He'd been asking for it, really. It wasn't as if he didn't know what Buffy's temper was like. It was that he'd forgotten what Buffy did when she was pissed.

And currently, what she'd done was completely staining his silky purple shirt. (Was there a double meaning behind this? He'd worn this shirt the first time they'd made love.)

"Bloody bitch," he muttered under his breath, dabbing uselessly at the sugary, fruity concoction she'd dumped on him. He wouldn't be as pissed off if she'd just punched him in the nose and insulted him like usual, but instead, she'd poured her drink all over him.

Dawn glanced at him, her lips pressed tightly together. "Quiet. You brought this on yourself."

His lower lip popped out, as if on cue. "But do I have to act like I did?" Spike asked, his voice bordering on a whine. Dawn had to bite down on her lips to keep from smiling.

"It'd be nice if you did," she retorted. She glanced sideways at the buxom brunette who was halfway across the room at the bar, where Spike had been sitting until Buffy's petty little revenge tactic. "Who the hell's she, and, what's more, what the hell are you doing with her?" she asked.

Spike glanced toward Lilith and grimaced slightly. Maybe he'd played up the swinging bachelor thing too much in front of Buffy, who was currently in the bathroom, refreshing herself. <And cursing my name by all that's holy,> he thought. After all, he had wanted to make her admit to her feelings; he hadn't meant to make her insane. Spike sighed and looked at Dawn. "She is Lilith, an' she would also be my sorry-ass attempt at tryin' to make the Slayer jealous. So far, all I managed to do was make her pissed."

The side of Dawn's mouth curled up. "Spike, you pissed her off by daring to be seen with another girl. Trust me -- Buffy's jealous."

Spike frowned. "Well I was more or less hopin' she might at least fight her, not dump her girly drink on me." His frown once more became a pout, and his nose scrunched up. "I really liked this shirt. I'm gonna be smellin' like strawberries an' mangos for the next week."

He said this last part in such a dejected tone that Dawn couldn't help but laugh. "God forbid you smell a little fruity, Spike." It was when he scowled at her that she realized exactly what she'd implied. Her cheeks dimpled and she blushed. "Oops. Sorry."

He shook his head. "Bloody hell," he sighed.

Dawn tilted her head at him curiously, soaking another paper towel, wringing it out, then dabbing at ends of his shirt. "So what was with the suddenly needing to 'prove Buffy's jealousy' bit?"

Spike glanced at her, grasping the shirt tail and spreading it across his thigh, wiping at it desperately. "Tha's exactly what I was tryin' to do. Prove her jealousy -- prove that she has feelin's for me. I bloody well know she does, but your airhead of an older sister is still keepin' mum about it. 'S drivin' me nuts." He threw his hands up in disgust. "Sod it, the shirt's ruined, 'Bit." He tilted his head, gazing at her. "You wouldn't mind too much if I killed your sister for this, would you?"

Dawn shrugged. "Sorry, but yeah. As airhead-ed as she is, she's still family."

"Damn," Spike said, shaking his head and sighing while Dawn giggled. He looked around the Bronze momentarily, and almost immediately, his head turned in the direction of the restrooms, spotting Buffy heading through the crowd. "Oh, bugger. Here come's the Ice Queen now."

Dawn frowned. "I thought Darla was the Ice Queen." At Spike's look, Dawn laughed. "Oh, right. Buffy. Of course."

Spike rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't mind bein' a luv an' helpin' me out in my moment of need, would you, ducks?"

Dawn grinned sneakily. "I will manipulate and invoke craziness in my sister to the best of my abilities," she said, holding two fingers up as a promise.

Spike chuckled and patted leg affectionately. "Tha's my girl!" Dawn giggled again, before she spotted Buffy and promptly reverted to Stone Cold Dawn. "... And if I ever catch you near my sister again..." she hissed, loudly enough for Buffy to hear as the elder Summers barely trumped to a stop.

"Dawn," Buffy called in the way an owner might order a beloved pet. Apparently Dawn had been trained very well, because, after one quick wink and grin at Spike, she went.

Spike smiled to himself. Damn, but it was good to have such a clever, devilish little chit on his side for once. He slowly stood up, arching his back as he stretched, then meandered over to where he'd left Lilith.

"Ex-girlfriend, right?" she asked, watching the blonde and brunette girls as they left.

Spike's shit-eating grin faltered, and he frowned, grunting under his breath. "Yeah. Somethin' like that," he muttered.

Lilith tilted her head sympathetically. "Poor thing. Who ended it?"

Spike shrugged. "I screwed up. She ended it."

Lilith frowned. "Then what right does she have to come over with jealousy and douse you like that?"

"E-every right. Well, maybe not with the jealousy, but I did do some... nasty things to her. So she does have every right. I think." The more he stumbled over his words, the more unsure Spike sounded. Eventually, he shook his head and held his hand up. "Look, it was really... bad between us two, an' I'm bein' as polite as I can be when I ask you to drop it." He stood up again, looking around. "How about I just walk you home, eh? 've got nowhere else to be, an' to tell the truth, I don't really wanna be here anymore." Spike held out his arm to her chivalrously, crooked at the elbow.

Lilith slid off her stool, accepting his arm. "Okay, we can leave. But how about I walk you home instead?"

Spike looked at her with surprised eyes, tilting his head to the side. "You must be new in town. There's lots of nasties in Sunnydale that you need to watch out for. This isn't the safest place for a chit to go walkin' out at night by herself."

The brunette shrugged. "I can hold my own," she said simply.

After a moment's contemplation, Spike reluctantly nodded. "Tha's a plan. Let's go."

Lilith smiled.

"Okay. How bad is it getting to you?"

Buffy looked up, her lips curled in such a deep frown that her nose was scrunched up halfway up her face. "How bad is what getting to me?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Buffy. Please. You've been moping ever since we left. Hell, you've been moping since we were on the dance floor. You've been moping since May! How bad is it eating you up that Spike was with another chick?"

Buffy scoffed. "It is not... eating me up! Nothing is getting to me, and there is no eating up of... of any kind! This is me, not being eaten up!"

Dawn snorted. "That much is obvious," she muttered under her breath. Clearing her throat, she spoke up. "Buffy. We're sisters. And, if you wanna get technical, we're each other. Same blood and all that? Literally? I can practically read it all over your face. You are so totally eaten with jealousy."

"I am not!"

Dawn nodded slowly. "Ah, so that's why you poured your Fizzy all over Spike's gorgeous purple shirt?"

Buffy sputtered for a moment. "Well... i-it was dirty, a-and I didn't think it would stain all that much, and... and he looked over-heated!"

Dawn stared. Surely her sister didn't honestly think that... this... was a valid excuse?

Buffy flushed. "Okay, okay! So I was..." she glanced around, as if looking to see if Spike would suddenly pop up behind her, well within hearing range, "So I was a little jealous! After all, it wasn't so long ago when he was showering me with utterly devoted attention." She caught the look on Dawn's face, and hurriedly reiterated herself. "Utterly devoted attention that I didn't want! I just..." She bit her lower lip and looked away. "I got kinda... used to it, is all."

Dawn's eyes softened, and she wrapped an arm around her sister's shoulders. "Buffy... it's just me. It's okay to admit how you felt. Not one word of this is gonna get back to Spike unless you want it to."

"I was jealous," Buffy blurted out, before her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth. A few minutes of uncomfortable silence followed as the sisters ambled along the sidewalk. And then, Buffy spoke up again, much calmer, much more resigned this time.

"I was jealous," she murmured again, softly, her voice hurt. "He's always been following me, coming after me, telling me he loved me, and anything and everything else he could think of, and then, suddenly... I mean, even when he was with Drusilla, he had some sort of half-blind obsession with me. He followed me, I swear he did, and I swear even more that half the time, all I could feel him doing was just... watching me. That very first night when I met him?" she questioned, turning to Dawn. Dawn nodded in recognition. She'd heard every possible version of that night's events, and so she had been fully prepared to meet the swaggering bleach blonde vampire before he'd ever even been aware of her existence.

Or at least, that was what her memories said to her.

Buffy continued. "I knew he was there. I was dancing, I was having a good time, but all of a sudden, my senses acted up, and all I could feel was this cold shiver running down my spine. I hadn't even met him yet but I knew who he was, and I knew he was watching me. And I could feel him in every pore of my body, and I've felt him that way ever since. No one has ever gotten me that riled up before, not even Angel."

Dawn tilted her head. "So... you were attracted to him even then?"

Buffy bit her lower lip, then slowly, tentatively nodded. "Yeah. I think so." She shook her head. "Anyway... ever since he told me he loved me -- " she paused, then frowned, then started back up again. "No, wait. It started before then. He's been romantically interested in me, I think, since Willow's 'do-thy-will' spell flopped. Anyway, ever since then, it's been so hard to get rid of him. I thought that was what I wanted, that I wanted him to leave me alone, to get out of my way, to let me breathe."

She glanced at Dawn again. "I grew used to it. I expected him to be there, I expected him to pop up behind me and snark at me, to pounce over my head and start pounding away on the baddie of the night for me, even when I didn't want him to, and later, to follow me around, telling me he loved me. And then, later than that, to walk beside me, not saying anything, not implying anything, but just... listening and knowing the right times to make a joke and pull me out of a brood."

Dawn grinned. "And God forbid you should brood."

Buffy tilted her head, regarding her sister with a wan smile. "Right." She shook her head. "But then... last night, before he got home and told me about the crypt... he told me he was over me. He begged me to tell him that there was a chance between us. Practically got on his knees and begged me. And I choked. I couldn't say anything. And I wanted to. So badly. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and tell him I loved him, and that there would always be a chance for us, and that I wanted him always... and I couldn't. I couldn't say a word."

