She drew up to the bar and signalled for service. Scanning the optics, the bartender answered her indecision by placing a bottle of vodka and a shot glass in front of her. OK, looked liked this was her 'usual'. She smiled thinly as she handed over a bill and the bartender pocketed it, dismissing any expectation for change she may have had.

"So, what's new?" He asked with a vague, non-committal tone.

She shrugged and grimaced. "Not much, same-old, same-old you know."

The bartender nodded, having satisfied his full repertoire of small talk, he drifted away to serve another customer.

She liked that, the anonymity, the fact that, apart from the odd suspicious glare she had received when she entered the bar, no one bothered her. She'd come a long way for that tonight and here, tonight she could be anyone. 'Anyone', she decided, unlike her usual self, was capable of taking her drink without descending into primitive, Neanderthal territory. Oh, it wasn't going to be pretty, she knew that, she was signing the death warrant of a few million innocent brain cells. But it was just what she needed, just for tonight.

She felt the by-now familiar pain wrench in gut as her brain threw up the regular, yet sporadic image of her mother's body lying there, cold, stiffening and open-eyed on the sofa. She felt herself wince and covered it up by pretending to struggle with the screw top of the vodka bottle. The seal broke with a satisfying crack and she was about to pour herself a shot when something instinctive pulled at her back

On alert, she scanned the place, her eyes flitting from one head to another through the blue veil of smoke that hung in the stale air. Just the general mix of unsavoury human types, but no, there was something that tweaked her slayer sense, something familiar. Her eyes settled on a particular, unmistakable head.

"Can I get another glass?"

Once the request was delivered she picked up the bottle and glasses and head over towards the bleached head.

It was him.

She held off slightly behind him and peered over his shoulder to see him nursing half-a-glass of beer between his palms.

"I'm guessing half-empty right?"

His gaze shot up and latched on to her with an almost unnerving predatory glare. His face was hard, his jaw clenched until his eyes flickered with recognition and he deflated slightly. "Slayer." He ground out with a low rumble, his voice marked with annoyance, as if his evening had suddenly got worse.

She pushed aside her Slayer instincts for hardness and reproach and forced a smile. It hurt her face. "Yep, the one and only -- well, actually not the only one but..."

His brows pushed together in confusion and he shook his head before recalling. "Right," he drawled, obviously resenting her presence, "so another little-miss-gym-slip got all Slayer ordained then?"

"Uh-huh, one dies another is called, you know the drill."

His eyes flashed and he eyed her, a hint of his trademark smirk twitching at his lips. "Only too well."

She ignored the shiver that ran through her at the implication of his words and affected an indifferent pose. "Mind if I join you? I have Vodka." She held the bottle up by the neck as if to prove her point and his eyes slid down her arm to the offering. He finally shrugged and she seated herself opposite him.

They stared at each other momentarily, each wondering if the other was going to make a move. When neither shifted, they both visibly relaxed and Spike sat back, his duster creaking around him.

"So, long time, no see?" She balked at her casual phrasing, but then how else was she supposed to address her mortal enemy? She didn't feel much up to death-threats and necro-innuendo tonight. That was for sure.

He sighed and took his time in finding and lighting a cigarette before responding. "Yeah, been a while ain't it? What two, two-and-a-half years? So, what hell's been breaking loose in my absence?"

"Oh, the usual - Big-Evil, death, carnage, and let's not forget the annual threat of apocalypse."

"Apocalypse, really? I've missed me some fun."

"I thought you 'liked this world'?"

He shrugged and tipped his pint glass forward so he could look into the honey-coloured liquid. "Yeah, I did."

"Demons - they're so fickle." She joked but it fell flat and she looked at him properly for the first time. Something was different. He was all... (Broody?) Not a word she ever thought she'd find herself associating with him but she recognised the signs all too well. His cigarette lay forgotten in the ashtray and she watched it burn down to the filter.

"So, the Slayer saved the world again" He said without looking up from his beer.

Her mood darkened and the words were out of her mouth before she realised. "Can you not call me that? Not tonight."

He glanced up at her, his body jerked with a snort of silent laughter. "Tonight she wants to be a woman of mystery?" She didn't reply and he took that as an affirmative response. "Sure, love, I'll think of something -"

"That'll do."

He paused, his lips parting slightly and his gaze inverting as he thought over what he had just said. "What? 'Love'?"

She nodded and he shook his head.

"Whatever." His gaze threatened to fall back to his beer only to flicker back up to hers. The smirk made its first proper appearance of the night. "So... 'Love', tell me. What's a nice girl like you doing in a nasty little hovel like this?" His arm made a swaying motion at their surroundings.

Scoffing at the tongue-in-cheek use of an age-old chat-up line, her face took on an expression of mock-defiance. "I wanted a drink?"

"So I see."

"You think it's a bit much?"

He shrugged. "It does the trick."

"Come on then, drink up." She fingered the Vodka bottle suggestively. "I've got the good-stuff right her and I know you want some."

Chuckling, he picked up his beer, drained the glass with two or three gulps and gasped, his eyes wide from the rush. "Fill me up."

Her expression contorted as the caustic liquid filled her mouth and left a fiery trail down her throat. She spluttered and groaned at the instant nausea. "People actually like this stuff?"

He laughed. "No but, like I said - It serves a purpose." He downed his shot, his face only registering the slightest ripple of a reaction. "I could say it gets easier but I'd be lying."

"Well if -" She stopped dead, not wanting to look in his eyes for fear of having her dread confirmed. Slowly her eyes lifted to his and there it was. Sympathy. Her limbs steeled themselves to leave. Escapism was always her first and last resort lately. "You know?!"

His face remained neutral but his eyes were infinite with something she decided maybe wasn't quite sympathy. (Empathy? No. What would he know about grief?)

"Word gets around--especially if it concerns you."

She said nothing but as she felt a dark wash of negative emotion roll along her spine she knew she had to stay. It was anger, but it was something. So better than the numb nothingness she had got to know intimately these past couple of weeks.

"She was a good women. I liked her."

She heard a noise, something between a scoff and a snort and took a moment to realise it had come from her.

"Maybe it's not too comforting, coming from me but -- She made the best hot-chocolate I've ever tasted and ... well, I wouldn't have eaten her, put it that way."

"Coming from you that's..." She had an enormous urge to say 'thanks'. (Oh my God, did I just say that? Could tonight get any more wiggy?)

"No problem."

"So, just to check. While you're here... with me, your crazy whore of a girlfriend's not out there happy-mealing on my patch, is she?"

His eyes flashed and she could sense his muscles tense with anger but as quickly as it had flared, it was gone. Only to be replaced with his slack, almost apathetic posture as he sank back down into his seat.

