's not so sure he should be

pursuing me anymore. I tell him something just to get him to go away,

because I'm more concerned with Buffy than anything else.

I just don't understand it. She remembers who she is and it just

takes all the fight out of her. I could murder the witch for bringing

her back just to put her through this suffocating misery of a life.

Except for one thing. Having her back is the only thing that makes my

existence worthwhile.

I hold out my hand to help Buffy up. Even with the Slayer strength

and quick healing, she's still got to be sore from the beating she

took.

I feel like it's my stomach that's been kicked in when she ignores

me, gets herself to her feet, and brushes past me like I'm not even

there.

And I just stand here, like an imbecile, staring after her. I don't

even move until she's completely disappeared from view, and even when

I do start walking, I'm not sure where I'm headed.

-------------------------

I am not following her. No matter what it might look like.

We happen to be walking in the same direction, is all. It's a free

country, last I heard, and if a man wants to duck into the Bronze for

awhile before going home, who is she to tell me I can't?

No one, that's who. I'm my own man.

Then why am I following her?

It's clear she needs someone to talk to, but I'm probably the last

one she'd consider for that duty. Now, if there was some big-hairy-

ugly after her sister or one of her pals, mine'd be the first door

she'd knock on.

But she doesn't own the Bronze, now does she? I'll just go in, get

myself a drink or ten, and then see what trouble I can get into on my

way home.

I take a deep breath, sure she'll kick my ass the minute I walk onto

her precious hallowed ground.

Once I'm inside, I catch myself looking for her against my better

judgment. It doesn't take me long to find her. There she is, sitting

at the bar and staring off into space. More than a couple of the boys

who walk past her barstool take a second, and sometimes a third look.

Can't blame them. Even when she's miserable, she's beautiful, and

there's really no debating it.

They better keep their hands off her, if they know what's good for

them.

I carefully approach the barkeep and carry out a silent transaction,

my crumpled money for his beer. I don't know why I'm being so careful

not to disturb her highness, but I'm successful. She shows no signs

that she's spotted me, so I find a dark corner on the other side of

the room where I can drink in peace.

The beer slides down my throat, bitter and cold--and not the least

bit fulfilling.

And I realize, even though I can't see her, I'm still staring

directly toward her. I have been ever since I came in.

There's really no use pretending, is there? I know what I came here

for, and even if she shoots me down, I still have to try.

Because it seems I haven't taken enough punishment recently.

I walk across the room to stand next to her, and that's all I do.

Stand there, like a statue. I'm trying to think of something to say,

but I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. The chances of saying the

right thing are, well, let's just say I have a better chance of

finding myself in a pleasant conversation with the almighty.

I wish I could tell her she can tell me anything, she can just sit

and say nothing, she can pound on me if it'd make her feel better. I

want her to know I'm not here to demand anything of her, I'm not here

to make her life miserable.

Hell, I'm just trying to help make it bearable.

The expression on her face doesn't even change as she turns to look

at me. It's like I'm not even there. She turns from me as if my

presence has mildly inconvenienced her, and she'd simply rather not

have to look at me.

'Stay if you want, but don't think I'm going to acknowledge you.'

And I'm back to being the one kicked in the stomach. I draw in a

breath and hold it, letting it out in one big puff before I leave her

again. I'm heading for the door, but something keeps me from leaving.

I'm livid with myself, but the faint glimmer of hope that she might

change her mind keeps me here.

I find a staircase to lean up against, and my hand closes over the

pack of smokes in my pocket. I could use a little nicotine, actually.

Bugger. I can't smoke in here. This is bloody California, after all.

Sure, I could light up, but then some burly college bloke would

decide to kick me out, and I wouldn't be able to lay a hand on him.

Nothing more humiliating that getting bounced out of this place by

some oversized--

"You can't smoke in here, you know," she says, shifting her weight

from side to side.

I can't quite believe she followed me, and it takes me a second to

gather my thoughts together to say anything. I really shouldn't

expect too much. She's probably just here to tell me to go.