By this time, Buffy's eyes had blurred with tears. She hadn't even realized that she'd stopped walking , and was just standing on the sidewalk, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "And it hurt him so much. I could see it in his eyes -- he was more than heartbroken. And then he turned around and walked out. And he came back not fifteen minutes later, but I was still so in shock that I couldn't say a word to him. I just told him that he could stay at our house, and I went to bed."

She shook her head. "So I really have no right whatsoever to be jealous. I'm the one that rejected him, again. So if he goes and gets a girlfriend, one that will actually give him the amount of attention he deserves, then more power to him. But..." She looked up and started walking again. "I don't want him to have a different girl. I want him to have me. I want to be with him, and I'm sick of letting everyone else tell me what I should or should not want or feel. I'm just sick of it."

They continued on, before arriving at 1630 on Revello, turning up the walk and walking in companiable silence, before Dawn spoke up. "Buffy. I may not have much experience, but I definitely know one thing: If you want something bad enough, you have to fight for it." The teenager lifted her head, her brown hair draping itself over one eye. "Fight for him. If you want him, fight for him, Buffy. Take him back. Don't let him get roped in by a skank."

Buffy gave the girl a half-smile. "Any ideas for me?"

A slow smile curled over Dawn's lips. "Oh... just one."

The house was right around the corner, and for all the times he'd been there, he'd never noticed what a disturbing 'loom' quality it had. <Hello, certain doom.>

Sigh. He may as well say goodbye to Lilith now, because as soon as he walked through the front doors, Buffy was going to kill him, and he'd never see this raven-haired beauty again.

Spike stopped right in front of the walk, but Lilith, who still had hold of his arm, and seemed preternaturally strong (which, considering this town, wasn't an odd thing), led him all the way up to the porch. Grudgingly, Spike tromped up the steps.

"So this is where you live," Lilith breathed, looking curiously through the front window.

Spike shrugged, uninterested. "S'not really mine. My, uh... a friend lives here. They're letting me crash for a while. My old place was destroyed." Lilith turned to look at him, wide-eyed, and Spike shrugged. "Eh, s'nothing unusual in Sunnydale. Shit gets knocked down all the time."

Lilith gently touched the front door. "Could we go inside, maybe?" she asked coquettishly, batting her eyelashes.

Spike shrugged after a moment. "Why not," he muttered. As he opened the front door, he remembered and froze. Buffy was why not. She was ready to kill him anyway, for even daring to be seen with another girl in public; if he brought this girl inside the house, no one would ever see her again. As he stepped inside the threshold, he turned and smiled weakly. "Uh, actually, luv, maybe it's best for you to go straight home. Since it's not my house, I don't think my mates'll be too pleased with me bringin' you home. Not to mention, I'm worn out as all hell."

It took but a second's contemplation to reach the facts. Well, that, and a keen sense of smell. Okay, and the fact that she'd been watching him and his little circle of acquaintances since his return to this horrid little town. But it only looked like a second's contemplation to Spike. "This is your ex's house, isn't it?" She smiled slowly. "Come on, let me in, Spike. We can show her the true meaning of being jealous if we're inside the house..."

And as much as Spike fidgeted about that idea, he couldn't. As much as Buffy hurt him from the day-to-day, as well as lifetime, stuff, he couldn't deny that no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he was still head-over-heels for the girl. He just didn't want to hurt her anymore.

That didn't necessarily mean, however, that he wasn't going to. But he was only willing to go to a few certain extents, and no way was letting another chit in the house going to be good for any of them. He gave her a stronger half-smile. "Sorry, luv. It's appealin', naturally, but I don't want to risk your hide on the burner. 'S better for me to just go in there an' let the little wench get on with it."

Lilith fidgeted noticeably. Her hands twitched, in fact, and she looked to be fighting against strangling something. "Are you sure you don't want me in the house? Spike, let me come in, please. I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

Spike frowned. For all that she wanted to help him get back at Buffy, she really wanted to be inside the house to do it. "Luv, do you wanna be in the house so badly? 'Cos I've barely known you one night an', yeah, that's not generally a problem with me, but you sound like you want the house more'n me!"

Instantly, Lilith backed off. "No, it's not that. I guess... I'm just cold."

Spike's frown deepened. "It's eighty-six degrees in California during Indian Summer in November."

Lilith shrugged. "Maybe I'm used to the East," she joked, backing away. "Okay, Spike. I guess I'll see you around."

Spike suddenly snapped out of his confusion and jumped down the porch steps, running out to her. After all, she was a sweet girl, and he didn't want her to leave on a sour note. The least he could do was to... "Wait..." She turned around expectantly. "Don't you wanna at least..." he shrugged modestly. "Seal the night with a kiss?"

The dark-haired beauty -- so much like Drusilla, and so familiar to him it was eerie -- smiled and turned around. Placing her arms around his neck, she pulled him in for a deep, slow, stirring kiss. Spike's eyes closed as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand at the small of her back, one hand at the back of her head. He wasn't so used to women being his height or even, in Lilith's case, slightly taller than him. As much as she'd matched him blow for blow, Dru was just the tiniest bit shorter than him, as was Harmony, and... Buffy.

And with that thought, his inner eye switched images quickly. He wasn't seeing Drusilla anymore. He wasn't seeing Lilith, either. It was all Buffy. Always Buffy. Gold hair, eager pink lips, cute little upturned nose, even if it did have a slight bump on the bridge, hazel green eyes glittering with fire, passion, love, hate, lust...

Holy hell, he was suffocating. And he didn't even breath!

He jerked away from Lilith, gasping in order to catch his breath -- which, again, he didn't need to breath. Lord, but the effect Buffy had on him was mortally degenerating. Putting his hand on his chest, he drew in one single breath, then looked up at the women in front of him. "Er... maybe it's a good idea for you to be leavin' now, yeah?"

Lilith smiled. "Of course. See you, Spike," she said as she walked down the front walk. Her teeth ground together in obvious fury, and as soon as she was out of Spike's sight, she pummeled the trunk of a tree.

Stupid vampire. William was being quite unreasonable about this whole thing. She growled to herself and transformed, taking the shape of her current chosen animal, the leopard. There had to be something more she could do in order to wear him down. She'd already struck once -- her kiss with Spike had been witnessed by that short little blonde bitch from the upstairs window. But there was something more she needed to do. She had to get inside that house! Destroying the Slayer and all her comrades -- or preferably having Spike destroy them -- would be the only way to free sweet, vicious William from the spell that this harlot had unknowingly cast on him.

Now... she just needed to think of her tactics. And she always thought better after a good hunt.

Buffy smiled to herself when Spike turned away from Vamp Tramp, looking disgusted and distraught. Or maybe the disgust was just her imagination? Either way, Spike looked completely confused, but not so much that he hadn't had the wisdom to get rid of Lilith instead of inviting her into her home.

Although she would have been even more pleased with Spike if he hadn't resorted to kissing the living dead's version of a walking STD.

But either way, it worked out. Spike wasn't around Influential Possible Vampire Whore, and (thanks to Dawn's ingenuity and quick timing), she was alone with Spike in the house.  Dawn had informed Clem, Giles and Willow that Buffy had been slightly on edge as of late, and wished to spend the night alone, so it would be wise to go to the local motel for the night. When countered with a speculative question on Spike's presence in the house as well, Dawn responded (albeit very lamely) that Spike would be in the basement, keeping to himself, while Buffy would be walled away in her own bedroom. Alone. By herself. As in not-with-Spike.

Which of course, she would be. Hopefully. If this plan went off without a hitch.

Maybe it had been the urgency in Dawn's voice that had gotten Willow to lay off and follow along.

But anyway, the point was that Buffy and Spike were alone in the house, and thanks to an outfit she'd never thought she'd have use for, and the sweltering evening that had crept up on Sunnydale tonight, seemingly in Buffy's favor, the plan Dawn had provided her with in order to win Spike's affections once again was in place. And how exactly Dawn had known about the this thing was a question that Buffy was going to stay far, far away from.

When Anya had first given her the gauzy red teddie, she'd been shocked into embarrassed stillness, because for some reason, the idea that Anya owned anything like this in her wardrobe was more shocking than half the words that came out of her mouth at times. The teddie was trimmed with black faux rabbit fur around the cleavage and the hem, which was probably the only reason Anya had worn it in the first place, since she believed that the rabbit that had contributed to this outfit had died a most painful and gruesome death.

One of these days, Buffy was really gonna have to get to the bottom of Anya's rather ridiculous rabbit fear.

The teddie dipped so low over her breasts that Buffy was amazed that the damned thing could support her so well anyway. It was virtually backless, supported only by a few strings that crisscrossed over her skin, and the thong portion was pretty much the same -- one thin, single string settling between her... yeah.

And to make things more embarrassing for her, she could not for the life of her find a way to keep her garters attached to the damned thing. They were supposed to be hooked to the bikini-cut hem in the front (which settled much too far above her bikini line, in Buffy's opinion). However, the garter belt itself seemed to enjoy loosening itself and slipping down her waist until it twisted around her legs. And the robe Anya had bought to go with the whole ensemble? See-through, and ended right below her ass. Go figure. So much for at least keeping some of her body concealed. It would do the trick, though. Spike's eyes would very likely not be returning to their sockets when he saw her in this.

Personally, the only thing she liked about the entire outfit was the robe. The make-up tips that had come with the outfit were extremely helpful. She enjoyed the way that the kohl black eyeliner rimming her eyes made them appear smoky and mysterious.

The problem was that it was very likely that Spike would keel over and die from spontaneous sexual combustion. She was wearing -- or barely wearing, anyway -- his favorite colors, after all.

Self-consciously, she glanced down at herself, appraising how she looked, and imagining what Spike's possible reaction would be. Snorting to herself, she recalled Anya's words, when she'd first handed the naughty girl outfit over to Buffy.