She realised something then. He was heartbroken. It was as plain as the scar on his eyebrow. He flipped a beer mat off the side of the table and didn't bother to try and catch it.

"So the fail-safe get-her-back plan failed?"

"No, it worked... for a while we were happy."

"Where is she now?"

He shrugged and twirled his shot glass between his fingers. "She goes wherever the wind takes her." His fingers twitched out a piano-playing motion and for a moment he was far away, so far away.

"OK, this just won't do," she poured out some more shots and waited for him to return to her. "From now on, we're strangers. Two people who have never met, drawn together for the sole and magnificent purpose of getting as drunk as the proverbial skunks."

He smirked and picked up his glass, holding it out for a toast. "I'll drink to that."

They clinked glasses and downed their shots.

"Urgg-err!"

She'd been pacing herself, she really had. One shot to every three he downed. After her forth, her head began to swim and now, after her sixth, her drinking partner had somehow managed to clone himself - Twice.

"Is there something in a Vampire's constitution that makes them more liquor-friendly?" She wondered vaguely and aloud.

"No, there's just something about your constitution that makes you a supreme light-weight."

"Hey," she began to protest but lost her thread of thought all to easily when his glazed eyes danced with smug humour. "Pig."

He chuckled and re-filled their glasses.

"Here's to being strangers." She said before gulping down her shot.

"OK--but if you were a stranger, I would have drained you already."

"And if you were a stranger, I would have staked you already."

"So much for foreplay."

She tried to suppress her giggle but it forced it's way out through her nose and mouth, spraying him.

He made a show of wiping his three faces with the back of his three hands and gave her a mock-glare. He reached for the bottle again, only even when drunk, her reactions were faster than his. A chipped-black nailed hand closed over hers on the battle.

"OK, yours." He conceded as a means to withdraw. He eyed his offending hand wearily before running it through his hair. "I kinda prefer the mortal enemy vibe anyway."

"Yeah," she admitted, "I guess -- history and all that."

"Which leads me to ask. My Grand-sire, the love of your life--Tell me - just how is the son of a bitch?"

She didn't realise what she'd done until he felt the pain sting her hand and saw him lunge for the bottle to retaliate with only to knock it over. The little remaining liquid it contained spilling over the table. She heard him whisper a curse or two as they both set to mopping the spillage up with beer mats.

Somewhere in the melee their fingertips met and they both pulled back as if burnt. Looking up into his eyes found what she expected to see and knew he would find the same reflected in her eyes and so she said it:

"Drive me hone?"

He was silent for what she could only class as an eternity and even when he nodded his assent she wished he could have spoken.

In the alley outside the bar they came to a stop. The coolness of the air hit her instantaneously, invaded her senses and, most unfortunately, sobered her up. She watched him furtively as he lit a cigarette, the amber glow of the lighter highlighting his face for a brief moment. She knew, from the hard set of his jaw, that he was thinking exactly the same as her: (This should not be happening).

It went against everything she knew. Everything Giles had drilled her in, but for some reason she couldn't stop this. She opened her mouth to say something, but it wasn't her voice she heard. She spun around with a groan to face the game-faced Vampires closing in on them. Running through the log her mind she remembered the stake in her coat pocket.

"Don't I ever get the night off?"

"It would appear not."

She felt Spike step forward and align himself with her. The Vampires started and backed off a couple of paces under the pressure of his glare.

"She yours?"

Spike smirked. "No. I was just off to get myself someone more... substantial to eat."

"Substantial?! You do not get anymore substantial than Slayer blood."

They turned to face each other. There was that nostalgic expression again and his eyes flitted down her body and back up to her face.

"I know."

(Killer of two Slayers, of course he knows.)

"You're the Slayer?"

She rolled her eyes and reached for a stake. "Yes, I am -- and you should be star-struck." Turning she felt another wave of inebriation roll over her and wavered slightly as she wielded the stake.

"Steady on, Love."

"Do you mind, you're putting me off." She spun round and Spike was forced to lean back as her stake stabbed at the air close to his chest. He said nothing, just grinned and took a step back, indicating that the floor was hers. But she was alone on stage now, the Vampires had taken their chance to escape from not-so-certain death.

"Now look what you've done!"

"What I've done? If you were that desperate for a fight, Sl-Love, you could have picked a dozen in there, if you're still up for it when you sober up, then maybe I'll humour you later on... As for now, I think what you really need is some nice, hot -"

"What?!" She yelled, feeling her mind fall straight to the gutter. She concentrated heavily on putting her stake away.

"Black coffee, Love. Nice, hot black coffee... sober you up."

"Oh... I mean no! I'm not drunk!"

"That so?" He stared at her and flicked his cigarette stub into the shadows before walking away from her. "It's what, twenty miles back to Sunnydale? If you're not sober now, you sure as hell will be by the time you get home."

Cursing under her breath she ran and caught up with him. "I hate you."

"Funny that," he grinned, "I hate you too... Ah, the joy of requited feeling."

They turned a few alleys in silence and came upon his Desoto. (Some things never change.) She smiled, when in mock-chivalry he opened a door for her.

Climbing in, she was engulfed by a scent. It was the scent of tobacco, of alcohol, of the bar they had just been in. The scent of him. Snuggling into the nest of the passenger seat she gave into the weariness that pressed on her and closed her eyes.

-->

She drifted awake and smiled into the half-moment of bliss before she became aware of who or where she was. And then she remembered. Slayer. Dawn. Her Mother on the sofa. Emitting a low groan she squirmed as grief and alcohol-induced nausea simultaneously twisted in her gut. Writhing and struggling against the bedding that bound her she managed to free herself and blindly lunge towards the bathroom.

Panting, she leant against the side of the bath and sat with her clammy head in her hands, recovering from the involuntary exertion. After a few moments the surging and throbbing in her head had ceased enough for her to contemplate standing. Clutching the lip of the sink she weakly dragged herself up onto her feet and stared into the reflection in the mirror.

It took a moment for her to recognise herself. The red eyes sunk in a grey, pale and yet flushed skin, the thin and dry mouth pouting slightly. But there was an expression in her eyes, a sadness that she recognised only too well. She groaned and opened the mirror cabinet with only one thought in her head. (Aspirin.)

She chased the Aspirin down with half-a-pint of water and splashed her face with cold water, startling flashes of memory into the forefront of her mind. (Spike?)

On instinct she clutched at her neck. Nothing, still a pulse. She was still alive. She still had a reflection. (Which is what? Good? Bad? Weird?)

(Oh My God I fell asleep in his car?!) She didn't remember anything else past that and yet she was still here. (Here!) She'd woken up all unharmed, fully clothed and ... (tucked in?)

