Even in the crisp light of early morning, the castle still seemed dark to Buffy as she climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor. First floor, she quickly amended. Gotta remember that here, two equals one and one equals ground, and what the hell have I gotten myself into? She would've thought that being around Giles for the past five years would've helped in the culture shock of actually being on his home turf, but for the first time, the young woman was beginning to realize just how Americanized her Watcher had really become, in spite of all their jokes to the contrary. If it weren't for Spike and his translations, she would've been completely lost already, and if that wasn't proof that all wasn't right in the world, she didn't know what was.

He was downstairs right now, rummaging around in the kitchen, trying to help Colin get some type of breakfast thrown together for the gang because the woman the Council had hired hadn't shown up yet. The Watcher had practically begged Buffy to stay and help, brown eyes wide in fear as he kept glancing over at the vampire, but as soon as the towel had caught on fire---some kind of weird chain reaction thing from splattering sausage grease on the gas stove---Spike had kicked her out, claiming she was more of a menace than she was worth, leaving her to entertain herself in the great hall until Colin had come out and asked her to wake the others.

Maybe it's just the stairs, Buffy thought, glancing back down at them as she emerged onto the next floor. The stairwell itself was extremely narrow, allowing only one person to go up at a time, with steps so narrow even her small foot only half-fit on them and so steep that more than once she had caught her toe because she hadn't lifted her leg high enough to make it completely. There was no proper handrail; instead, along the outer wall, a coiled rope was looped through hooks in the stone, but because they were placed every few feet, it wasn't taut, and offered little support when someone occasionally stumbled…which she quite often did. Just like training, she thought determinedly. New physical challenges just means reconditioning the way my body thinks. I can do that. It's only a set of stairs.

The corridor she stepped into wasn't nearly as gloomy as it had appeared when they'd arrived, sunshine streaming in through the few high-placed windows that lined the wall. With the benefit of natural light, Buffy could see the years of erosion that pocked the uneven stonework, its rough texture just begging to be touched, and decided it looked much better by day than it did by night. Not that it was wiggins-worthy when it was dark, but knowing what was around her, what the layout of the place was, was definitely of the good.

Although there was a row of doors down the hall, she knew from dropping them off last night that her friends were in the first two, and knocked on the nearest, foot tapping impatiently as she waited for Xander to open it. The sounds seemed to get swallowed in the vast length of the place, disappearing into the floor as if the building was starved for it, and slowly her rhythm stopped, the young woman suddenly all too conscious of being alone. She knocked again, harder this time. "Xander?" she called. "Time to rise and time to shine!"

This time, she heard noises from within, the faint scuffling of shoes along the floor and the low murmurs of Anya's voice. Within moments, the door opened to reveal a disheveled Xander, eyes squinting from the sudden exposure to light. "It is entirely unnatural that you're awake at this hour," he grumbled.

"What? It's almost nine-thirty. We let you guys sleep in."

"Nine-thirty?" He glanced at his wrist, only to realize he wasn't wearing a watch. "In the morning? How is that possible?"

"Well, the earth does this turny thing around the sun---."

"Xander, shut the door! You're letting in a draft!" Anya's voice filtered from inside the room, and Buffy bit back her grin as her friend automatically narrowed the gap, using his body to block the warmer air from escaping.

"Breakfast is in ten," she said. "And Colin wants a meeting after we eat to talk about everything."

He nodded, his lids already starting to droop. "Ten. Got it."

One down, Buffy thought as he closed the door, and one to go. She had barely raised her hand to rap at the second room, however, when it opened and an already dressed Willow stepped out with Tara right behind. "Don't bother," the redhead said tiredly. "We're up."

The Slayer grimaced. "God, Will, didn't you guys get any sleep?"

She shook her head. "For being a castle, it's got walls like tissue paper."

It took her a moment, but then Buffy's eyes widened, and she glanced over her shoulder at the room she'd just left. "Through stone?" she exclaimed. "Are they really that loud?"