"Listen, I'm leaving. You don't have to bother your pretty head

coming over here to throw me out, right?" I started to walk past her,

figuring I've just saved her the trouble of telling me for the

millionth time to leave her alone. "I know where I'm not--"

Suddenly, her hands are on my face, pulling me toward her. I'm still

trying to figure out what kind of strange fighting moves that

watcher's been teaching her when I feel her lips touch mine.

I recover from the shock quickly, which is good, because this

probably won't last long. I don't have too much time before she comes

to her senses.

I'm afraid to touch her at first. I don't want to do anything to make

her leave me.

But then she clutches at me and moans against my mouth, and it makes

me forget about scaring her away. I have to touch her, have to hold

her. I can't feel her this close to me and not hold her.

I slide one hand to the small of her back, and I can feel the gentle

curve of her waist through her clothes. My other hand has already

found its way to her shoulder, and I imagine for a second that I can

hold her here, keep her from running away from me this time.

She seems a little wobbly, so I turn us around and brace her against

a pillar.

She feels amazing. Much better than every fantasy I've ever had about

her, combined. It seems obscene to think of the 'bot, even just to

compare it to the real woman. Nothing can substitute for the genuine

article.

This is even better than our last kiss, because we know each other

now. I know what she reacts to, I know what makes her clutch at my

clothes, and I know what makes her go limp in my arms.

And with every touch of our lips, she teaches me something else.

Her hair brushes against my hand when she moves her head, and it's

unbearably soft against my skin. I suppress the urge to bury my face

in it and learn how her scent mixes with the shampoo she uses.

We break the kiss to stare at each other, and I'm afraid this is when

she'll tell me she has to leave. I can't believe it, but I don't see

the impulse to run away in her eyes. She guides us back into a kiss

before I can consider it any further.

I feel her pull back from me a little, leaning against the pillar,

and I'm jealous. Of a bloody inanimate object. I tighten my arm

around her back and urge her to lean against me, instead, and she

does.

Her hands slide up my back and link at the nape of my neck. It

presses her body close to mine, and she feels soft and inviting

against my chest.

Her finger runs down the length of my neck, and it sends a slow wave

of pleasure through me. I have to break away from her to take in a

quick breath, and I hear her sigh in frustration at the sudden lack

of contact.

I tease her lips with the tip of my tongue, and her mouth opens

against mine. Everything feels like it's moving at half speed around

us as I explore the inside of her mouth. Her tongue shyly meets mine,

and I think she might have just driven me mad.

Her hands move to my chest, and just when I start to enjoy the feel

of her there, she pushes against me. I'm knocked back, more out of

surprise than from the force she used.

My eyes fly to hers, and I'm desperate to change her mind. Don't

leave me, Buffy. Not when it was just starting to feel right.

"It's too much, Spike. I can't do this. You're--you're not what I

need right now."

It always comes back to this. I'm a monster. I'll never be good

enough for her. She'll never see the changes I've made to be the man

she wants me to be. She'll never let go of my past.

Defeated, I take another step back to let her know I'll do nothing to

block her escape.

And she walks away from me, again.

-------------------------

I silently blessed the telly on the way to the museum I had seen on

the evening news.

This was the kind of thing that had 'Buffy' written all over it.

Pretty obvious this was the work of a demon, though it's not one I'm

familiar with. I wish it was. That way I'd have information to offer

her, which is a good excuse, as excuses go, to be around her. But

I've got nothing, other than my sparkling personality.

I arrive at the museum and see a crowd gathered near the front doors,

where the ambulance is waiting to take the poor frozen bloke off to

the hospital.

I spot Buffy right away, and stifle back a laugh as I watch her jump

in the air to try to get a better look over the crowd. Apparently, it

isn't working, because she ends up having to push her way to the

front.

She doesn't stay long, and soon she's walking toward me, taking an

occasional glance up at the windows lining the side of the museum

wall.

Just like I'd figured, she's looking for a more private way in.

I'm sure she's not going to be happy to see me anyway--that she'll

admit--I might as well allow myself to tease her a little. She

flushes in the sexiest way when she's angry at me, and I can't say

that I'm not looking forward to it.

"Great," she says, when she finally notices I'm here.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up."