She became aware of an insistent, high-pitched noise and instinctively hunted down the source to the telephone in her room. She picked up the receiver and made an indistinct croak for a greeting. Her mind was still reeling from processing the jigsawed recollections and trying to fill in the many blanks with imagined scenarios ranging from the probable to the impossible.

"What?" She cut into the incomprehensible vocal noise that was coming over the line.

"Buffy?" Ah, a word she recognised, she still knew her own name. That was a start. Her eyebrows knitted as she concentrated on the voice talking at her.

"Giles?" (OK doing well, Buffy.)

"Are you alright Buffy? You seem a little bit, um, well, distracted. Is there anything wrong?"

"No, nothing." (Everything. Help me. Nothing makes sense. Is this what drink does to you? Or is it just a Spike special?) "Um, are you OK? I mean what's with the early morning call? I mean it's..." She glanced at the clock but failed to make sense of what the hands and figures were trying to tell her.

"It's afternoon Buffy. Twelve thirty-seven to be exact. Have you only just woken up?"

"Erm, yeah. Last night... Vampire problem." She said absently, pushing open a window in order to refresh the stale bedroom air that threatened to stifle her.

"Oh, anything particularly troublesome? Shall I call the others?"

"No." She replied almost too eagerly. She leant out of the window and inhaled deeply. That was when she saw it - The Desoto. Parked outside her house which meant -- "No it's OK... I'm on it -- Giles is there a reason for this call only -"

"Oh, well yes. You see I -- I had a call from Angel last night -"

"Angel?!" It was only one question but it encapsulated so many others - (What? How? Why? What did he say? How was he? Why not call me?)

"Um, yes. H-he -- it was purely business, Buffy. He merely called to inform us -- to warn us that we might be getting another visit from Spike."

"Spike?" The sound emerged from her suddenly tight throat as a strangled squeak and she internally reprimanded herself.

"W-well yes. Apparently he and Drusilla were in L.A. selling their own unique brand of mayhem..." She heard Giles take in a heavy breath. "Well to cut a long-story short Drusilla is dead, and in his own twisted way, Spike blames you."

Her heart stopped while her mind went into overdrive, dredging up Polaroid moments of the previous night and examining each one for signs of his grief. It was all there - the dark flint of pain that ran through his features at every mention of her name, the bitterness in his laugh, the pleading loss of his eyes. (He blames me?) She expected the panic to set in but somehow she couldn't even summon it. Spike was in her house and he had it in his mind to kill her! ... But then why hadn't he? (I was pretty much defenceless last night. He could have -)

"Buffy? Are you still there?"

"Yeah. I'm fine -- Look no biggy. I'll keep a look out OK? Bye" With that she hung up and forgot all else but one thing. One mission. Find Spike.

She charged down the stairs and was on her way into the kitchen when the same instinct that had found him last night drew her into the blacked-out lounge. Her heartbeat quickened as she crossed the threshold. Every time she entered the lounge part of her relived the experience of finding her mother's body. She swallowed down the ghosts of her shock and panic and with an about turn she focused upon the image of Spike sat there, closed- eyed, cold and rigid in the armchair.

She stepped closer to him, drawn in by his tranquil, breathless sleep. Instead of the starkly blank canvas of death his features were awash with a look of peace. Sank low in his seat, his legs were spread casually before him and his arms crossed, clutching an empty bottle of whiskey to his chest. It was then she noticed it.

The sound that emerged from her throat startled her. It felt so long since she'd heard it - Laughter that is. A quiet little giggle shook her shoulders but she caught it quickly. Calming her amusement she leant in to examine his chest closer. Nail polish, Dawn's nail polish - a garish shade of bright pink. He'd painted a heart-shaped target on his shirt with nail polish! She struggled to keep her face neutral should he wake up suddenly and straightened up, her eyes wandering to the table beside him.

She reached out with both hands, one grasping the stake and the other the piece of paper. She glanced at the stake and shook her head. Her first instinct was to toss it away but she reconsidered and deposited it in the waistband of her jeans, it fitting familiarly into the niche at the small of her back. She then turned her attention the barely legible words scrawled on the paper and read.

So this is not the way I imagined it. I always hoped for daring glory, a fight to the death but beggars can't be choosers and dying in your sleep can't just be a luxury afforded to old buggers.

Spike. (William the Bloody Grateful.)

Coming to the end her smile faded. Pathetic as it was, she could still see it for what it was - a desperate plea for someone to end his torment. A glint of blue caught her eye and her eyes flickered back to his face. His eyes were closed but the peace had evaporated.

"Spike... Come on, Spike. I know you're awake." She kicked at his foot lightly but with enough force to cause a flare of pain in her bare toes as they came into contact with his hard steel-toe-capped boot. She cursed and momentarily reconsidered using the stake before he opened his eyes but it was too late.

He groaned and glared up at her with a deep frown. "Bloody hell, Slayer. I only asked one little favour of you."

"I let you leave town in a non-dusty state last time you were here. You're all favoured out -- Besides I've already vacuumed in here once this week."

"Remind me to leave you to the milkmen the next time you express a desire to sleep on the front lawn."

"What are you talking about?"

He repositioned himself and put the bottle down between his feet. "Took me a right job getting you in last night. You were falling about all over the place - landed face down on the grass out there," he motioned at the window. "And then you started threatening the poor, innocent daisies." He applied a mock scowl. "It was very disturbing."

She smiled sheepishly at the imagery wandering over her mind's eye like a slow-running movie-reel.

"Yeah in the end I had to carry you up to your room. -- No easy task, I can tell you."

She'd suspected as much but she couldn't help the streak of panic that flitted its way across her forehead.

"Not quite how I imagined getting the Slayer into bed but there you go -"

"You've imagined getting me into bed?"

"What, uh... No! I -" He averted her eyes and shook his head. "I was just speaking figuratively. -- Took me three tries to find your room. I see the little one takes-after her big sis in the tragic-bad-taste department. -- Where is the Bit anyway?"

"Slu -" She paused. (Wow them monks really did a thorough job.) "At her friends. Kind of a weekend long Slumber party. I figured it'd do her good to get away from here, have some fun. I mean -" She scanned the room, her eyes settling on the dreaded sofa.

"Bit of escapism?"

"Exactly." She whispered and when she looked back at him she knew they were both having the same thought. Their eyes met for the briefest moment. "So what about some breakfast? I'm all out of blood but I could rustle up some eggs and sausages."

"I'd prefer a healthy dose of Redwood to the chest but seen as that's not on the menu right now..." He stood and followed her down the hall. "I just hope you've got ketchup -- That way I can at least pretend."