"I read in Cosmopolitan that sheer, racy undergarments such as these, when worn by the women in question, were guaranteed to throw a man's hormones off balance, ensuring heightened pleasure and longer lasting orgasms," Anya had said. Then she'd frowned. "It definitely added stimulation, but Xander didn't like it at all. In fact, he seemed more interested in taking it off of me, instead of ravishing me with it on. Not that I minded, but show a little appreciation, you know? I spent a hundred dollars on that thing!"

Buffy had merely stared, pale-faced, at Anya, unable to keep herself from shuddering at the thought of herself coming in bodily contact with one of her best friend's... er... releases.

But worse still was what Anya had said after that. "Based on the fact that Xander didn't seem too fond of this thing, and seeing as I no longer have any use for it, and also regarding the fact that though you're skinnier than I am by far, we're still about the same size, I would like to present this to you to have. You aren't seeing anyone at the moment, so you have no need to worry about wearing it in the bedroom, and granted that you never will use it, I can take it back anytime I need to, so long as you don't have any orgasms while wearing it." She'd grinned. "So! Have fun!"

<Oh, yeah,> Buffy had thought at the time. <How can I not have fun with gorgeous, sexy underwear, when you've made it particularly clear to me that I'm unappealing to men, what with my skinny-ness, and the fact that I don't have anybody...>

Okay, so she'd decided to put those thoughts on the back-burner for tonight. After all, tonight, she did have somebody. Granted, he was half-terrified of her, not to mention being "over" her, and he had suffered severe emotional and physical abuse because of her, but she had SO gotten over herself! She was finally Buffy again, she was normal, and not going through the motions, and feeling sorry for herself, and taking it out on everyone that meant something to her (well, except when Xander brought it on himself). And, bigger plus, she was in love with him. And she was willing to put herself into far-too-sexy garments with her skinny (but getting plumper) little self, just to get him back from a conniving, whoring she-devil, so that HAD to mean something.

Of course it had to mean something. She was doing this to get Spike back in her life. She'd never wanted him in her life before, thanks to her friends' influences and her own stupid, stuck-up notions about vampires and their feelings. So, yes, it meant something. She was getting Spike back. Biiiiiig step forward.

Well, Anya had never asked for it back, possibly because, when she'd given it to Buffy, it had been two weeks since Darth Willow had tried to end the world, and Anya's relationship with Xander had been the real apocalypse.

So Buffy was going to put this to good use, especially since she still had the body needed for it to work.

And hopefully, after Spike regained his equilibrium, he'd have her on the ground within a nanosecond. Or, romantically, in his arms, carrying her to her bedroom, but she'd have to make due. Just as long as she got Spike back.

Meaning something to him again was, really, all that mattered to her.

Well, no screaming banshee Slayers tonight. Spike sighed as he fairly keeled over onto the couch. Clem wasn't here for some reason. Spike grunted. Floppy must've been out with the kitten poker crowd again.

Suddenly, something caught his attention, and he sniffed. Frowned. Sat up.

Nobody was here. He couldn't hear a single heartbeat -- no, wait, there was one. Kinda fast-paced beating, almost nervous, he'd say, but whatever, that wasn't the point. The point was, he and someone else were the only ones here. Where was everybody else? Had Buffy finally driven them insane and run them all out of the house? Had she hinted to Giles, Willow and the others that Spike was being a bad non-neutered puppy or something, and had sent them after him? In which case, they were running a wild goose chase, since he so obviously lived here now.

What the hell was going on?

Ooh. Footsteps. The person-who-was-here was finally making their physical presence known.

And holy hell, did they make it known.

As soon as Spike caught the slightest glimpse of the body that was coming down the stairs, his eyes attempted two different things at once: first, they widened to almost painful proportions in order to get a better view, while at the same time, they snapped shut, so as not to embarrass the hell out of himself when she made it into the living room.

He had a feeling that was going to happen anyway.

Buffy descended the final step, looking for all the world like an innocent angel -- okay, well, maybe 'innocent' wasn't quite the right word. Not with what she was wearing. The only angelic thing about her was probably her hair (which, by the way, was down, floating around her like a golden halo, and -- oh, hell, here came the bloody awful poet.) Her eyes were outlined in charcoal black, her lips were dyed ruby red, and her skin, normally a healthy, golden California tan in the light of day, was a pale, pale white in the dark of night in this house. And her outfit...

That outfit was so bloody scandalous that Darla would have cringed at the sight of it -- and Darla had been a whore.

Still, it did its duty, and Not-So-Little-Spike rose up to happily salute Slayer and Body.

Buffy smiled slightly at him. "Hey, Spike." She paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue after that. <Go with sweet and innocent, like you wear this sort of thing every night!> chorused Pro-And-Anti-Spike (who, subsequently, seemed to be merging into one, and were apparently acknowledging Buffy again, now that her sense had been knocked back into her). "Listen... about earlier tonight?" She moved closer to him, the sheer red robe swishing back and forth with her movements. Spike's eyes widened at the high cut of the bikini-like bottoms -- and nearly fainted from pure, undiluted orgasmic overload when he saw that the soft brown hairs that had once decorated her mound had apparently been shaven off.

It took a minute for him to come back to earth and listen to her. "I'm sorry for the... you know... turning you into a Sea Breeze. You have a right to see other girls. I-I shouldn't have done that."

She knelt down so she was eye-level with him, jarring the Anti-Nightie so much that the top slipped down slightly, barely showing a hint of a pert, pink nipple to his eyes. He fought off a whimper. Buffy it seemed, however, took no notice of his reaction, instead laying her hand on his bare chest, the contact alone being enough to nearly drive Spike off the edge at this point.

"We're still... friends, right, Spike?" she asked, with enough suggestiveness in her voice that easily out-innuendo-ed every quip and leer Spike had given her in the last five years. And now she was nibbling her lower lip. The action was so enticing and endearing at the same time that, as Spike unconsciously began to lean closer, he nearly fell off the couch.

Catching himself before he committed the first action to prove himself an utter ass in front of her, he nodded quickly, affecting a nonchalant air. "Yeah, sure, Slayer. Whatever you say."

He was nearly thrown through a wall by the smile that exploded onto her face. She threw herself forward, impulsively hugging him, and unconsciously rubbed her half-exposed breast against his very much exposed, very Buffy-sensitive chest. He hastily caught the unmanly 'eep' that threatened to emerge.

"Thanks, Spike," Buffy said, her insides nearly quivering with laughter at the tension and desperation in Spike's body. < Over me, Glory's lopsided ass! > she thought giddily. Now all she had to do was make the tension absolutely unbearable. Thank the Powers for that sweltering heat.

She pulled back, rubbing a hand lightly over her chest. "God, I think I'm melting," she breathed, frowning at the sticky sweaty-ness that coated her skin.

For his part, Spike did his best to respond while attempting to tear his eyes away from the tiny Slayer hand running over the delectable Slayer skin on his delicious little Slayer -- and, yeah, he really had to stop that. Still trying not to keel over with laughter, Buffy took pity -- at least for the moment -- and went to the kitchen.

Immediately, Spike's eyes were closed, and he was on his back muttering to himself.

<Crosses, garlic, sunlight, holy water, stakin', getting staked, stakin' Buffy -- no, shit, goddammit! Beheadin', catchin' fire, burnin' up, runnin' out of cigarettes, runnin' out of blood, killin' people, suckin' blood, suckin' people's blood, suckin' warm, delicious human blood, suckin' warm, delicious, powerful  Slayer's blood, suckin' Buffy's blood, suckin' Buffy -- ack! No! Okay, okay, wait -- Peaches! Think of bloody Peaches, think of Angelus, Angelus stole Dru, Angelus embarrassed you, made life miserable, stole your woman, shagged Dru, shagged the Slayer before you did -- DAMMIT!>

Spike cringed, finally reduced to his last resort. <Think about last year, mate. Think about bein' used, think about nearly rapin' Buffy, think of your stupid bloody mistake when you got drunk an' shagged Anya, think of Harris, think of Stupid Git Harris, for Christ's sake, think of bloody Harris in a cat suit and coming on to you!>

Spike's eyes snapped open, and he gave a full-body shudder. <Well, that one worked.>

At least it did until Buffy walked back into the room. Even making it so that the horrid Harris image in his mind was naked and coming on to him wasn't going to distract him from Buffy's beauty.

Buffy, meanwhile, knew exactly how she was affecting Spike, and the knowledge made her giddy. She really had been hot, however, when she'd left Spike's company for the kitchen. But the second she'd stuck her head in the freezer to cool down, she'd spotted another method of inducing Spike-Torture.

Namely, a box of rocket pops. Not exactly the right color (snort) and no where near Spike's proportions, but it would definitely do the job otherwise.

Spike's eyes widened when he saw the way-too-close to phallic shape of the Popsicle in Buffy's hand. His jaw very nearly fell off of its hinges when she brought the pop up to her lips and slowly, deliberately, licked the very tip with a dart of her nimble pink tongue.

His eyes followed helplessly as she engulfed the frozen treat, making her seemingly innocent act of enjoying the iced sugar seem all too obscene. He wasn't positive how, but he managed to close his eyes and begin to mutter to himself mentally. However, his <Harris in a cat suit!> mantra somehow turned into <Buffy in a cat suit!>, complete with visuals, and then she wasn't in a cat suit, she was in that scandalous little scrap of lace, and then she was naked.

At the images fluttering in front of him from the times he had seen Buffy naked, Spike very nearly fell on the ground, howling from the very real physical pain that his thoughts cost him. He chanced a glance at Real-Life Buffy, thinking a barely dressed Buffy would at least be slightly better than Naked Buffy and would calm his erection down the tiniest bit.