"Louder."

"Guess I'm glad my room's on the third floor then, even if I do have to share with Spike."

"You know," Willow's face creased into a frown, "you don't have to do that. I'm sure Xander would understand if we explained it to him. Then, he could share with Spike and you could share with Anya---."

"And you could get a good night's sleep," Buffy finished with a smile.

She blushed. "I'm just saying, maybe we should rethink the whole keeping them in the dark thing. Unless…you want to share with Spike."

A flash of porcelain muscles flashed across the Slayer's inner eye, the sinewy sculpture she'd been presented that morning sending tiny tremors down the inside of her thighs, and she caught herself ducking her gaze, turning away from her friends to hide the sudden rise of color in her cheeks. Want was such a strong word; it was more that she needed to be sharing with him right now, for Xander's sake…Oops, except need actually sounded kinda worse, and the fact that she still hadn't answered the accusation didn't really mean that it was something she felt guilty about or anything. "I'm not hurting their feelings," she finally said firmly. "And if that means I have to put up with annoying bleached vampires for a few weeks, then that's what I have to do. Besides, it's not like he snores or anything. Bonus for not breathing."

As she headed back to the staircase, Willow and Tara exchanged a puzzled look, before the redhead said, "Sure, Buffy, whatever you say."

*************

When they walked into the great hall, the food was spread out on the table, platters of sausages, bacon, and scrambled eggs dotted amidst the empty dishes. The girls' eyes widened, glancing quickly at Spike as he walked in from the adjoining kitchen with a covered bowl and a steaming mug. "You c-c-cook?" Tara asked.

"Don't sound so bloody surprised," he commented, setting down the last dish. Carefully skirting the sunlight that streamed in through the windows, he strolled over to a chair in the corner, tucked carefully away in shadows, blowing gently at the cup he still held. "Just 'cause my food of choice happens to be of the red liquid variety, doesn't mean I can't enjoy other culinary experiences."

"Besides," Buffy chirped, sliding into one of the seats, "he didn't do all of it. I made the sausages."

"No, you made a mess," Spike retorted. "Colin made the sausages."

"I thought Colin said they'd hired a woman to do the cooking," commented Willow.

"They did. She never showed." Lifting the cover of the bowl, the Slayer frowned. "Is this baked beans?"

"Last I checked," the vampire replied.

"For breakfast?"

He sighed, exasperated. "Look, the sooner you stop questioning every little thing you don't get, the happier I'm goin' to be, 'cause I did not sign on to this gig to be your live-in travel guide, got it?" He sipped at his drink. "And yes, baked beans for breakfast. What you're lookin' at is a traditional English spread, minus the mushrooms and fried bread 'cause Watcher Boy is still workin' on those."

"Who is he expecting to eat all this food?" Buffy mused, spearing a sausage on her fork and placing it on her plate. "There's enough here to feed Mongolia."

"A good solid breakfast is the best foundation for a productive day," Colin stated as he marched in with two more platters of food. "And we have a very busy one ahead of us. Lots of issues to cover, roles to delegate, jobs to assign, and so forth."

"I don't suppose one of those jobs is a shopping job," the Slayer said.

"Shopping?" He frowned. "Why on earth do you need to go shopping?"

In the corner, the vampire chuckled. "Lemme guess," he drawled, leveling an azure gaze at the other Englishman. "You're single, right?"

"Yes, but…" The Watcher's lips pursed into a thin line. "Why are you even here? I thought vampires slept during the day." He wasn't ready to have to be dealing with Spike today. Though he seemed to behave himself when the Slayer was around, his presence still left Colin on edge, and it was all he could do to reach for the eggs without his hands shaking.

"Still on Hellmouth time, mate. So unless you're a dab hand at sortin' out jet lag, I suggest you get used to me bein' around."

"I was thinking we should get some flashlights," Buffy volunteered. "And as long as we need to go into town, it might be kind of nice to see what it's like, maybe pick up some souvenirs."