"You're disgusting, Spike."

"What are you doing?"

"Making coffee. What does it look like?"

"No, I don't mean that. -- I mean what are you doing with me? You won't stake me - fine -- but why I am still here?"

She became almost too aware of his presence behind her and concentrated heavily on stirring the sugar into her coffee.

"I know. A-about Drusilla." She dare not meet his eyes but without turning round she could sense his countenance shifting, stiffening. When he spoke again his voice had taken on this forced harshness that cut through her so much she had to close her eyes for the duration.

"Oh. So this is what? Some kind of tea-and-sympathy pity session? If -"

"No -" She spun around to face him, her exacerbation matching his. (Does he have to keep questioning this? No, of course he does -- This should not be happening.) "It's called understanding. You... understand. You read me and I don't have to spell anything out to you... Or at least I thought I didn't."

He hung his head. "No, you don't. I'm sor- It's just this," he indicated the space between them. "It's weird."

"I know... I know. It's wigging me out on a major scale, but for some reason I-I don't want you to go." She brandished the spoon she was still holding at him. "So you can just stay there and shut up." She smirked before adding: "You're putting me off."

He playfully re-enacted his zip-up and step-back moves from the previous night and she turned back to her task. (Erm... milk, right. I need milk.)

She headed for the fridge, suddenly all-too-aware of her movements and his eyes on her. Getting the milk and closing the door she turned to face him. "OK, so it would appear that Silent-Spike is even more disturbing than Yappy-Spike. -- Maybe you should still be allowed to talk."

"What, do I have your permission to speak once more? Oh most omnipotent and bossy Chosen One."

"That's more like it. That's familiar." She smiled and upended the milk carton only for nothing to come out. She shook the carton lightly - she could have sworn it weighed like it had something in it. Another shake and its true contents were released. A mass of curdled lactose plopped into her cup, splashing brown liquid onto the work-top.

"Oh great!" She searched around for something to mop up the mess with when Spike handed her a wad of kitchen roll. Their fingertips connected when she took it from him and they locked eyes. "Again. Familiar."

"Yeah, deja-vu." His other hand came up as if to touch her face but he stopped short and they broke contact. She turned back to the coffee disaster and then paused. Last night was repeating itself only this time...

Facing him again she allowed herself to properly look at him, with her fingertips tingling slightly from the cold contact of his hand, she stared. So much had changed in her life the past two-and-a-half years and there he stood, a constant amidst all the chaos.

Maybe not so constant, she realised with a curious frown that the staple red shirt had gone. In its place was a new but similarly flattering acquisition, a black silk jacquard shirt loosely buttoned. The sharp contrasts of black against his stark, white skin and a slicked-back plane of platinum blond hair were startling. He stirred, uncomfortable under her gaze but she didn't relent.

His shifting caused the light to cast new areas of his face into light-and- shade relief, highlighting his cheekbones and darkening the hollows of his cheeks.

"Din't your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?"

She started and they locked gazes once more. Only to glimpse another glint of that understanding she craved in those brilliant-blue orbs - the only colour in his entire being. She was transfixed and before she could stop herself she was reaching across the divide to touch him. His eyelids fluttered as her fingertips made contact and she began to trace the arch of his left cheekbone.

There was a ripple of the skin under her touch and when she refocused she saw that he had slid into game face. She knew what he was doing but, unrelenting she continued her exploration of his face, her fingers gliding over the ridges of his forehead and down his nose. There'd be no pretending where he was concerned, no pretending he was human. This was what he was, her enemy, but tonight...

"My, my grandma, what big teeth you have." She dared to meet his questioning yellow-eyed stare.

"All the better to eat you with my dear." His human features re-emerged with the same ripple and his she traced the outline of his mouth. She caught her breath as she felt the cool tip of his tongue meet her finger and draw her in. Teeth closed around the tip and his hand came up to seize hers. His eyes burning into hers as he withdrew her finger, bluntly scraping it against his teeth, she moaned in response.

"I wouldn't do that, Love. -- Not unless you want me to do something you're gonna regret."

"Like what?" She defiantly met his impassioned gaze to witness his features change again in the split second before he lunged for her, his weight forcing back against the wall and knocking the wind out of her.

Panic surged through her as his mouth found her neck. She reached round to the small of her back for the stake in the waistband of her jeans.

"Is this what you want?" He hissed against the junction of her jaw and ear lobe. "Something to make it all go away?" He touched the three scars on the other side of her neck, sending small shivers of anticipation down her spine. "I see you've been here before."

She made no response. She could make no response. Fingering the stake she waited for the inevitable, the sharp pain of fangs sinking into her flesh that she knew so well by now.

But it never came.

After a moment she realised that she was shaking but not from fear or pain, concentrating against the swarming confusion in her head, she isolated the source to the tendrils of pleasure that were fluttering from where he had begun to nuzzle at her neck. She gasped and as he nipped at her jugular vein with now blunt teeth.

His chest vibrated as he emitted a low chuckle and he pressed more weight onto her. His hard torso pinning her to the wall while his tongue and teeth sucked and bit at the tender skin of her neck. A hand smoothed its way down her side, finally closing over the one at her back and discovering the stake. But instead of disarming her, fingers interlaced with hers.

Her free hand snaked its way over his shoulder. Her fingers dancing over his shoulder blade and immersing themselves in the short curls at the nape of his neck. She closed her eyes to the bliss slowly billowing from her neck, every pore tingling with pleasure as...

She opened her eyes with a moan of protest as he suddenly stopped and pushed himself away. His palms flat on the wall beside her head. The arm around his neck reflexively tightened and prevented him from pulling away any further and she locked him in a wide-eyed, breathless stare. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she became aware of a pressure against her thigh.

"You feel that?"

She could only nod in response, struggling to control her erratic breathing.

"I was trying to make a point and believe me that was not it... This shouldn't be happening." He attempted to pull away again but she held him fast, ignoring the flash of anger in his eyes and the exacerbated sigh he emitted.

"No!" She gasped. "This isn't supposed to be happening... but I feel it... you feel it -" She smiled and pulled at his bottom lip with her index finger to reveal his lower teeth. "Hell - even this wall feels it." She released her hold of him, whilst still holding him prisoner with her eyes and began to work through his shirt buttons, exposing the smooth, translucent flesh beneath. He closed his eyes as she raked her nails down his chest. With the flat of a palm against his abdomen she sneaked her finger ends into the waistband of his jeans, the other hand grappling with his belt buckle.

"They'll be no -" He grabbed her hands to stop her and bore his gaze into her. "They'll be no ... pretending -- No pretending... I'm someone else."