Nope, that didn't work.

For one, her popsicle was melting. Meaning that now, little rivulets were dripping down her hand, and she was in a race to catch them before they dripped down her elbow. Meaning that she was licking and sucking at the rocket pop like there was no tomorrow. And for Spike, from previous experience, of course, watching the little show that Buffy was presenting to him set his borrowed blood to boiling in lust.

He groaned silently. <Why? Why me? I'm trying to be good, really! Why do you bloody gits have to torture me?!>

Her tongue was trying to catch up to all the drippings (Spike cursed the imbecile who'd made this night so goddamn hot -- er, weather-wise), and after a frustrating moment of trying to figure out what it was, exactly, that she was going to do, she finally deep-throated the whole damn thing. Spike's eyes bolted open, and try as he might, he couldn't help the one tiny, unmanly squeak that  shot out of his throat and did a taunting 'nyah, nyah, nyah-nyah, nyah!' right in front of him. Sigh. There was no other way around it. He couldn't deny it to himself anymore.

He was hard. All thanks to that devious little bitch.

Buffy, on the other hand, was loving every single second of this. Obviously, she had no problems with turning Spike on. But here was the hard part -- getting him so riled that he made it up the stairs and right into her bed.

Which actually, now that she thought about it, shouldn't be that difficult at all.

"Spike?" she asked, creeping closer until she was on her knees on the floor beside him. Spike's mind stubbornly refused to acknowledge the 'on her knees' part, while the rest of his body was currently in the midst of a veto in attempting to toss his brain into the clinger.

The popsicle was still very useful, as Buffy's lips were now following its length up and down. He knew, because his eyes had opened long enough to catch her on the upsweep. Her head tilted to the side a bit, and she contemplated him as her tongue traced the tip of what was now the most perverted rocket pop on the planet. Deciding that it would be best to just point out the obvious rather than to give stupid, long-winded statements, she leaned over him and placed her hand over his. His body gave a very visible jolt, and he glanced at her, wide-eyed and anxious.

"Do you--" her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Spike relaxed a bit -- obviously Buffy wasn't all stones tonight, and was even a little nervous about what it was exactly that she was pulling. "Do you," she started again, "want to come upstairs and let me... handle the problem?" Her hand moved from his to the painfully large bulge in his lap.

Spike let a hiss escape his throat through his teeth. The searing hot pressure of her hand was so familiar, so comforting, so, so... arousing, that it was difficult not to just explode right there. It was then that it finally hit him what Buffy was doing -- and why. Yes, she really was coming onto him. Why? Because she still wanted him. But Christ, even after all the shit he'd put her through, she still craved him?

Somehow, that wasn't very comforting. Was she fucking insane?!

Well, at least she'd finally ditched that evil popsicle. Right into a potted plant, but still. No more torture. She straightened, standing up, and Spike's eyes shot closed when he was treated to yet another view of why Buffy had chosen this scrap of nothing to cover her tonight. Her hand reached out to cup his cheek, and he unconsciously leaned into it, purring. She waited until he opened his eyes again.

"No pressure, Spike," she murmured softly, then slowly, deliberately blinked once. "I'll be waiting."

She turned and Spike was given yet another glimpse of her transparent backside.

He was gonna murder the lunatic who'd given that teddie to her. It was a pure piece of evil.

Granted, the view was pretty enticing. Not as nice as her front side, but still way up there. What with nothing but a piece of floss between her smooth round cheeks, and the way her hips were swaying back and forth, and the whole point that she was very nearly naked right in front of him!

He nearly caved in and went after her.

But then he realized what the little bint had implied by her "I'll be waiting." Translation? "I'm waiting upstairs for you and with the way I look, there's no doubt in my mind you'll come after me, because you have absolutely no self control."

She had actually assumed that he wouldn't have the willpower to deny her something she wanted.

Something she wanted. Of course. Once again, it was All About Buffy. It was a wonder that the girl's head wasn't floating off her shoulders, the way her ego was daily inflated.

Well she was wrong for once. He wasn't going to go traipsing after her like her little lapdog again, eager to please, more eager to get fucked, happy to just have one of her condescending eyes straying his way. Spike was going to sit right here on his tight little ass, while Buffy was going to be hit with the mother off rude revelations. She could stew as much as she wanted -- he didn't give a shit. He was staying put until she understood that he had not been put on this earth and brought into her life in order to be bossed around.

One of these days, she had to learn. Spike was not her personal lust-bunny.

His decision made, he sat back and unzipped his pants.

Hey, his realizations about Buffy may have pissed him off, but the image of her was still stuck in his head. He had to do something to get rid of this problem.

She was pissed. No, brassed off.

No, wait, she had one better. She was fucking livid!

She'd been waiting for Spike to trudge upstairs for more than forty-five minutes now -- assuming that Spike might want to fix himself instead of limping up the stairs -- but so far, Spike had proven to be a no show. So, she headed back downstairs.

Her jaw dropping at the sight of the object of her affections, turned on his side, facing the couch, peacefully asleep.

Suddenly, her anger found itself merged with unbearable hurt, and it took every cell of her body to keep that wailing sob that was rising in her throat from escaping. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop her tears from dripping down both cheeks, and after a few sniffs, she bowed her head and made her way back up to the bed that she would apparently be occupying alone.

It was true. He didn't want her anymore. Oh, he wanted her physically -- with the way she'd been dressed, she had pretty much ensured that. But when it all came down to it, he was a man, and she was a woman wearing transparent clothing that pretty much just covered her tits. Spike probably would have reacted that way to any woman he'd seen wearing that outfit.

But if it had been so easy for him to just roll over and got to sleep without giving her a second thought...

"Thoughts bad," she whimpered, sniffling. "No more thinking."

This was all Dawn's fault, she decided. The teenager had been the one to push her into the whole Operation: Seduce Spike thing; Dawn had been the one to encourage her to act on her feelings for him. Therefore, seeing as how the whole sorry attempt had backfired horribly in Buffy's face, it was Dawn she was placing the blame on.

But there was another face that was surfacing in her mind -- another person that she knew, deep down, was the cause of her jealousy and hurt.

<No,> she thought, straightening abruptly, her face solidifying into a hateful mask. <Not Dawn's fault. HER'S.> Her tears stopped flowing, and her eyes hardened and became ice cold. She knew why Spike was no longer interested in her.

"Turbo-Bitch," she growled.

Practically tearing off the now-useless teddie, she dressed dangerously in a pair of black jeans, a black tank top, and her black, steel-toed army boots. Strapping several stakes onto various locations on her person, she fought the urge to go down the stairs and give Spike a good kick in the shins. Instead, she took a trip to her teen years, and climbed out her window. Dropping nimbly to the ground, she scowled and continued on towards the cemetery. Maybe it was natural instinct, or maybe it was wishful thinking on Buffy's part that led her there, but something told her to search this place for the bitch that had dared to try taking Spike away from her.

However, after about an hour of searching, she realized how fruitless her search was, and began wondering if her Slayer instincts were on the fritz. The Drusilla wanna-be Slut-Bomb that had set her sights on Spike was human (she had to be; her presence hadn't even set off Buffy's normally accurate Spidey-senses). There was no reason Stupid!Evil!Bitch would be wandering around the cemetery, not even this late at night.

With fatigue, failure, and depression setting in, Buffy turned to go home.

And then she heard voices.

Normally, she wouldn't be worried -- especially since Pro-and-Anti Spike (now merged, as she'd realized before) had made it a habit lately of talking to her like they were old friends -- and like they were real. But she knew right off the bat that the voices she was hearing did not belong to her friendly neighborhood mental loonies.

Stepping into a wall of bushes and peering through the leaves, she squinted her eyes and realized that --

Sigh. She'd stumbled in on a make-out session.

Dammit.

But something told her to take a closer look. And so she did.

The female (who, by the way, had her long, skanky legs wrapped around the guy's waist) finally lifted her head and smiled an almost bone-chilling smile.

Buffy's heart gave a lurch. It was her! It was the Slut-Bomb! < YES! > she cheered internally. The bitch hadn't even been with Spike for more than a night, and was already playing him! And Buffy, better than anybody, knew how much Spike hated polygamy -- he was a one-woman vampire, and always had been (which made him a bit of a freak in the vampire world. Not that he already wasn't one). When he heard about this, he was going to be furious!

<And you'll get to console him and be in all self-righteous indignation with him! > Pro-Spike added excitedly. Buffy's eyebrows creased. <Where the hell have you been?> she thought.

<Er... visiting last year's memories,> Pro-Spike replied sheepishly.

Buffy nodded to herself understandingly. <Gotcha. Proceed.>

She nearly smacked herself on the head when she realized what she was doing. <Stop talking to yourself, dipshit! Get home and tell Spike he's taken up with another two-timing whore!>

But before she could, Slut-Bitch did something that not even Buffy had anticipated.

Her fangs bared, her head dove down and she struck like a viper. Her victim never had a chance to make a noise, and her legs' tight grip on him snapped him in half. She drained the boy in two seconds flat.

Buffy's Slayer instincts thrummed with excitement. The evil man-stealer was not only a two-timer, but she was a vampire.

A slow, predatory smile curled her lips.

This night just couldn't get any better.
 
 

TBC...

"I knew it."

Lilith stilled, wondering why she hadn't sensed the presence until the intruder had spoken. Normally, her senses were far more advanced and keener than a Slayer's and Vampire's combined; then again, she had just been concentrating on dinner. She slowly turned around, tilting her head as she caught sight of a smirking young blonde behind her. Lilith's eyes narrowed, and she growled. "You!"