"Oh, and I forgot conditioner," Tara interjected.

"Maybe we could meet with Giles," was Willow's contribution. "Instead of him having to come all the way out here."

Colin frowned as the three girls began running away with the conversation, his head swiveling between them as they chattered away. He could see Spike smirking in the corner, watching the whole thing in amusement, and wondered just exactly when he had lost control of the situation. This would never do. They'd only just arrived. They needed to know who was in charge here.

Before he could speak though, the door opened and the other couple came strolling in, hand in hand, looking very much like they could've used another few hours of sleep. Buffy brightened when she saw them. "Guess what, guys? Council's springing for us to go into town and get some highly needed retail therapy. Wanna come?"

When he saw the new girl---Anya, he reminded himself, the girlfriend of the other friend although for the life of him he couldn't remember the boy's name---light up and begin jabbering away with the others, Colin sighed, leaning heavily back in his chair. Apparently…the Slayer was the one in charge.

*************

Spike heard it first, the heavy thrum as the front entrance of the castle was closed, and cocked his head as he watched the group at the table, wondering how long it would take them to notice the new arrival. He wasn't disappointed. Within seconds, Buffy had stiffened, golden head turning ever so slightly as she listened. That's my girl, he thought, his lips curling into a satisfied grin.

"You expecting company?" she asked the Watcher.

He frowned, rising to his feet. "Mr. Giles is the only one due to arrive," he said. "And that's not until later." As he reached the door, hand outstretched, it opened into him, knocking the Englishman in the head.

"Oh! Terribly sorry!"

Colin scowled in pain as he gazed at the young dark-haired man before him. "I do hope you have a very good reason for just barging in," he complained. "Because if not, you're trespassing on private property and I'll be forced to contact the local constabulary."

"Actually, I was looking for Colin Sadler." His smile was wide, effusive, and immediately ingratiating, bringing frowns to Spike and Xander's faces and smiles to the girls'.

"And you've found him, or rather, you've hit him."

"Again, so sorry."

There was an awkward pause. "And you would be…?" Colin prompted.

"Oh! Duncan. Davison." His hand shot out in a late greeting, but when it was met with a cold silence, he quickly dropped it. "You're not actually expecting me. You're expecting my aunt. Fiona Davison?"

The look of recognition relaxed the Watcher's face and he nodded his head. "That's her name," he exclaimed, and then frowned again. "Wait. Is there a problem?"

"Well…yes. There's been an accident." He rushed onward at the consternation that immediately beset the group's faces. "Oh, it's just a little break, nothing too serious. But, she can't get around right now, so when my mum found out she had this job lined up, she asked me to come up, see if maybe I could fill in for Aunt Fiona."

Colin's frown deepened. "We hired her to cook."

"Yeah…"

"And clean…"

"Yeah, I know." Duncan laughed. "I get it. You want someone local, right?"

Buffy had to stifle her giggle at the Watcher's confusion. "No, not necessarily…"

"Because I used to come spend my summers with Aunt Fiona so I do know the area, even though I don't sound like I should…"

"That's good, but…"

"And it's probably actually better for you, right? I mean, I know even I have problems sometimes understanding the accent and I grew up with it. My mum, you know, being from up here. So, I could help translate for you if you wanted. It would save you the trouble---."

"Really, it's not---."

"I think what Colin's trying to say," Buffy interrupted, "is he wasn't expecting to have a guy doing the cooking and cleaning up. Somehow, I get the feeling that's just a little too twenty-first century for him."

Duncan's smile was quizzical as he turned to look at the young blonde at the table. "Aunt Fiona said it was a bunch of Englishmen staying here," he said slowly. "She didn't mention anything about Americans, or…girls."