"What are you doing here, Spike?"

That's my girl. Right to the point.

"Well, you know...a man was frozen alive in there. A little

compassion, love."

She tries to walk past me, but we're not done yet. I fall into step

beside her, my mouth moving two paces ahead of my brain, as usual.

"Uh, you know, as long as we're both here, you might as well tag

along. I mean, as a team we could--"

"Yeah, that never really ends well, does it?"

I think it's been ending pretty bloody spectacularly, myself. All up

until the part where she runs away.

"It did the other night," I answer, and it comes out much more

seriously than I'd hoped it would.

"You really seem awfully fixated on a couple of kisses, Spike."

Couple of kisses? Those weren't a couple of kisses. Those were

profound, life-altering experiences, and she knows it as well as I

do. She's walking past me again, and I'm forced to call after her to

keep her from escaping again.

"And you seem awfully quick to forget about them..."

She stops, and I'm not sure whether it's what I've said or the way

I've said it.

"Look. I'm sorry...okay? I'm sorry if you thought that it meant

more." Her eyes brim with sincerity, and, just for a second, I catch

myself believing her.

But this isn't the same woman I've held in my arms.

"But," I say, trying to draw out whatever excuse she's decided

explains away our little snogging habit.

"But, when I kissed you, you know I was thinking about Giles, right?"

I barely suppress the urge to snicker at her. She obviously doesn't

realize what it just sounds like she's said.

"You know...I always wondered about you two," I say, deadpan, and

then wait for her to figure it out. The look on her face at the

moment of realization makes it all worthwhile.

"What? Oh, gross, Spike!" I wonder what kind of mental images she's

trying to ward off. "He left. I was depressed. Ergo, vulnerability

and...and bad kissing decisions," she says, as if she's explaining

everything to a very young, very stupid child. "Okay? But, that's all

it was. you have to let it go."

I can't help it this time. I can't keep the expression on my face as

neutral as I'd like. She can't possibly think I'll believe any of

this rot, just because she's decided to believe it herself.

"Did it work?" I ask, being deliberately cryptic.

"What?" she says, and there it is. I can see how flustered she's

become, what with me not going along with this conversation as she's

rehearsed it in her own mind.

"Did you convince yourself?"

"Please, stop," she asks me, and I can hear just how much she needs

me to do just that.

And I wish I could, but pretending none of this ever happened isn't

going to resolve a sodding thing. I realize, as I watch her turn from

me yet again, I've got to say something, do something to keep her

talking. Good or bad, we've got to have this out, even if it ends

with me as a fine layer of dust covering the grass under her feet.

"A man can change," I say, and wonder what I was thinking when I said

it. There had to be some less pathetic way to keep her from leaving.

"You're not a man. You're a thing." And she turns her back on me

again, as if I mean nothing at all to her, as if I'm not even worth

despising anymore.

"Stop walking away," I insist, and my hand catches her shoulder. The

moment I touch her, I realize it's all I've wanted to do, ever since

the last time I saw her.

"Don't touch me!"

Her hand connects with my face as she turns around, and before I can

stop myself, I punch her back. Reflex action, one I'll pay for with

one bugger of a head--

Wait.

Nothing. Not a twinge. No blinding pain, nothing.

My brain struggles to hold onto something, but I'm reeling. What in

the bloody hell is going on?

Buffy's starting to get up, and it hits me all at once. I'd better

deliver one spectacular performance here, or brace myself to get

staked. There's nothing in this world that would keep her stake out

of my heart if she knew the chip...

I scream, holding my head and watching her out of the corner of my

eye for any sign she's seen through it.

She backhands me, and I don't have to work to make my fall look good.

She wasn't messing around.

"You're a thing," she says, carefully pronouncing each word. "An

evil...disgusting...thing."

Maybe I am, pet. Maybe I just am, at that.

-------------------------

'A man can change.'

My own voice plays over and over in my head.

You know what? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I can't change. Maybe I've

just been fooling myself.

Maybe neither one of us will be free of this curse until I come back

to my senses. Something has seen fit to return me to my old self,

turn off this blasted chip and free me. It's got to be for a reason,

right? A purpose.