Buffy's smirk widened slowly. "Yeah. Me." Walking closer, her arms folded tightly, she shook her head. "I should've known better, if you ask me. I mean, the whole dark-n-gothic thing? Drusilla's worked so much better, and she had the added bonus of being a lunatic. Still, I should've realized you were a vampire fun girl from the start." She shrugged. "But I guess it would have clicked eventually, once you brought Spike into the mix."

Buffy's smile finally faded at that. "You couldn't have left him alone, could you? Why do all the wanna-be Big Bads want to go after him? Why couldn't you, I don't know, go after the... the president, or the pope, like a normal baddie? Why Spike?"

Lilith prowled closer to her. "I'm trying to save him, you blubbering fool!" she snarled.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "From what, hair products hazardous to his unlife?" she retorted.

"From YOU!" the vampiress shrieked, and Buffy moved back, startled. She gaped at the woman (to whom her voices adamantly referred to as 'Cuntbitch Tramp') in astonishment.

"Me? You want to save him... from me?" She watched Lilith advance, furiously nodding her head. Buffy stayed in shock for a second... and then it wore off, and she rolled her eyes. "What the hell kinda psycho-planet are you living on?"

That managed to throw Lilith off. "What?" she snapped.

This time, Buffy was the one storming forward. "You want to save him from ME?" she repeated incredulously. "I am the least thing dangerous in Spike's life, and you, ya dumb bitch, YOU, who barely even... even KNOW him, you wanna -- what? Bring him to life? Make him a king?" Her fist swung abruptly, and as she was now less than a foot away from Lilith, her fist caught the raven-haired woman across the face; and as Lilith had been caught off guard, the punch sent her crashing backwards right into a tombstone -- in the shape of a cross. She winced, but merely shrugged off the stinging as she felt her exposed skin begin to sizzle. That was definitely gonna leave a mark.

Buffy shook out her hand, standing over Lilith with a look of disgust and hatred on her face. "What else could you have been planning on doing, huh? Maybe... getting rid of the competition?" Buffy snorted derisively. "Sorry, honey. I'm NOT going anywhere!"

Lilith had remained on the ground, glaring hatefully up at Buffy's tiny but powerful form, but when the Slayer had finished her tirade, the vampiress had surged upward, grabbing Buffy's leg and yanking down hard. The blonde girl let out a yelp, and crashed down flat on her ass, legs and arms sprawled out to break her fall. Lilith bent down and grabbed Buffy by her hair, slowly pulling her up.

Oh fuckfuckfuuccck, that hurt!

Lilith abruptly let go when Buffy was standing (well, wobbling on two feet, at least), and the Slayer stumbled back several steps, staring in disbelief at the woman.

"Are you fucking insane?" Buffy whispered, bright green eyes wide.

Lilith smirked, baring her teeth. She drew herself up to her full height (which [given that Buffy was normally obscured by everyone at social functions due to her height deficiency] was really quite a good deal) and growled.

"Do you really believe your own delusions, Slayer? Do you really believe yourself to be that on top of things in his life, that you have a say on everything or everyone that passes through? You forget, little one, that he's been alive for a century longer than you. William has known people and creatures all over the world in every way possible, decades longer than he's known you. So yes, maybe I am just a little bit insane, when a little bitch like you claims to be so important in someone like William's life."

The dark-haired vampiress tilted her head in a way that agonizingly reminded Buffy of Spike's (over-abundant) curiosity. Lilith lifted her head, haughtily staring down her nose at Buffy. "I do know him, Slayer. Just as I knew Drusilla, Aurelius himself, Darla..." she sneered, "and your precious, soulful Angelus."

Her feline-like eyes flashed gold. "I know them all, just as I know William. I know William... just as I know all of my children."

Buffy stared at her momentarily in silence. And then she snorted. "Then maybe Social Services should have come after you instead of me, because you have been a VERY bad mommy!" the blonde exclaimed mockingly. Her eyes lit up. "Ooh! Is it okay by law for the Slayer to invoke punishments on negligent parents?"

Lilith smirked. "Oh, do it. Please. I'd love to see you try."

No sooner had she spoken than Buffy had launched herself up and belted her across the face. "I'll try. I'll definitely try... and I'll most definitely succeed." Another fist thrown against Lilith's face, and Buffy pulled back, her breath coming heavily. "Whore."

Lilith snarled and aimed a wicked right hook across Buffy's jaw, which (when Buffy ducked) slammed into the corner of a mausoleum, breaking off a chunk and reducing it to dust particles. Buffy gaped wide-eyed in horror at where her head had been. If she hadn't avoided that punch right at that second...

Maybe confronting Lilith alone hadn't been a good idea after all.

Falling back into a defensive stance, Buffy pushed off from her toes and barreled headlong into her counter-attack when Lilith came at her again. Except that when she plunged toward the evil bitch, the Slayer found herself flying through the air and landing flat on her ass. Again.

She sat up and looked around warily. What... where the hell had she gone? Buffy's eyes lit up and she grinned. Maybe the slut had run away? Big Badass Vamp Chick was just a pussy-footed wimp after all!

"Spike's gonna figure you out, bitch! He's not gonna fall for that bullshit act anymore, not after I let him know!" She yelled out into the night, hoping her voice carried to wherever Lilith was. "You don't deserve him! You're a waste of creation, and you're delusional if you think he's EVER gonna be with you! You - oh!"

Buffy's eyes widened as Lilith climbed over her, shoving her face firmly to the ground, lily white hands around the Slayer's delicate throat. "He can't know if you can't tell him," the vampiress hissed. Her eyes flashed, and she bent over Buffy, bearing her long, needle-sharp fangs. "And you can't tell him if you're dead."

Her hands tightened around Buffy's throat, and now the Slayer was struggling, gasping for air. The vampiress chuckled in amusement. "You stupid, silly child. You really think that I'm just a girl who's got a yen for a boy?" She shook her head. "I think you might be the insane one."

Buffy whimpered, grabbing at the black-haired woman's hands desperately, bucking against her in an attempt to regain the air that she was quickly losing. "You know, something tells me that Spike's gonna... gonna notice it if I'm... not back in the house by... by daybreak!" she gasped out.

Lilith smiled coyly. "Oh, believe me. He won't."

It was the thought of how exactly Lilith might go about shielding her unfortunate disappearance from an apparently very trusting Spike that caused the enormous, powerful surge of adrenaline to shoot through her. Her body scrunched up beneath Lilith's, and her legs came up around the vampiress's head, wrapping 'round her neck tightly. Jerking her legs, Buffy yanked the other woman off of her, forcing her to fly back into the ground. The blonde came at Lilith in a flurry of motion, kicking and punching as much, and as hard as, she could.

"You won't live long enough to touch a fucking hair on his head," Buffy growled, gathering all of her anger and unleashing it in tidal waves at the prone vampire. Blows to the head, ribs, neck, sides, even a cheap low-blow, all rained down upon the dark-haired woman. And it was when Buffy finally stopped, backing up considerably in order to catch her breath, that she realized something truly, truly horrible.

Lilith did not have a single mark on her. In fact -- there was nothing indicating that Lilith had just been attacked by a 110-lb. Slayer who had unleashed the furies of Hell and otherwise on the darker woman.

Buffy had, for the better part of her Slayer career, rarely been in a fight that hadn't left the other party mashed to a bloody pulp on the ground. It was her experience with Glory that had humbled her to that.

But this bitch was stronger than Glory. And Glory had been a god.

So what the fuck was Lilith, then? One of the Titans?

Buffy, for lack of a better word, was petrified. So, instead of backing up slowly, she did the one thing that probably had saved her life in that instant.

She turned and ran like hell.

Lilith gave a mad little giggle of delight, and clapped her hands - apparently, Drusilla's insanity was not one of a kind, and did, in fact, span generations. "Ooh, I love it when they run!" she cooed. Then, quick as lightning, she followed.

In retrospect, it really was pretty stupid of Buffy to hide from a slightly brain-damaged, probably centuries old vampire behind a crypt, but then again, her mind was more occupied with "Flee-In-Terror" mode. Buffy was not known for thinking logically or rationally in a bad situation - that was what Willow and Giles were for. Buffy, on the other hand, had a habit of skipping steps when it came to emergencies.

Anyway, the point was, she was acting on animal instincts, saw the big building, and tried to hide behind it. What the hell kind of super-hybrid vampire was Lilith that not even a Slayer at her most brutal could lay a single mark on her?

Okay. Now she was quite positive that it hadn't been a good idea to go after Lilith alone. If she got out of the cemetery alive... Oh, god, please let me get out alive... then she was going to alert the gang ASAP.

Riiiight after she ran home to Spike with her tail between her legs, and squealing like a farm animal that she regularly likened him with. Well, hey, Spike deserved to know that his latest interest was a fucking lunatic!

She frowned. And what the hell was Lilith's deal with the "They are my children" thing? She couldn't be saying that she was Spike's -- that she was the woman who had given birth to William The Bloody -- could she?

Well, she does look a little like him around the nose, and... Bad-Buffy (as she had now renamed her Pro-Spike thoughts, given how often they gave her bad advice or unnecessary information - such as now) piped up.

EW! If Lilith was his mother... then... she was hitting on her son... and kissing... oh, ew. Gross.

Okay, so it wasn't really that believable. If Lilith was even remotely related to Spike, he would have known. Spike had an unbelievable memory when it came to stuff like this.

"Wow. Creative hiding spot, Slayer. I probably never would have found you," a dry, mocking voice said, piercing into her extremely weird thoughts.

Buffy's eyes widened; then her air was once again being cut off, and she was struggling and kicking her feet in mid-air.

"Let me go!" she tried to scream, but her voice only came out as an unintelligible rasp. Lilith did let go - unfortunately, it was just with one hand. The other remained firmly at Buffy's neck, pinning her to the mausoleum wall while Lilith's free hand pulled back - then collided.