In his chair, Spike straightened, brows knitting as he watched the new arrival take a step closer to the table. There was no mistaking the attention this Davison chap was now focusing on the females at the table, and what made it even worse, each and every one of them seemed to be responding to it, even the two witches. The vamp's eyes flickered to Xander, and took a small bit of satisfaction at the agitation in the young man's visage, watching as he leaned just enough so that his arm fell protectively across the back of Anya's chair. At least it's not just me, he thought, his gaze returning to Duncan.

"We're only here for a few weeks," Buffy was saying. "Just…visiting, doing a little sight-seeing, you know…hanging out."

"Well, if you need a tour guide, I'd be more than happy to volunteer. I used up my holiday at work in order to come up here and help Aunt Fiona out, so I'm here for the duration anyway. I can show you all the local haunts. There's a ton of history around this part of Scotland, especially associated with this place---."

"You're well-versed in the local legends?" Colin asked, stepping back into the conversation.

Duncan started, almost as if he'd forgotten the other Englishman was even there. "Blame it on my mum and Aunt Fiona. They told so many stories while I was growing up, it was probably inevitable I'd end up studying Scottish lore at uni."

The Watcher seemed impressed with this. "And it would save us the trouble of finding someone else," he mused.

"So…are you saying you want me to stay?"

"I don't see why not," Colin replied, straightening. "You can cook, right?"

Duncan laughed. "And clean, so you don't have to worry. Aunt Fiona would never let anyone sully her good name around here." He glanced over at the table. "I've missed getting your breakfast, but I might as well start with the washing up, if you don't mind." He didn't even wait for a response, just began peeling off his coat as he headed straight for the kitchen door. "Just let me know when you're done eating and I'll come clear," he said, disappearing from the room.

Spike slumped back in his chair, his mood darkening to thunder. Something about the guy rubbed him the wrong way, probably the way the Slayer seemed to warm to him without his even having to try. He glared at her over the rim of his mug. Bitch. Doesn't know this new wanker from Adam and she flirts with him like there's no tomorrow, yet with me, it's all, I'm gonna stake you, you evil, disgusting vampire you. She's even got a boyfriend at home, even if he's not the catch of the century.

His lips tightened, and he sucked the blood from between his teeth before swallowing. At the moment, he wasn't sure who he was angrier at…Buffy, for flirting with someone who wasn't him…or the lucky bastard in the kitchen who got to be on the receiving end of it…

*************

In the end, Buffy and Colin compromised. Since he was the only one who could feasibly drive---as it was daylight and Spike was the only other person present who'd even consider it---the Watcher agreed to take Xander and Anya into the village to get the supplies everyone needed, provided Buffy unpacked all the research materials so that when he returned, the entire group could sit down and have a thorough debriefing, right before launching into the literature. She'd wanted to argue, but the pleading exhaustion on Willow and Tara's faces convinced her not to, and when they had vanished upstairs upon the other's departure, the Slayer had found herself alone yet once again with Spike.

"Have fun," he said, as he began sauntering toward the door.

Her hazel eyes widened. "You're not helping me?" she demanded.

He stopped, tilting his head as he looked back at her over his shoulder. "Wasn't my deal," he replied.

"That doesn't mean you can't pitch in when there's work to be done."

"The witches get to rest. Why can't I?"

"You weren't up all night because of loud sex."

His eyes narrowed, and his lips curved into a shameless slash. "That could've been arranged, pet," he drawled. "All you had to do was ask."

She ignored his taunt. "What happened to that vampire constitution? You can't be tired. I've seen you go way longer without sleep."

"It's called jet lag, pet, and why the hell aren't you sufferin' from it like the rest of us?"

"Probably because my body clock is so screwed up from slaying," she replied. "Sometimes I don't know my Tuesday morning from my Saturday night. Eight hours is nothing compared to that." Buffy glanced back at the boxes stacked in the corner before returning her gaze to his drawn face. "So…you're really not going to help me?"