She nodded. She understood. "Same goes for you."

Moving into her again, he buried his face into her hair and inhaled her scent. His hands working under her top, massaging upwards and sliding the material away so that the flesh of their abdomens met in an exhilarating fusion of warm and cool skin.

She clutched at his shoulders as he began to grind slowly against her, the friction of denim against denim sending shudders of stimulation along the length of her groin right to her core. Instinctively she opened her legs and arched into him, seeking more pressure as her entire body ached for him with a rising urgency.

His lips found her neck again and he began an excruciatingly slow ascent of butterfly kisses up to her jaw line as his hands found her breasts, catching her swollen nipples through the fabric of her bra. When her eyes shot open she looked straight into his.

His pupils were fully dilated, darkening his eyes and as their gazes locked there was a moment of mutual acknowledgement, a final assent before his lips finally descended upon hers.

--->

She drifted to consciousness as a passive passenger on a plane of weightless feeling that transcended her dreamless state and bought her reluctantly back into herself. The familiar remembrance triggered the familiar muscle-clenching squirm only this time something was different and she stalled into complete stillness at what her body was telling her. Opening her eyes she focused upon the mass of tousled blonde curls nestled at her shoulder and as her senses awaken fully she became more and more aware of his weight spread over her and -

He was still inside her? Static images of the afternoon deluged her brain and panic rose in her, filling her stiffened muscles with kinetic potential.

She didn't have time to contemplate her options as he stirred, awakened - no doubt - by her change in countenance and the thumping in her chest. He emitted a soft sound somewhere between a groan and a purr and nestled into her warmth. She couldn't hold back the small smile that flitted across her lips as she watched him or deny the yearning that was filling her body with waves of heat emanating from her groin.

She gasped as involuntarily he responded to her stimulus and he expanded to fill her. A hand began to wander the expanse of her torso, came to rest on her right breast and began to softly knead her flesh. Her breath deepened as she was lulled under into the depths of passion. Her internal muscles contracted spasmodically around him and he responded with motion, sliding almost fully out of her before re-emerging.

Closing her eyes she gave into the sensations that were washing over her. Slipping an arm around his neck and a leg around his thigh she met him motion for motion. She glanced down at his head, still submerged in the nook of her shoulder and wondered vaguely if he was even fully awake.

She got her answer when all of a sudden, he jolted and ceased all momentum. She held her breath as his head lifted and twisted slightly and he sniffed at the skin of her neck. The muscles in his arms hardened as he lifted himself up onto his elbows and regarded her with widening eyes.

Silence sealed them in a bubble of notching pressure and she forgot how to breathe. She tried and failed to apply a neutral expression as his eyes wandered over her, taking in his precariously placed hand, their nakedness and finally the extent of their intertwined state. She nervously bit at her lip waiting for the answers that only his face could provide.

The time it took his face to turn back up to hers seemed like it could be measured only in eternities and when they were eye-to-eye it took another eternity for them both to focus. But as their eyes met the effect was immediate. His eyes were smiling and the sight warmed her. All she could see was the blue and it surrounded her, flooded her. A sensation of both falling into and away from him took her and her brain swam as a strange kind of sea-sickness rocked her insides to the point of mild queasiness only to be quelled by real motion as they began to move together once more.

A quick glance at the clock reassured her for the umpteenth time that it was indeed patrol hour. Her body clock had been severely disorientated by their exhaustive activities and unnatural sleep patterns. (Well maybe not unnatural for him.) She stole another glance at him, as he lay sleeping in her bed. He looked anything but unnatural if you could get past the not-breathing thing. But even so, every so often he would shift slightly and air would hitch momentarily in his chest until a deadly still of equilibrium drifted back over him like soft blossom.

She shook herself from her increasingly tempting thoughts and quietly toed out of her room. With her back against the door she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, earthing herself against the wood. It was of no use as upon opening her eyes she was confronted with evidence to support her fevered memories. Skewed picture frames lined the walls and many more littered the floor, knocked off their hangings by their almost violent, desperate stumbles they had made on the way to her bedroom. Putting the pictures back to rights she contemplated the stairs with dread.

She had reason to fear, as every step seemed to mock her by triggering new recollections. Her back twinged where the edges of steps had dug into her spine and as she moved sore, chaffed patches on her thighs complained against her jeans. At the foot of the stairs she was confronted with the biggest trigger of all. His duster shed - like all of their clothes - in hasty, desperate passion. Picking up the leather she was about to place it over the banister post when some instinct and more than a shred of curiosity made her rethink.

Standing firm she draped the material over her shoulders and threaded her arms though. The result was as ridiculous as she had expected. It completely engulfed her in mass, the arms hanging down way past her hands and the hem scraping the floor. She smiled as she wrapped the folds around herself, breathing in the scent that enveloped her. His scent. She thought how ironic it was that this afternoon had been the first time she had seen him without his coat. (Is he even Spike without this coat?) It was just so entirely... him. (He wouldn't want to be without it then... would he?)

Grasping a handful of stakes from her stash she made her way out of the door.

By the time she made it the last cemetery on her rounds, she had perfected an air of forced nonchalance that she used to ignore the blatant and amused stares of passers-by. (Have they never seen a bad fashion decision before?) She marched determinedly on with her mission at hand. The two newly risen vampires were nothing nearly representing a challenge and disheartened, she soon headed back for home, reapplying her very own brand resolve face.

There were some passers-by she could not simply ignore.

"Buffy? Buffy is that you under there?"

She groaned internally and turned slowly around to face an understandably confused Xander and Anya.

She attempted a casual greeting. "Hi guys."

"Hey Buff. Almost didn't recognise you there for a moment -"

"Yes what the hell - and I stress the word hell here - are you wearing? It makes you look fat." Anya perfectly demonstrated what she had in common with Cordelia.

"Anya!" Xander breathed in an exacerbated sigh he seemed to reserve only for admonishing his girlfriend.

"What? I was only passing comment. -- She'll thank me tomorrow morning when she sees that coat in the harsh light of day -"

(Not much chance of that, seen as I'll only ever see him in indirect light.) "Thankyou. Anya. Really. But I have already realised my grave error and was just in the process of returning home in order to bury my head in shame."

"It's okay." Anya reached out to touch her arm in conspiring friendship. "Things are never as bad as they seem--Oh, I mean -"

The blow was blunted but still there and undeniable and she reeled at the reminder of her grief. She was seized by a desire to be home and fixing her stare on the road markings was all she could do to stop herself making a break for it.