Buffy swore later that she felt her brain rattle in her head, the force of Lilith's blow was so strong.

When she regained consciousness again, she began instinctively lashing out, kicking at the other woman's middle in an attempt to be released.

In response, Lilith's blows became more punishing. Buffy wasn't even aware of how badly she was bleeding until the blood from her split lip began to flood her mouth. Looking down, she noticed that her tank top was very much ruined. She wouldn't have cared at all, normally, as she had gotten used to all of her favorite clothes being decimated night after night over the last seven years, but the sight of her smeared blood on her skin underneath her tank top seemed to be a great cause of concern.

Somehow... it only made sense that this blatant, heinous destruction of her outfit would fuel her hatred for the stupid fucking bitch who wouldn't. Fucking. Let. Go. of her neck.

As much as it was paining her to move at all, Buffy swung her head forward, ramming her forehead into Lilith's perfect nose.

And again, it only made sense that a good, perfectly positioned head-butt from a cornered Slayer would manage to get the bitch off of her.

But just to be sure, once Buffy regained her equilibrium and was able to stand up properly, she spun and knocked Lilith across the jaw with her heavy boot.

By no means was Lilith out for the count, but the dark-haired woman couldn't help but admit that the Slayer (when given a fair chance - or, otherwise, placed in a life-threatening situation) was quite a worthy opponent, and could very well hold her own against power as old as Lilith's.

So she gave Buffy a free card.

She chuckled as she tentatively touched her chin. "You know what, dear? Go ahead and tell sweet William whatever you think it is you know about Big Bad Lilith. Let's see what he says... who he believes." The vampiress shook her head in amusement. "You would think that a Slayer of such success and renown as yourself would have thought to do a little research on me before she would even think of attacking."

Buffy's face burned bright red, but she refused to say anything. Instead, at Lilith's next motion, she lunged forward and caught the small silver signet ring that Lilith had thrown at her

The darker woman smirked. "Do your investigating, girl. And the next time you want to pick a fight with me... make sure you're ready first."

Buffy, who had been determinedly studying the ring during the vampiress's speech, looked up, startled, when she heard the hiss. Backing up wide-eyed when the greenish-yellow eyes of a leopard gazed malevolently back at her from the bushes. One blink, and they vanished.

Buffy stood where she was for a long moment, swaying slightly, then sighed. Rubbing her forehead, where she was fairly sure a bruise would form, she limped achingly out of the cemetery, heading back home, and - hopefully - to Spike's arms. Though both had forfeited this fight tonight, Buffy couldn't help but admit to herself who the real victor of the match was.

She managed to make it home without a sound a protest from her aching body, even when she climbed the porch steps. But apparently, even knocking on the front door had become to much for her - she managed to knock once, before her fatigue forced her to collapse on the ground. She just caught sight of the door opening before her eyes saw black.

It had taken every single little bit of willpower to stop Spike from charging up those stairs after Buffy, in order to, er, take care of the problem she'd managed.

And once his subconscious Buffy made an appearance, his lonely hand working him into a well-deserved release, it was quite easy to roll over, pretend he was curled up with a sweet and loving Buffy, and go to sleep.

Unfortunately, his slumbers never lasted long these days -- he woke up after a good, solid half-hour of rest, hearing vague footsteps on the floor above him, before grunting with annoyance and passing out again.

This continued in a slightly erratic pattern until about 3:18 in the morning, when there were a few loud thumps at the door during his conscious period. Frowning, he managed to stand up without tangling his legs in the make-shift throw that covered him, and sauntered toward the door cautiously.

Somewhere in his lucid, not sleep-deprived mind, he registered that it wasn't normal when loud banging noises were made against the front door at three in the morning. And then, the aforementioned lucid parts remembered that Spike lived in top of a Hellmouth, where this WAS a regular occurrence.

It was that realization that made Spike change course and stagger over to the weapon's chest that Buffy kept - in plain view, no less - in the corner of the living room. Of course, the axe he hauled out was probably a bit of overkill, but he wasn't taking any chances. He moved back toward the front door.

But the bloody pile of... something... lying there was cause enough for him to fling the axe back into the house, and scramble onto the porch. Rich, pulsing, fluid, aromatic, delicious, tangy... oh, god. The blood. He dropped to his knees next to the figure in shock.

"Oh, god. Buffy," he muttered, gently pushing her over onto her back. "Shit!" he exclaimed when he got a good look at her face. Cuts, bruises, blood... Buffy's beautiful, beautiful, picturesque face... The Slayer looked like she'd hit a wall. Covered in spikes. Repeatedly.

"Gods, Buffy, what happened to you?" Spike asked quietly, closing all his senses to the rich, thick red rivers that were dribbling down her face and across her body. It wouldn't do to have his demon react in hunger to the blood placed before him now -- as it was, he was having to forcibly shove the demon back, given how close to the surface it really was. After a moment, when he was satisfied that his demon had been subdued, he settled one arm behind her head and the other behind her knees, lifting her up with barely a grunt. (Lord, but Buffy could stand to gain a few pounds!) He carried her inside carefully, placing her gently on the living room couch.

The minute she woke up, he was gonna raise hell until he found out what had happened to her. But first...

He swallowed hard.

He had to stop the blood.

Warm. So warm, and so... nice. And loving. Safe.

Buffy sighed softly and turned over, her eyes fluttering open. To meet the piercing blue gaze of an incredibly hacked-off vampire.

Uh-oh. He knew she was awake.

"WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL DID YOU DO NOW?!"

Buffy cringed. Ick. Warmth, love and safety made a swift exit. Now playing: Annoyance.

Cripes. She's been awake for half-a-second, and the Spanish Inquisition had already begun.

Buffy looked up, preparing to play the role of the wide-eyed innocent over whatever Spike was going to blame her for now. But Spike had that look on his face. The one with the squinty eyes, and the flared nostrils, and the bared teeth that used to say, "If you make another stupid comment about Drusilla being a ho again, I'm gonna rip out your intestines and wear them as scarves!"

Except now it was much scarier, because now, Spike could follow through on that threat.

Okay. So it was full Menace Mode, then. Dammit. That meant he wasn't going to budge.

Well, fortunately for her, she knew him well enough by now that she could see the tensing of his jaw, and the nervous tic of his fingers that revealed his fear and concern for her.

Either that, or her head had been banged into the damn mausoleum too many times.

Oh, whatever. It couldn't hurt to humor him.

"Do? I didn't do anything. I went patrolling, and I got into a fight." Spike glared at her. She backed up. "Okay, a really, very BAD fight. That's it!" Well, it's a half-truth, at least. And did I mention that the bitch who did this to me was your skanky new girlfriend; oh, and by the way, that she's an evil vampire?

Buffy frowned at the middle of that thought. How was it that Spike couldn't even tell that Lilith was a vamp? Normally he would've been able to react to her presence, even if she were fifty miles away.

Hmm. She should probably get to researching The Enormous Ho sometime soon. Mental note to bug Giles.

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow skeptically. "Patrolling. Right. That's what you did after sundown. For three hours. Remember?"

Shit. Her face was turning bright red, and she knew it, but she still fought tooth and nail against it. Or, if she couldn't beat it, then she could at the very least keep her composure. Spike was leaning against the couch and smirking at her now. "So, tell me, Slayer – why'd ya wanna do another sweep after we nicked off the new-vamp populace for the night?"

She looked at him closely, green eyes narrowed pointedly. "I was just feeling a bit... dejected. I wanted to get it all out," she muttered. There, she thought, that's vague enough to get him off my back, and sounds enough like "rejected" to make him feel like a big dumb guilty... person. Oh, yeah, I'm SUCH a word-smith tonight.

She noticed his face soften slightly, but if she'd actually thought that Spike -- Spike! -- was going to back off, then her common sense was going the Way of The Dodo.

His voice was so cold when he next spoke that it was practically Arctic. "An' tha's a reason to disappear? Ooh, I'm Buffy the Vampire Slayer®. I'm depressed, I can't take five bloody minutes out of my brooding to wake up the sleepy vampire an' let him know where 'm gonna be, s'that it, Slayer?" He turned fierce blue eyes in her direction, flashing with the cool, hard gold of the demon. "I WAS FUCKIN' ASLEEP, Buffy! I wouldn't've known where you were if you hadn't've banged into the bloody door! An' what if you hadn't've made it back? What the hell would we 've done then? How would we 've found you?" His next one, a true low blow, really, really went in for the kill. "How could I fuckin' tell Dawn?! What the buggerin' hell were you thinkin', 'f you were even thinkin' at all?" he yelled.

Buffy winced. Oops. Out of sight, out of mind, it seemed. She hadn't even been thinking about Dawn, she was shamed to say.

Oh, yeah, she was up for Sister-Of-The-Year.

Whoa... mmkay. How had he managed to pin her to the couch when she wasn't looking? His hands were grasping her shoulders, as if he were desperate for her to understand, or believe him. Her defensiveness reacted, and she started kicking and shoving at him – to no avail.

Ugh. He was five minutes away from beating the sense into her.

And as always, her mouth jumped in to ruin the day... or make it even worse, the way things were going.

"You could always ask your sweet, innocent little pet about it," Buffy snarled, continuing to push and shove at him, though it was doing little good.

Spike stopped and frowned down at her in confusion, exasperation, and (not to mention) annoyance. "What? What the bloody hell are you talkin' about? What's Dawn got to do with this?"

Buffy groaned and rolled her eyes, then whimpered softly – dammit, the bitch had beaten her so badly she'd bruised Buffy's eyes! She shoved him away, this time succeeding, and fought the urge to start laughing when he flumped onto the floor. "Not Dawn, braintrust! Your new Drusilla wanna-be!"