Her voice had softened, and though she still looked annoyed, Spike could've sworn there was a genuine plea in her tone, his resolve vanishing in spite of his determination to stay mad at her. He sighed. "Are you askin' me to stay?" He knew it wasn't what she really wanted, though why he insisted on torturing himself like this, he had no idea. Just shut your gob and do what she says. Make your pathetic excuse of an undead life a little easier.

"The company would be…nice," Buffy replied, and the admission surprised both of them. She rushed to add, "This place gets a little creepy when you're all alone in it."

"I suppose I can always sleep during the Watcher's meeting," he said, quirking a smile and moving a small step back into the room.

"That'll be two of us then." He joined her in the laughter, and together, the pair headed for the boxes.

*************

He heard them moving around in the great hall and stepped back away from the door, just in case one of them decided they needed to come into the kitchen for some unknown reason. Witches? Vampires? And the pretty American had mentioned something about slaying. Not your normal topics of conversation, yet the two who remained in the adjoining room bandied the terms with a nonchalance that spoke of familiarity.

Duncan's brown eyes were thoughtful as he wiped his hands on the towel. This certainly hadn't been what he'd been expecting, yet given the circumstances, he really wasn't that surprised. If nothing else, it made it all the more exciting, and if there was one thing he hungered for more than anything, it was excitement…

Two hours of Watcher-speak and Buffy still wasn't sure why the hell they were in Scotland. As she observed the proceedings from her vantage-point at the end of the table, she stifled the yawn that seemed to appear out of nowhere, ducking her head so that Colin wouldn't notice and stop his presentation yet again. Twice was enough for her. And the dirty look Giles had given her after the last interruption was not something she was ready to face again just yet, not to mention Spike's incessant chuckling from the corner behind her. It seemed that everything she did today was cracking him up.

She had to give this new Watcher credit for being prepared, though. The man had a flow chart for everything. Diagrams of the castle, maps of the outlying areas complete with color coding for what he considered the most likely areas for demon activity, even a completed calendar for the duration of their stay. That, of course, was going to get tossed out the window once he realized that she didn't work that way, but for now, Buffy was content to let him have his little fantasy that he was actually in charge.

"Now," Colin was saying, "are there any questions?"

"Let me get this straight," the Slayer said, thankful for the light at the end of the tunnel he was offering. "You guys went digging around in the dungeons, knocked a hole through the wrong wall, and now there's a back door between our dimension and this Otherworld, right?"

"Well, that's putting it a little bluntly, but, yes, generally speaking---."

"And you know something got out because all of a sudden there were these deaths in the village, but you don't know what it is yet because nobody's seen or heard anything useful."

"Yes, but---."

"And you want us to go do a search and slay on this demon or whatever, and then me, Will, and Spike do your little ritual to close up the door for good, and then we go home, right?"

"That's a very simplistic interpretation---."

"But that's it, right?"

Colin sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "Essentially, yes, that's it."

The rest of the gang did their best to suppress their smiles as Buffy faced off with the new Watcher, his obvious fluster shadowed before her matter-of-fact summary. After five years, they were used to this, but that didn't stop them enjoying her effect on those uninitiated on the Summers' style.

Standing up, the Slayer stretched, lifting her arms overhead and arching her back as she spoke. "I want you to show us where this back door is. I don't remember seeing anything this morning that looked like a dig site." She turned to look back at the vampire. "Do you, Spike?"

"Not even a soddin' grave," he commented, shaking his head in disgust. "That is the sorriest excuse for a dungeon I've ever seen."

Giles frowned. "Not that I doubt you," he said, "but what on earth were you doing down in the dungeons? And with Spike?"

"We couldn't sleep," she explained with a shrug. "Seemed as good a spot to start as any. Besides, we didn't even see anything. The scariest thing down there was Spike."

"Thanks, Slayer," he muttered, slouching further down into his chair. For a while there, he'd thought he'd been making headway, making her laugh occasionally while they'd been doing Sadler's work for him, taking her side when the wanker had criticized her for taking a kip during his lecture. She had actually gone four hours without one disparaging remark about the vampire. Guess it had been too good to be true.