"Anya, you know how we were discussing that silly notion of thinking before you speak? Well this is one of those examples I couldn't think of at the time." She knew that if she looked up he would meet her eyes with such sorrow and so she kept her eyes fixed downwards collecting enough energy to summon a false smile. "Are you -"

"Yeah, fine." She looked up with said smile. "I'll see you two at the magic shop tomorrow. Okay? Good." She waved stiffly, almost too enthusiastically seizing her opportunity to escape. She turned and began to move away, her mind focusing heavily on each step. As she turned the corner of Main Street she heaved a sigh of relief and the tension drained from her shoulders as the tears came. She welcomed the rain that began to pour and disguised her tears. With equal amounts of fear and dread she made her way, slowly to an empty home that was both her haven and her constant reminder. Only it wasn't empty was it? Was it?

Her feet picked up their pace as the rain came down harder and she wrapped herself closer in the shelter of the coat.

It surprised her enough to stop her in her tracks. She didn't know what she had been expecting but somehow this wasn't it.

She stood in the middle of her road watching him through the distorting pelts of rain as he emerged from under the bonnet of his car and flung the hood down with a forceful and frustrated yell of : "Bloody Hell!"

His hair was plastered in loose curls to his forehead and he smoothed it back with raked fingers as he stood staring indignantly at the rusting heap that passed as his car. His anger seemed to ebb away with the drips from his shirt and it was then that he became aware of her.

Her breath caught in throat as he turned his head to look at her from his solid stance. They stood firm and unyielding on their respective spots, neither knowing what to say. It was she who broke the silence.

"You're soaked."

"Uh-huh. You too."

She gestured towards the car. "You were leaving."

"Well, yeah, planning on. Seems the car has other ideas."

"Without your coat? You were leaving without your coat?"

"I guess something's should be left behind. Looks better on you anyway." His eyes dropped to the ground and his hair flopped forward once more.

"Stick around?" She didn't know where she had found the voice the words were out of her mouth before the thought had even formed. Maybe Anya was having an effect on her. Maybe she liked it.

His brow knitted as if he too was questioning her words and he looked back at her, his body turning to fully face her. "What until you get bored and decide to stake me?"

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"Not anymore. Not... after..."

"Then, what?--Where? -"

"Where do we go from here?"

She nodded and he mirrored her passive shrug.

"You know what I am... what I do. And what you do. We couldn't be more incompatible -"

"Oh? I thought we were very compatible." She interrupted as a means to steer the conversation away from its inevitable destination. Away from what was inevitably going to come between them.

He smiled, he couldn't help himself and so did she. They both took a step closer and stalled.

"I-I can't think of tomorrow, or the next day. All I can do is concentrate on today and getting through this day. -- I can't even begin to comprehend the future. I'm the Slayer - I don't have a future."

He scoffed then and one look was all she needed to tell him to explain himself.

"I'm a Vampire, Love... All I have is future--Unless you decide to punctuate my full stop with a piece of wood that is."

Another shared smile. Another step. Another stall.

"Well then give me a future and I'll give you a present." She cringed at how that sounded and, trust him, he picked her up on it.

"A present, huh? What, like time or a gift?"

Another step, he was touchable now. Within reach but her arms were weighed down at her sides.

"Well time could be my gift. I have this inescapable feeling that it's a limited-term offer. That I don't have a lot of it left."

There was something in his eyes that responded to that and a hand came out and clutched at her cheek before dropping back to his side. They stood in silence for a few thousand eternities.

"What time is it?"

"What?"

"Time, Slayer. You have a watch under there?"

"Oh, umm." She dug under the draping cuffs of his coat and eventually found her wrist. Struggling to read the hands in the dark and wet, she eventually made out. "Eleven fifty-five."

"Eleven fifty-five? Well there you go. Don't think of it as tomorrow. Think of it as five minutes from now. What do you want from those five minutes, Love?"

She cleared the space between them and placed a hand against his hard chest. "You."

"Are you sure. Because you don't just say that and take it back. There's no going back from here. I mean -"

"Is that a promise?"

He looked down at her uncomprehendingly. As if he thought she may disappear any second. Be erased and wash away in streaks of rain. His hand returned to her cheek. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Then for God's sake, kiss me."

And as he moved in those eternities stretched out between them once more but also ahead of them and all around them, climbing and circling above them as their passion soared once more.

"You were lying." She gasped as they parted lips and rested forehead against forehead.

"What? When?"

"When you said you were just passing through. You were on your way to kill me."

He laughed and nodded slightly, careful not to jar her. "Yeah, I guess I was. And yeah, I guess I did."

"What?!" Panic surged through her and she backed away only to elicit another chuckle from him.

"Poetic metaphor, Love?"

A blank stare was her only viable response and she took refuge in it. He smiled and placed his hands on her shoulders, willing her forward towards the house. She walked freely with him, relaxing slightly against his chest.

"Maybe you'd better explain this 'poetic metaphor' thing to me... With a practical demonstration, of course." She opened the door and stepped inside, grabbing a handful of his sodden shirt and dragging him forcefully in after her.

"I think that can be arranged." He smiled into another kiss and reached behind him and closed the door on all the unanswered and unanswerable questions that barked at the threshold, seeking admittance.

-->

"Stop it!" She batted a hand away as it dipped in the dishwater to find hers.

"What? I'm helping." He protested, threading his arms around her waist and pressing himself against her back. His head rested on her right shoulder and she smiled internally at the intimacy of their stance.

"No, you're distracting me. Again." She tapped him on the nose with a wooden spoon leaving a blob of soapsuds that he didn't bother to wipe away.

"Me? Never. Just forget I'm here, go back to doing... whatever it is you're doing there."

"Washing the dishes, Spike. I'm washing the dishes, it hardly ranks high on the male fantasy top-one-hundred."

"What, are you kidding? The Slayer being all domestic whilst wearing nothing more than a... *very* thin bathrobe, this is the stuff fantasies were made of, or should be." He wriggled against her back, rocking her slightly from side to side.

She scoffed and was about to speak when all thought was expelled from her mind. The hand that had been absently toying with and loosening the knot of her belt slipped inside the material. She caught her breath as cool fingers made contact with the heated flesh of her abdomen. A ring finger dipped into her navel and from there his fingertips tapped a circular rhythm of caresses spiralling gradually outward: Higher, wider and lower.

"Like I said... forget I'm here." He nuzzled into her neck.

Her throat emitted some kind of indistinguishable sound as a reply and she gazed uncomprehendingly at the bubbly water her hands were submerged in. Closing her eyes, she gave into the sensations ebbing and flowing from his touch and leant back against him. Her mind rocking with the same peculiar seasickness she now associated with him.

The circle expanded slowly until finally its arc reached its zenith. Up to trace the under-edge of her breasts, wide and down her right side, following the groove of each rib. His fingers danced over the arch of her hip and down to skip through her curls.