Now Spike was just lost. "Who, now? I don't have a – wait, a Drusilla wanna-be? There's a chit walkin' 'round tryin' ta be Dru?" For a moment, he looked almost excited by the possibility, practically bouncing on his heels – well, he would've been if his ass hadn't been firmly planted on the ground – then, the confusion set in. Again. "Why?"

By that point, Buffy was poking herself on one of her bruises to keep reminding her that violence would NOT be appreciated in this situation, and no, she really should not pop Spike on the nose, no matter how much the situation called for it, as he was the man she loved, and it wouldn't be suitable.

Then she remembered that the man she loved had been semi-sociopathic for the better part of a century, and would probably welcome a good punch to the face, as that would induce foreplay, and inducing foreplay would thereby ensure that -- Arrggggh... Bad. Buffy. Thoughts.

Also, kinda starting to sound like Anya. Major wig-factor there.

Either way, she decided it would probably be better to explain things to him when she wasn't resorting to the literal version of beating sense into him.

"Spike," she began calmly, giving him a deadly Look when he opened his mouth to interrupt. "Your new... companion," (for lack of a better term. She still couldn't bring herself to say the...ugh.), "is identical to Drusilla. In. Every. Way."

Spike snorted. "Yeh. Lilith. An' people called Dru insane. You're positively nutters, Buffy."

She scowled.

Spike chuckled in amusement. "They're not identical! An', all right, yeh, they got a bit of the tall, pale, seductive dark-haired thing with a bit of a penchant for me thing goin', but it doesn't mean anything!"

"Argh!" Buffy ground out. She grabbed for her head, then rethought it at the last moment, as it was still swelling and throbbing with pain, and grabbed Spike's head instead, doing her best not to throttle him. Because, as her subconscious was quite fond of reminding her – daily – it wouldn't do any good.

"Spike! Listen to me. Clearly. They. Are. The. Same. The mannerisms, t-the way they walk, the 'cross-me-and-you'll-die-a-painful-painful-death' attitude, and, oh yeah, the BLOODSUCKING! Lilith is a VAMPIRE!"

"Oh, I've fuckin' had it with you, Slayer," he growled, straightening. "Lilith is NOT a bloody vampire, an' I should know, as 'm one meself! If she was, I woulda sensed her fucking demon –"

"The same way I did?" Buffy demanded quickly. "I couldn't sense her demony-ness either, Spike, but I saw it with my own eyes! She killed a man tonight, Spike, and she did it by ripping his throat out!"

"You've been on the soddin' Hellmouth too long. She's got the whole vamp thing goin' for her, so you're becomin' delusional! Yeh, she's a bit odd, got a screw loose an' what-not, and okay, she's a bit of a --"

"Blood-sucking crab-infested gutterslut?" Buffy supplied innocently, grinning when Spike turned and glared at her.

"An eccentric, I was goin' ta say, you stupid bint. An' how do you --" he stopped and looked at her closely. "Tonight? You saw 'er tonight?"

Buffy let out a relieved breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Yes, that's that I've been trying to tell you! I saw her tonight in the graveyard with another guy. And she killed him. So not only is your new girl a vampire, but she's macking on other guys to boot!"

Spike looked at her in disbelief, causing Buffy's earlier euphoria at his having finally 'gotten it' to completely disappear. When he finally gave a reaction, she wished to God that, for once, she'd kept her mouth shut.

"Were you actually – you have the gall to – you bloody stupid fucking BITCH!" he roared, and suddenly, Buffy was trying very hard to avoid the virtually apoplectic rage she could see in his now-yellow eyes. She yelped when she suddenly found herself propped up against the wall next to where she'd been sitting. An indignant inner-Slayer began ranting at how she could have even possibly missed Spike's lunge at her, but she quickly forced the primal inside to shut the hell up with one look into Spike's furious face.

"S-Spike?" she stuttered, looking up at him nervously. Another very non-Slayer like action; she hated to admit it, but he was really starting to scare her now. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to know what he was doing and grasped her harder, his fingers already forming bruises on her previously bruised arms. She tried again, meeker this time. "William?"

That did the trick. Spike suddenly realized that he had actually managed to scare the living hell out of her, and he pulled away quickly. Raking his fingers through his gelled hair, he turned and glared at her.

"Summers, you are one piece of work, you know that?" he spat. She gazed at him wide-eyed, but before she could contest that statement, Spike continued. "For months at a time, it's push-me-pull-me because it's the soddin' wrong thing for you, but the right thing for your body. So when I back off, I think 'm doin' the right thing, since you don't want me, physically or... well, not-so-physically. I decide to move on, I meet another chit who is no where NEAR as complex as you are, and you bloody start stalkin' her!" (Buffy began sputtering incoherently.) "An' now you start rampagin' on, tellin' me she's seein' other guys, and she's a vampire? Are you that fuckin' spoiled, Buffy? Are you that fuckin' jealous?" Spike raged.

Buffy's eyes blazed. "I'm telling you that she's a vampire because that's what she is!" she bit back, as soon as she was able to form words properly again. "And as for her seeing other guys, well, I don't know about 'guys' plural, but I definitely saw her with the one. And now he's dead, because she squeezed him with her freakish man-legs, hard enough to break his back, while she stuck her tongue down his throat!"

Spike's eyes flashed again. "You're a nasty little liar. You're full of shit, Buffy!" he snarled. The smaller blonde gasped, her jaw dropping indignantly.

"I'm telling you the truth!" she yelped.

"You're fuckin' jealous as hell that I refuse to be your bloody lapdog anymore!"

"I'm trying to save your sorry excuse for an unlife, you grade-A asshole!"

"Bitch!"

"Manwhore!"

"You stupid fucking bloody senseless cunt!"

Oh, THAT did it.

With a wild cry, Buffy lunged at him.

Dawn sat alone on the bed in the hotel room she was sharing with Willow and sighed, watching Clem contemplate the merits of stealing the tiny Jack Daniels, or going for the much smoother Mudslide. "Do you think it's working?" she asked the floppy-skinned demon.

Clem shrugged, opening the tiny JD and sniffing at it before shrugging again and downing it. "Don't really know, kiddo."" He threw a disgusted glance at the now-empty bottle. "But I DO know that I will never drink this stuff straight ever again. Kittens on the rocks taste better than this stuff, I don't know how Spike does it." He turned his attention to the Mudslide and smiled crookedly at Dawn. "Have you ever had one of these?"

Dawn's eyes lit up and she started toward him when he held the bottle out.

"Oh, wait. Isn't there some sort of law against little humans like you drinking?"

God. Fucking. Dammit.

Dawn sat down again, scowling.

Their lips crashed together at full force, Buffy clinging desperately to Spike. Her arms were flung around his neck, and she was finding it quite difficult not to virtually climb up his body to be closer to him. Her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, and Spike was sucking and licking at her lips like they were the greatest pleasure that he had ever known – hey, maybe they were. He stood up, straightened, and began stumbling backwards, looking for some sort of surface to hold him up before his knees buckled, and ended up pressed between Buffy's lither, squirming little body and the wall. The position, with their combined attempts at trying to do the impossible and climbing their way inside each other, allowed their bodies to firmly interlock without the actual... er... interlocking, and they both moaned out loud.

Spike's hips began to twist and grind into Buffy's, and she gave a deep, shuddering, very heartfelt moan, arching against him. With his hands firmly circling her waist, he lifted her up and pushed and pulled at her, his mouth finally leaving hers to trail a fire of ice down the length of her neck and chest.

Buffy very nearly shrieked in happiness when she felt his lips close on her skin. She had never been so damn happy to be wearing a button-down, and she (temporarily) let go of her clamp-grip on Spike's neck to assist in tearing it down the middle. The effect was like metal colliding with a magnet. As Buffy had neglected to re-don all of the necessary garments before she'd gone out, Spike's head had zeroed in and latched on to her small bare breast. Buffy gave a yipping shriek and threw her head back, moaning. "Spike..." she gasped, running her hand over his chest. "Oh... god! Missed you... oh!"

Her other hand began to move down his back to clutch his ass as the first hand squirmed its way between their bodies, just as Spike moved his head back up to kiss her breathless again.

He was lost. He'd missed her so bloody much, and he'd dreamed for ages of being in her arms again. His brain had temporarily shut down, and all he could think about was her, kissing her, touching her, being with her. His thoughts could only focus on Buffy; and his body had most definitely recognized hers. His demon was clamoring inside of him, recognizing its mate and begging for the chance to claim her –

All rational thought returned the minute he heard his zipper go down.

Spike's eyes snapped open, and he dropped Buffy in alarm.

Buffy let out a little yelp of shock as she hit the floor, staring up at Spike dumbly with her jaw hanging open. "Spike?" she asked in surprise. "W-What is it? Why did you... I mean..."

Spike was backing away from her as quickly as possible, eyes bright and alert. All of his nervous tics had returned, and she suddenly knew that if she made any sudden move, Spike would jolt and take off. And God... the look on his face.

Terror. Utter terror.

"No," he muttered, "no, no, no, no BLOODY way, this isn't fuckin' happenin' again!" he bent down into a crouch and put his head in his hands, whimpering softly.

It was like a bucket of ice water when Buffy clued in. She'd been too far gone, elated that Spike's response to her kisses had been just as passionate and loving and demanding as his kisses had always been; that his feelings for her thankfully hadn't disappeared.

Unfortunately, she hadn't noticed that while they had both been responding to each other, she had managed to maneuver him into the exact same position they had taken the first time they had had sex.

But apparently, Spike had noticed.

"Oh, god," she whispered, and she scrambled over to him on her hands and knees, uncaring now of the scared rabbit demeanor that Spike was acting with now. She knew exactly why he was acting like this. Last year, she'd used and abused him to the point of insanity, and Spike was scared shitless that it was going to happen here. Now. All over again.