"I really must express my dismay that you'd venture out so," Colin said. "I haven't even had the opportunity yet to direct you to the weapons cache we've created---."

Buffy's face lit up like a child at Christmas. "Weapons?" she chirped. "Where?"

"In the adjunct at the end of the hall, but…" His voice trailed off as he watched the young woman dash out of the room, his brows knitting together in confusion. "She really doesn't…listen, does she?" he mused, not speaking to anyone in particular.

"Weapons are kind of her thing," Anya commented. "Same as ringing the bell for Pavlov's dog. You know, ding ding! There goes Buffy!"

"But don't beat yourself up about it," Xander chimed in. "At least you didn't bring them up at the beginning of the meeting. Giles still makes that mistake sometimes."

"Oh my god! Giles! Come here!" Buffy's shrieking carried through the stone walls, automatically jerking her Watcher to his feet, rushing out with a frown on his face.

Spike's lips quirked into a half-smile. "Kid in a candy shop," he drawled, shaking his head, and shuffled to his feet. "But should be good for a laugh."

Exchanging a quick look, Willow and Tara quickly rose and followed the vampire out into the hall, with Xander close on their heels. Anya watched as Colin just sat there and shook his head in stunned amazement. "It's OK," she assured. "Eventually, you get used to not being listened to."

*************

She stood in the doorway, hazel eyes ranging over the carefully assembled weapons that lined the upper part of the walls and filled the glass cases that ran along underneath. Even in the dim light that filtered in from the hall, there was no mistaking the gleam from the various metals---silver blades, both curved and straight; brass edges by finely honed craftsmen; even something gold glinted in the far corner---and the vicarious thrill of having such armaments at her fingertips sent Buffy's heart racing. I haven't been this excited about something since I got those leather boots half-price, she thought, and was just reaching for a sheathed dagger that rested near at hand when Giles and Spike came up behind her.

"What is it?" her Watcher asked, then stopped, taking off his glasses as he surveyed the room.

A low whistle came from the vampire's mouth as he brushed past, sauntering straight for a battle axe that sat in the corner. "Well, I'll give those Council blokes credit for this, at least," he said, picking it up and hefting the weapon's weight. "They know how to hold a fight in style."

"I think this is the most gorgeous knife I've ever seen," Buffy murmured, as she pulled it from its case. Its nailhead-studded grip blended effortlessly into the engraved blade, and she trailed a fingertip over the silver crests along its sheath.

"That's a traditional Scottish dirk," Giles observed. "Particularly popular among the Highlanders."

"Is it bad I really want to kill something right now?" she asked with a small smile.

"Well, there'll be time enough for that later," the older man replied and then brightened when his gaze fell upon a claw-like weapon on a lower shelf. "Oh! But remind me to work with you on that one, though," he added, crouching down to examine it further.

"What is it?"

"It's called a double flying talon. Chinese descent, used primarily for attacking horses and their riders. I haven't seen one outside of a book in over ten years."

"Cool." Buffy grinned as her friends appeared in the doorway, and held up the dagger. "Look what I get to play with."

The trio's eyes widened. "Didn't C-c-colin say they think it was just one demon that got out?" Tara asked.

"Who cares?" Spike said, coming up to the Slayer's side with the axe still in his hands. "I say we clear out the whole countryside if it means usin' some of these bad boys."

"It does seem like an awful lot just to get rid of one little nasty," Willow said.

"But we don't know what the nasty is," Buffy argued. "We need to be prepared, right, Giles?" She looked up at her Watcher for confirmation. "Isn't that the Slayer motto?"

"I thought the Slayer motto was 'Don't die,'" Xander observed.

"It does seem like an unusually large arsenal," Giles murmured as he straightened, returning his glasses to his nose.