Something's trying to remind me of what I am.

Because I'd really started to believe I'd changed. I'd really wanted

to be the man she needs, instead of the monster I was.

Am.

I find I've walked downtown, and there are people everywhere.

Strike that. There are meals everywhere.

They're just food. You're different from them. This is the natural

order of things. Just pick one, and get on with it.

There's one. Blonde. Pretty. Defenseless. Almost the way I like them.

Two out of three isn't bad.

Oh, and she's heading for the alley. Bloody wonderful. You know, if

the humans in this burg didn't insist on all those shortcuts through

dark alleys, Buffy's job would be a whole lot easier.

I take a different alley, then duck into the one Blondie's chosen

from the opposite end and hide in the shadows. Now I just have to

wait for her. And ignore the steadily-growing, sick feeling in the

pit of my stomach.

I can do this. I will do this.

I hear her shoes scraping against the pavement as she draws closer,

and I emerge just as she reaches my hiding place. She screams, which

should be music to my ears.

"That's right, you should scream."

Blondie tries to get past me, but she can't possibly think I'm going

to allow that to happen. I block her, and watch the horror and fear

register on her face.

And bugger me, but I already feel sorry for her.

"Creature of the night here, yeah? Some people forget that," I say,

more to myself than to her.

"Please," she says, and her eyes are begging me to let her go.

"She thinks I'm housebroken," I rant, trying to take my mind off what

I've decided to do. "She forgot who she's dealing with."

"Anything you want. Please--"

"Just 'cause she's confused about where she fits in--I'm supposed to

be too?" I ask, ignoring her plea before it breaks my will. "'Cause

I'm not. I know what I am." I start to pace in frustration. My first

feeding was easier than this. "I'm dangerous. I'm evil."

"I...I'm sure you're not evil," she says, and I find myself wishing

her voice was Buffy's.

"Yes, I am. I am a killer," I say, and close in on her. "That's what

I do. I kill." I can feel the uncertainty creeping in again. "And,

yeah, maybe it's been a long time, but--it's not like you forget how.

You just...do it."

I will my face to change, force myself to descend on Blondie. She

screams and I ignore it, closing the inches between my fangs and her

neck.

"This might hurt a little," I tell her, just before I close my mouth

over her jugular.

But then the familiar, shooting pain courses through me. I'm dimly

aware of the sound of her running away.

The pain starts to die away, and I realize the rules are even more

bollocksed-up than I thought.

"What the hell is going on?" I whisper to myself.

-------------------------

If I don't get this girl out of my head, I'm going to wear a hole in

the floor of this crypt from all the pacing.

It's not me at all. It's her.

I struggle to remember anything I've done to Buffy since she got back

that might have made the chip fire, and there's nothing. It's

probably been this way ever since her resurrection, but tonight is

the first time I've done anything to illustrate the point.

My thoughts return to that night, 148 days since the day she'd died,

when I first saw her again. How I tried to tell that Harris whelp

that Buffy could have come back wrong.

And now, maybe she had. Except none of us were smart enough to notice.

I remember what I said, that if any part of what came back was Buffy,

I wouldn't let anything happen to her. Wouldn't let the witch clean

up her little mess.

Whatever she is, the chip doesn't recognize her as human. Or I'd be

nursing an even bigger headache than I already am.

I shouldn't tell her. If I tell her, she's got every reason to stake

me. I've tried to kill her more times than I'm sure either of us can

count, and she'll believe I'll try it again now that I've got the

chance.

Never mind that I wouldn't be able to do it. I've lived in a world

where she was dead, and I'm in no hurry to experience it again.

But she should know. The rest of them know exactly what they've done

to her, what they stole from her when they brought her back. It

doesn't seem fair that Buffy doesn't even know how much they've

botched the job.

I'm not thinking of telling her for self-serving reasons. But if she

did know that she's more like me than she is like her friends, that

we're not that different anymore, she might be able to--

Stop. I can't think that way. She has a right to know where she

stands, simple as that.

I'll let her draw whatever conclusions she wants. If that sends her

back into my arms, well, that's just icing on the cake, isn't it?