Her hands emerged from the water with a splash and slammed down onto the worktop in a desperate need for stability as his fingers dipped between her thighs -

"Hi, Buffy. I'm home."

The slam of the front door affirmed her fear and they parted with start, fleeing to opposite ends of the kitchen.

She scrambled with the fastening of her robe, her cheeks burning with interrupted lust and rising panic. She glanced quickly at Spike whose countenance was alternating between menace and nonchalance in an attempt to decide how to act. Imploring him with her eyes he settled into a casual pose, picking up his cocoa and leaning back against the units. He winked at her and she didn't have time to decide whether to be frustrated or reassured by the action as Dawn's head and then body entered the kitchen.

"Buffy, whose is that car -?" Her sister's eyes widened as she took in the scene and her inquisitive stare settled on Spike. Her brow furrowed as if the sight of him prompted some thought process. "Oh, it's you." She said finally and with a shrug she made her way over to the fridge. "Guess that answers that question."

Buffy watched in disbelief of the level of indifference Dawn was showing as her sister poured herself a glass of orange juice. "So, your girlfriend dump you again?"

"Something like that." Spike bowed his head and glanced into the mug he was holding almost protectively to his chest.

"Thought so. I can smell the cocoa. Did you give him the marshmallows?"

"Huh?" Buffy grunted, glancing from one to the other.

"Those little marshmallows, he likes those. Don't you?"

"Um, yeah. I do."

"Uh... We don't have any, I don't think."

"Sure we do." Dawn rummaged in the cupboard behind her and turned up a half-packet of said marshmallows. She threw them almost blindly to him and he caught them easily with his free hand.

"Thanks." A small smile crossed his lips, an actual genuine smile devoid of his usual sadistic sarcasm. Buffy thought she was seeing things for a moment but no, it was there.

Again.

"Dawn... you remember him?"

"Yeah, he's that Vampire that came to the house a couple of years back, all strung-out over some mad woman." Dawn clicked her fingers, trying to grasp something. "S-S-Skipper, right?"

Spike glared at her momentarily before affirming: "Spike!"

"Whatever. You do realise Mom's not here to listen to your whining this time though, don't you? I mean she's n-not... she's..."

"Yeah, so I heard." He nodded and as Dawn mirrored it.

Buffy had to blink and reassess the scene but it was happening. Dawn liked him? (How is this possible? Someone wake me up now and tell me these past two days have been a dream. Tell me my whole life has been a dream, especially that horrible part where mom died.)

"Buffy, why are you not dressed, I mean it's -" Dawn paused and her eyes squinted and she looked from Buffy to Spike, her lips forming an 'o' before the sound emerged from her mouth. "Oh...oh right... Well, you sure made the most of me being out of the way, didn't you sis?"

"I - I..." Buffy floundered. "I don't know what you're suggesting, Dawn -"

"Yeah, I just got here." He helped her out and her mind drifted back to something similar, familiar. ('She's a hell on the old skins.')

"You just got here, huh?"

"Yeah, right, just popped in for a cuppa." He motioned towards his mug.

"Then where are your shoes and socks?"

Three sets of eyes fell to his bare feet. His toes wiggled under the sudden attention. "Umm... Just giving them a breather."

"Skipper, please don't insult my adolescent one-track mind when for once it's on the right track. Besides Buffy's all frumpled, she's never frumpled--I mean, look at her hair."

Buffy's hand shot to her head and she felt for herself. Her eyes shot to Spike in a glare that said, very loudly: 'How could you not tell me?' He shrugged casually and the smirk was back.

God, she hated him.

"You have bed-hair at this time of the evening. You never have bed-hair. Not even after you and Riley -"

"Riley?" His interest diverged upon the name and Buffy tried in vain to silence Dawn with a deep-throated cough.

"Her last boyfriend." Dawn said matter-of-factly. She took a sip of juice before continuing. She was loving this, Buffy could tell. "You know her type: tall, broad-shouldered, full of muscle... only not much between the ears."

Spike's face clouded darker with every word and when he looked at Buffy she was helpless to do anything more than gape like a fish.

"Maybe he compensated for it in other areas though, I-"

"Dawn!" Dawn started and stared at her sister with teenage defiance. "What?"

"Enough, OK. You were right." Dawn came up with a self-satisfied smirk of her own.

"I knew it! Don't worry, I won't tell Mo-" She stopped herself and as her eyes fell to the floor silence fell on the three of them stretching and growing in life-spans of eternities. "No. Of course I won't." Dawn met Buffy's eyes and they shared a moment of silent reassurance. "So, what's for dinner?"

Spike's stomach chose that moment to make its presence known, earning him an amused glance from both Buffy and Dawn.

"Dinner sounds good. Could just fancy a nice redhead." The amusement faded and was replaced by disgust. "Er... I mean -"

"I'll get you some blood from the butchers." Buffy interrupted him. "I'll get us some take-out whilst I'm out. How 'bout that?" She glanced at Dawn who responded with an enthusiastic nod. "...Only I can't go out and leave you here can I?"

"Sure you can."

"No, Dawn... I can't leave you by yourself. You know that."

"Well I won't be on my own will I?" Dawn looked pointedly at Spike and that was when it hit.

Trust. That's what it all came down to. That's what he been trying to tell her last night. She looked to him and he stared blankly back, offering nothing. It had to be her decision and she had to make it final. Either way she couldn't go back. Either way she would pay hugely if she made the wrong choice. Those eternities began multiplying in earnest.

Taking a deep breath she steeled herself before giving him a look which said it all: 'Anything happens to her, I *will* stake you.' He nodded almost imperceptibly and she went to get dressed.

Entering the back door, she placed their paper bag wrapped dinners on the kitchen sideboard and was about to call out when a scream cut her off. Her heart stopped.

Dawn.

Switching instantly to Slayer mode, she raced into the dark hall. A thundering of heavy footsteps brought her attention to the stairs just in time to see a blast of Dawn's pink sweater burst past her. She didn't hear his footsteps but she saw the swoop of black that jumped over the banister and she cut off his momentum, tackling him to the ground with force. (Here is where I start paying, I guess.) She stood over the heap that now passed for Spike and eyed him with the stare that belied her internal quivering.

"Buffy? ... Buffy, what are you doing?" Dawn stomped back into the hall and looked down at Spike.

"Dawn, what's going on?" (Please, somebody tell me. I can't - I don't -)

"He was helping me. You know, with my drama project. I thought it'd be cool if I could do this sort of horror and film it from the point of view of the attacker. And me being me, I did what I do best and bullied him into it."