"Well, I don't care." The blonde brushed past the group, heading back down the hall with the dirk still in her nimble fingers and Spike tagging along behind. "Now that we've got flashlights and weapons, I want a better look at that dungeon and this hole they knocked through to the Otherworld. I haven't had a good slay in two days. Maybe if I'm lucky, something will decide to poke its head through and give us a little excitement."

Spike bit back the innuendo that leapt to the tip of his tongue, ducking his head to hide his smile from the others. She could argue about it until she was blue in the face but there was no denying the fact she got off on the hunt just as much as he did. Even now, he could smell the anticipation seeping from her skin in a fragrant musk, thickening the air while at the same time hardening his cock, and his mouth watered as the memory of her body pressed up against him in her bed came rushing back. Their bed, he hastened to correct, properly bargained and traded for. 'Course, it had been kind of one-sided, his playing on her feelings of guilt and worry for her mum a little sneaky, but if it got him even that much closer to her, Spike decided it was worth it. Who could possibly get hurt from the arrangement? Well, maybe Captain Cardboard, if the vamp had his way, but that only made the deal all that much more delicious. It would certainly show the blighter once and for all that Buffy needed a man in her life with just a little bit of bite…

*************

They stood before the square cell, beams from the multiple flashlights criss-crossing throughout the room in golden stripes, illuminating the bare walls for the gang to see. "See, told you so," said Buffy. "Nada."

"I gotta admit," Willow said at her side. "It's kind of light on the spook factor."

"That's because we've hidden the entrance," Colin replied smugly, and pushed his way to the forefront. The group watched as he walked to the far wall, shining his light along the cracks of the stone, halting on an oblong shape about a third of the way down. He fumbled in his pockets, and Buffy frowned when he pulled out a small amulet, passing it before the mortar while murmuring under his breath.

"What's he saying?" she whispered, leaning closer to her best friend.

"I think it's Latin," Willow answered, green eyes fascinated by the sight in front of her.

Even as they watched, the stones that had seemed so solid just moments earlier began to shimmer, shifting to gossamer before fading completely away before their eyes, revealing a large gaping hole that led into blackness. Colin turned with a triumphant smile. "As you can see, we've taken every precautionary measure we can. The last thing we want is for another demon to escape."

"That's a very powerful spell," Giles commented, stepping forward to run his fingers along the edge of the entrance. "I couldn't even sense the use of magic." He glanced at his colleague with a small frown. "Are you that skilled?"

The other Watcher blushed. "Oh, no. We had a witch onsite who performed the spell for us. I merely learned how to turn it on and off, so to speak."

"Another witch?" Suddenly fearless, Willow joined the two men near at the hole in the wall. "That would be way helpful around here. Tara and I had some ideas we were bouncing around, so maybe she could give us some guidance. Is she coming back?"

"Um, no." Colin turned away, shining his flashlight through the wall. "She had something pressing…elsewhere. I'm afraid we won't have her skills as an ally during this particular…assignment."

Buffy cocked her head, noticing for the first time that the near silence of the dungeons was now shattered. "Do I hear…water?" she asked, and strode forward. Though she aimed her own light into the hole, it did little to ease the inky darkness and she felt the first fingers of trepidation begin to curtail her sense of exploration.

"Yes. You'll see. Just follow me." And with that, Colin disappeared through the entrance.

The group stood frozen for a moment, slightly surprised at their leader's boldness, and it wasn't until Spike marched up that anyone even moved. "Can't be that bad if the nancy boy's not afraid," he commented, and tossed a quick glance back at the Slayer before following after him.

Buffy stiffened. Stupid vamp's showing me up, she thought angrily, gripping her blade even tighter. No way can I let both of them look braver than me. A chipped vampire and a Watcher going in ahead of the Slayer? Mentally, she shook her head, even as she stepped through. I'm definitely slipping. It won't do if the gang starts thinking I'm going soft.