"Spike, oh god... baby, I'm so sorry," she gasped, wrapping her arms tightly around him, holding her own even when he began to twist and push away from her. "God, Spike, I didn't mean it, baby, I didn't mean to do it, you have to believe me, please!" She bent so that she could look him in the eye, and desperately cupped his face with her hand. "Spike – William – please, I'm sorry, I'm so, so fucking sorry!"

He didn't respond.

She grabbed his chin and lifted his head. "Spike! Please, look at me!" Blank blue eyes stared back at her – stared through her – but she otherwise had his attention now. She shook her head, her eyes tearing up. "I didn't mean it. You know I didn't. I never meant it, Spike, I don't want to hurt you anymore..." she whispered softly, slowly leaning forward and burying her face in his neck. "I'm sorry... I just... want you... I want you back so much, Spike, and I don't know what to do." Quietly, she began crying, clutching at him desperately. "Please, please don't hate me again... I couldn't bear it... Please, Spike, please don't hate me..."

Spike was silent for a good deal of time... but he was clinging to Buffy as desperately as she was clinging to him. Hopefully that meant that no, he didn't hate her, and no, he wasn't going to curse her name for all of eternity until the end of time.

When he finally did speak, it was with a certain air of hurt and resignation. He shook his head and whispered softly, "Why don't you ever want me on your own accord, Buffy? Or how 'bout when it doesn't benefit you?" His voice was bitter.

Buffy looked up slowly to see his stormy gaze practically pinning her down. His face was set as hard as stone, but she could see his beautiful eyes pining and begging her for answers.

He continued. "Why do you only ever want me when someone else does? I feel like some little sprog's bloody toy, Buffy! You have your fun with me, an' then you toss me away, an' when someone else picks me up, you want me back again. What do you want from me, Slayer?" he demanded. "'Cos if you're just jerkin' me around by the shorthairs, just put a stake through me an' put me outta my fucking misery, Buffy, right fuckin' now. Tell me what you want."

Buffy stared up at him, before straightening and giving him a pleading gaze. "Get rid of her. Spike, please. I hate her... and I hate that she wants you... and what if she wants to hurt you? I-I couldn't... please, just..." Her head dipped and pressed against his chest. "Please get rid of her?"

Spike sighed. "Buffy –"

The Slayer sat up, looking at him desperately. "Spike, PLEASE! She's using you! She's trying to turn you against me, and it's working! She's evil, a-and, she's using you to get to me!" she gasped. "Please, please don't fall for her! Spike –" her hands clutched at him frantically, even as he tugged her closer, stroking her back and trying his best to comfort her, even as her tears clouded her vision and obstructed her view of his beautiful face, "Please, don't leave me?"

Spike's stomach dropped, and his poor abused heart leapt up to the base of his throat. 'Don't leave me.' She's asked him not to leave. For him, that was the closest Buffy was going to get to admitting her feelings for him. In his mind, those three words were essentially the equivalent of 'I need you,' and only one step closer to 'I love you.'

And suddenly, an enormous surge of realization and happiness overwhelmed him.

His girl was back.

For the past five or six years that he'd known her, Buffy had gone from wearing her heart on her sleeve for the people that she loved, to maintaining a cold façade to keep the people she loved safe. Last year, she had been worse – her friends' meddling, and her reluctant expulsion from Heaven could attest to that. She'd felt betrayed by the very people she had risked her life time and time over for, and as a result of her blossoming friendship with Spike, and then her blossoming not-so-friendship with him, Buffy had taken out all of her aggressions on him. But now...

Now, this Buffy, sitting in front of him with tears in her eyes, and hugging him as if she feared the world would rip them apart – this was the infuriating little blonde spitfire he had unknowingly fallen fangs-over-heels for at the Bronze so many years ago.

He rubbed her shoulders gently, placing a reassuring kiss on her forehead.

"I am never leavin' you, Buffy. 'm always gonna be around, always gonna be here for you," he muttered fervently. His hands came up to tilt her face, so she was looking up at him. "How many times am I going to tell you, girl? I'll leave Sunnyhell when I bloody well want to. An' if I wanna stay an' pester you for the rest of your soddin' life, then you're gonna hafta live with it, pet. 'm not goin' anywhere."

Buffy managed a small snort of laughter, leaning in and resting her head against Spike's shoulder. For an uncertain moment, Spike didn't know if his body would shrug her off, or welcome his random use as a pillow, and he felt himself tense in a way that would be perceived bad in Buffy's eyes. Then he glanced down at the annoying little blonde and sighed, relaxing. His arm closed more securely around her, and he dropped another kiss at the top of her head. Looking up at the ceiling, Spike sighed again. Only one thing left to complete this whole... whatever it was.

"She's gone, luv," he promised quietly. "Lilith is gone. I swear it."

She had finally fallen asleep, upstairs in her room. Thank. GOD.

After about an hour of her whimpering and clinging to him like a human magnet, she had finally passed out, and Spike had lifted her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs. As he hadn't exactly felt comfortable playing the whole 'Mum' role, he hadn't bothered taking her out of her clothes, so if she had woken up later on with creases in her skin from her red leather pants and the tight, ribbed short-sleeve turtleneck sweater she'd been wearing, it hadn't been his fault.

Dawn and the others had come home about an hour after Buffy had gone to sleep, and Spike had been rather annoyed -- although at least partially grateful -- to learn that the entire Buffy-Seduction thing had been the Bit's scheme. Pity it hadn't worked properly. In his role as playing Buffy's Magnet, the tiny Slayer had refused to let him leave her bed, even in her sleep, and so he had been resting on the bed with her -- just holding her -- when a loud crash alerted him, and a tumble of brown hair and blue eyes had burst into the room, grinning.

Dawn's grin had instantly disappeared at the sight of her battered older sister, however, and Spike, after finally prying Buffy off of him, had then had to spend ten minutes trying to calm the frantic teenager down enough to a) keep her from waking Buffy and b) make her comprehensive enough so that she could tell Giles and Willow what had happened.

All in all, he'd been exhausted, and it was only too gladly that he had followed his instincts and collapsed back onto the bed with Buffy. A small, warm Slayer body had been just the thing he'd needed at that moment to relax.

And then he'd seen the ring.

It was nothing like the claddagh that had tied her for so long to the Giant Forehead; that had been small, and essentially weightless. This ring surrounding her middle finger was built to be heavy. There was a blood-red jewel placed in the very center, amid a swirl of pink and white gold. The edges were worn down, meaning that the ring had seen quite a bit of wear and tear over the ages, and was obviously quite old as well. It was really large, too, which made him wonder how on earth Buffy had managed to hold on to it. She could easily have fit three of her fingers inside the band.

Where had she gotten this from?

This was the sort of ring that was carried around as a family heirloom. Only a right git would have dropped this thing, and left it where Buffy could find it. Not that he'd thought that Buffy was such an idiot that nobody could trust her with something of this caliber and beauty -- er, not that he thought Buffy was an idiot...

He had gently prodded Buffy, stroking her arm in an attempt to rouse her. "Buffy, luv, what cemetery were you at tonight?"

She hummed, and mumbled, and groaned softly to herself, before murmuring, "Forest Hill..."

He couldn't resist a soft smile as he attempted to burrow her way into the pillow. His hand lightly wrapped around hers, and he squeezed gently to get her sleepy attention focused. "That's where you saw Lilith?"

Another soft humming noise. "Mm-hmm..."

A pause, then Spike pushed on hesitantly. "She didn't... say anything to you, did she?"

Buffy slowly popped upon one eye and stared up at him curiously. "We're playing Twenty Questions now?" After a moment, she whined. "Spike, Buffy is incredibly tired, and incredibly in pain. Can we do this tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "No, Buffy," he said softly, "I need you to answer me now. What did she say to you?"

Buffy sighed and sat up, wobbling slightly. "She said something... something about her... lineage. Her... children. She was talking about her children... which I guess means her Childer, right?" she asked. Spike nodded curtly, and she continued. "She... thinks that by being with you... she's saving you. From me. I told her she was nuts, and... we started fighting. And then she asked me if... Wait," she grumbled softly, closing her eyes tightly. "She said that... she knew you. Better than I knew you. She said, she knew the entire line of Aurelius, just like she knew you.... and..." Buffy frowned, looking up at him. "She knew you, just like she knew all of her children."

His quick intake of breath had startled her, but as she'd still been half-asleep when she'd revealed this information to Spike, his quiet, soothing words -- not to mention the gentle rumblings emanating from his chest -- managed to lull her back to sleep. And when he was certain that she had passed out completely for the night, he breathed out one single word: "Bugger."

He had taken the ring over to the light to get a better glimpse at it -- and as soon as the light hit the jewel in the center, Spike knew, without a single doubt, that everything that Buffy had been trying to tell him was true.

He had gazed at the shimmering red words mirrored on the wall with a sense of foreboding that life upon the Hellmouth had only honed to perfection in the last four years.

Not for nothing had Spike been well-versed in Latin as a human child. And not for nothing had he been known to keep (mostly) cool in situations of dire and utter panic.

He had stalked out of the room. Giles needed to know -- everything -- anything -- that was remotely available about Lilith. Then they could stop whatever she was planning before she could even begin; no matter that it had something to do with him; and no matter that she seemed to be, quite literally, out for Buffy's blood. They would gather up the required information and resources, and once Buffy was again at full strength, they could... possibly call in reinforcements... and -- and kick Lilith's ass, and save the world. Again.

But it didn't stop the terror-infused words from resounding inside his mind.

Oh, God... It's her.

** the above is Latin. Roughly translated, it says: I am Eternal. I exist as Mother of all Demons.