"What?" It was then that she saw the camcorder he was holding. "Oh... I see. I - I'm s..." She took a step back and gave him room to stand. Unable to look at him, she was grateful for the lack of light.

"Jeez, Buffy." Dawn took the camcorder off Spike with a grin and wandered off. "I have to go check this out. Thanks, Skipper." She flicked the light-switch back up before starting off upstairs.

"No problem, pet."

And she was gone, leaving them alone. Buffy stared after Dawn for a few more seconds than necessary before facing the music. She winced as their eyes met.

"Do you hate me?"

"Of course I do. You know, you being my mortal enemy and the bane of my existence and all." His face was as deadpan as his delivery but his eyes were smiling and she knew she was safe. Maybe in more ways that one. "That's the thing about trust you see. It doesn't come for granted, you have to earn it."

She stared at him in unconcealed amazement. "Where did you get so...? How can you be so...?" With a conceding shake of the head, she stepped into him, sighing as she came to rest against him. "I don't get you."

"No, me neither." He hesitated momentarily before his arms closed around her, enfolding her with his scent.

-->

"So, what are you going to do today, Mr. Sunshine?" She hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and pulled him with her as she stepped back towards the door.

He grimaced and allowed himself to be impelled forward. "Umm... you know smoke a kipper, light a pipe and sit in me slippers contemplating the meaning of life or unlife as the case may be."

"OK, so basically nothing?" Her back hit against the door and she stalled in momentum, quivering in anticipation as he continued to advance, closing the space between them and leaning into her.

"There's always 'Passions'."

"Not on your own, there's not... unless you're planning on getting to know your hand a lot better." She reached for a hand and interlaced fingers with him. "Though these are good hands to know."

A strange smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he reached out with his free hand to smooth a strand of hair to the side of her face. "I was talking about the TV show, Love. But if you'd prefer me to leave you with more... interesting imagery."

"My Mom liked that show."

"Then your Mum had good taste... which is more than I can say for you." He needled her with a quiet chuckle and a half-hearted attempt at tickling her ribs and she smiled grateful for the joke.

Grateful for him.

Their eyes met and suddenly she was only aware of blue. That particular brilliant, sapphire blue that was uniquely and essentially him. Blue all around her, streaming over her skin, raining through her soul and pouring itself into her womb. She sighed and closed her eyes against the demanding pulse of her core. "I really have to go. I have an appointment with a prairie dog."

"Uh-huh"

"See you soon." She said but it came out as more of a question.

"Of course."

She liked the sound of that. So... certain. She kissed him quickly and made her exit before she could be drawn deeper.

She crossed the threshold and closed the door with a beleaguered sigh.

Home.

Closing her eyes against the raging of her racing thoughts her thoughts turned to him. Instinctively she sought him out and with a few steps forward he came into view.

There. On that dreaded sofa, he sat. Feet up on the coffee table, head back against the back of the sofa. Asleep. Not dead. Undead. She had to keep reminding herself for it was easy to forget. Easy to imagine there was a heartbeat drumming underneath her head when she lay against his chest. But there was none. Nothing. Nothing in there.

But him.

Whoever that was.

Slipping out of her coat, she went to turn off the television and glanced back at him in the newly instigated silence. She allowed her feet to carry herself to him and felt him stir awake as she straddled his lap and collapsed against his chest.

Home.

"Hello, Love."

There was no heartbeat but something low in the vacuum of his chest rumbled with every word he spoke and vibrated through her. She smiled. She couldn't help herself. She nestled her head into the nook of his neck and made an indistinct sound of greeting.

"How'd it go?"

The words sent a jolt through her and she sat up, back like a rod. "Cryptic... I don't want to talk about it."

"It can't be that bad... Can it?"

His still heavy-lidded eyes were pouring with concern and it was more than she could bare. And yet she couldn't look away. Bringing her hands up to his head she ran her fingers through his tousled hair, loosening the curls from the remainder of the gel, or whatever he used to slick it back.

"It was just..." She drifted off, all energy for speech deserting her and so she kissed him. Lazily, languidly and he didn't hurry the pace. But it had the desired effect. A breath of rejuvenation coursed through her and awakened each and every cell in turn. Tuning her body into him. She shifted in his lap, pushing her hips against his and smiled into their deepening kisses as she felt him respond. His hands were on her arms, squeezing gently and then with more pressure as he drew her torso against his only to stop with a start and release her.

Their lips parted and even without opening her eyes she knew what she had done. She opened her eyes and her sight confirmed what her other senses had been telling her. She stared down at the stake she had pressed against his chest. Right in the centre of the still remaining nail-polish target. Her knuckles white with the intensity of her grip.

He began what was supposed to be a deep breath but was cut off as the pressure of the pointed weapon pressed into his skin. "Fair enough. But what a way to go."

Her brow knitted as her gaze lifted back to his eyes. Big mistake. She was so easily lost in those eyes. Or was it found? "My spirit guide told me that Death is my Gift."

He said nothing for a long time, made not one move for an infinite moment. His hand slowly moved up to her face and she didn't flinch as he painted his fingertips down the centre of her face. She closed her eyes as he moved over her eyelids and let out a long breath as his fingers lingered on her lips. "It's more than that. It's your Art. It's what you are... but not who you are."

She knew as his fingers moved to caress her cheeks that they would be wet and she watched his face as he traced the tracks of her tears and bought his fingers to his mouth to taste them. Just as he did she licked her lips and tasted the salt for herself.

"And look at you now. All in Slayer-mode." The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, a strange glint in his eyes. "I know, it makes sense. Vampire" He pointed at himself and then her. "Vampire Slayer." His eyes dropped for a moment. "Stake... and heart." His hand came against her own heart and she became aware of just how vigorously it was thumping in her chest. Her pulse thudding an erratic Morse code through her chest and into his hand.

She dropped the stake. "Kill me." She sighed, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against his. Her now empty hands coming up to cup each side of his face.

"What?"

"Poetic metaphor... You know, you being the expert and all." She felt his facial muscles re-arrange themselves into a grin and smiled herself. She couldn't help herself. And she didn't want to.

Their mouths met again in blind instinct and she settled into him once more. The tensions of the day abated from her body and melted into the ether around them only for her to remember where she was. "Not here." She gasped out desperately, her body setting taut as he impelled her back to lie on the sofa.

"Yes. Here." His mouth moved to her neck and she shuddered despite her panic.

"But -"

"I know. Bad memories." He stopped and lifted his head to look at her, all seriousness and understanding. "You need to make some good memories to attach to this place... balance things out a bit. Or else it's always going to plague you."

"I -"

"I know."

And he did, somehow he always did.

--->