-------------------------

How can she not be patrolling tonight? I've looked everywhere, but

she seems to be taking the night off.

Well, this will not keep.

I start to walk past a pay telephone, and then I give it a second

glance.

All right, it's not exactly my style, but it's probably more

effective than walking around all night.

I feel around in my pockets, hoping some change will magically

appear, but I'm as broke as I thought I was. I take a quick look

around and see that no one's in sight, then I jimmy the bottom

section of the phone open and quarters spill into my hands. I put a

stack of them on top of the phone, and get ready to make some calls.

Which would be fine, if I knew anyone's phone number. How does this

work again?

I push a quarter into the slot and dial 0, like I've seen people do

on television.

"Operator," says a voice, after a couple of rings.

Woman. Nice voice. Now it's time to turn on the charm.

"I need a number, love. Can you help me out?"

"Y--you should really dial 411 for that service, sir."

"Couldn't you make an exception, just this once?" I'm in a hurry, and

I can't be standing here dialing numbers all night.

"I--I might be able to help you. What city?"

"Sunnydale."

"Name of business or residential customer?"

"I need two numbers, come to think of it. First one, for Summers, S-U-

M-M-E-R-S."

There's some clicking on the other end, for what seems like an

eternity.

"Do you have a first name?"

"Joyce," I say, and then I realize, belatedly, that the bill won't be

in her name anymore. I take a second to miss her, because she was

kind to me on several occasions. Even when I didn't deserve

it. "Actually, come to think of it, the bill is probably in a

different name. Buffy. B-U-F-F-Y."

More clicking.

"I've got that number for you, sir."

She read the number to me, and I memorized it. Who knows when it

might come in handy in the future?

"And the second number, sir?"

"Business. The Magic Box."

Yet more clicking.

"I've got that number for you. Would you like me to connect you

directly?"

"That's perfect. Thanks again," I tell her, and I can almost hear her

blush.

At least I haven't lost my touch with women completely.

There's one ring, and then two, and I'm ready to bail out if anyone

other than Buffy answers. What am I going to do, ask them, 'Is Buffy

there?' and wait for them to hang up on me?

"Hello, Magic Box." Her voice floats through the phone and I can't

believe my luck. Right, first try.

"Slayer," I start, trying to sound sexy and just a little bit

menacing.

"Spike?" she asks, and she truly sounds confused.

She'll get the point. Just get on with it.

"Meet me at the cemetery. Twenty minutes. Come alone."

She thinks I'm such a monster, I may as well play up the idea. She'll

show up just to kick my ass.

"Spike?"

Bugger all. Doesn't she have any imagination? Of course it's me. Who

else would call her and talk to her this way? Has she got vampires

lined up as kissing partners all over town?

"Bloody hell. Yes, it's me."

"You're--calling me on the phone?"

That girl always did have trouble focusing on the point.

"Just be there."

"Why? Are you helping again?" She raises her voice, yelling into the

phone loud enough that I decide to hold the earpiece a little further

away. "Do you have a lead on this frost monster thingy?"

Whatever it will take to get you here, love, that's what I've got.

"Something like that, yeah," I say, and I can't resist baiting her a

little. "Thought you might be up for a little grunt work."

"Wha&mdash," she says, sounding shocked. "No. No--no grunting."

I have to hold the phone away from my mouth a little as I stifle a

laugh.

"I was talking shop, love, but if you've got other ideas," I say, as

if the thought hadn't really occurred to me until now, "you, me, cozy

little tomb with a view..."

There's a violent sound on her end, followed by a dial tone. I

finally let out the laugh I've been holding as I set off for the

crypt to wait for her. There's no way she'll refuse an invitation

like this.

-------------------------

I was sure she'd be here.

I was sure she'd be early.

My 'twenty minutes' ultimatum has come and gone. Now that it's over

an hour later, it finally occurs to me.

She's not coming.

How could she not come?

I blow out the candles I'd lit in anticipation of her arrival, and

set off for the magic shop. If she's still there, there'll be hell to

pay.

-------------------------

continued in part 2