The darkness in the cell had been deceiving. Following the beams of light in front of her, Buffy quickly found the walls growing lighter, glowing almost as if from within, and it became increasingly easier to watch where she was going, to see the intricately carved walls of the tunnel, joining Spike at its other end as she emerged into a wide cavern. The source of the water became clear as she found herself gazing at an underground stream that snaked through the grotto, meandering in its coiled bed until it vanished around a curve, its rock-encrusted banks discouraging anyone from nearing its edges.

"I'm going to guess this is the tunnel to your hollow hills," she said, and swept her now unnecessary flashlight around to look at the etchings that decorated the walls.

"It's actually quite exciting from an archaeological perspective," Colin babbled. "There've been suspicions for years regarding the actual existence of the Otherworld and now we have concrete evidence to support further investigations. We should really feel quite privileged in being a part of such an adventure."

"Tell that to the people who got killed by the demon you let out," Buffy replied, shining her light directly into the Watcher's eyes. "I'm sure they're just thrilled to pieces about your little find here."

He blinked against the sudden blindness. "Well, of course, I didn't…"

"How far have you followed this back?" she asked, walking along the edge of the stream toward the farthest bend.

"Not…too far. It's rather dangerous as you progress. The banks---."

Her hair swung over her shoulders as she turned to look back at Spike. "C'mon," she said. "Watch my back."

As he emerged into the cavern, Giles frowned, watching the retreating forms of his Slayer and the blond vampire as they headed away from him. "Buffy, do be careful."

She glanced back, smiling. "I just want to get a feel for it," she said. "And besides, if anything jumps out at me, I'll just shove Spike at him." The grin she shot the vamp conveyed her joke, and the group watched as he just shook his head and followed after her.

"You're not going to just let her go…are you?" Colin asked, worrying his flashlight between his hands.

"Do feel free to try and stop her," Giles encouraged, unable to hide his own smile. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the sentiment."

His feet automatically took a few steps in her direction, only to halt when the other Watcher's words finally cut through his consciousness. "Well, she does have Spike with her," he reasoned, and jumped when Xander came up to pat him on the shoulder.

"It's a long, slow process, my friend," the young man said. "You just gotta learn when to let her go."

*************

Watch my back, she'd said. The Slayer. Asking him. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. She needed him, appreciated what he had to offer to the mix. No way in hell was he going to turn that request down.

Needless to say, Spike was chuffed to bits, his step lighter than it had been since leaving Sunnydale, the humming under his breath unconscious as his gaze darted from Buffy, to the walls, to the stream, back to Buffy, before beginning the circuit again. Why had he ever had any doubts? It was only a matter of time---.

"What is it with the humming?" Buffy complained, and there was no mistaking the annoyance in her hazel eyes as she glanced back at him. "You might as well have a bullhorn announcing that we're here."

"Sorry if I'm in a good mood," he countered. "You're not the only one who's been chompin' at the bit for a spot of violence."

"I'm not chomping. More like…nibbling."

"Semantics, Slayer. A bite's a bite."

"Because you vampires are experts on the fang thing, right?"

Spike's azure gaze flickered to her neck, lingering on the scar. "I'd say you've clocked some mileage on that as well," he said, his voice a sultry burr, and returned his eyes to her face, noting the color that had suddenly risen in her cheeks. "Angel, I get, 'cause of the whole burnin' first love rubbish, but Drac…" He shook his head. "Never did understand his appeal over the birds. Too…indirect for my tastes. I like it to be up close and personal-like. Lay my cards out on the table." Even as he said the words, he couldn't believe they were coming out of his mouth. Uh huh, yeah, right, he scolded himself. That's why she thinks you're in this for the dosh.

"He had this whole thrall thing going," Buffy argued, her sudden discomfort at the turn the conversation had taken averting her gaze back to the path in front of her. "And it's not just a girl thing, remember? He got Xander as well."

Spike rolled his eyes. "That does not help your argument, Slayer," he said. "Harris has the willpower of a gnat. Even I could get him to do my bloody biddin'." He bridled at the amused grin she shot back at him. "If I really wanted to!"

Buffy's flashlight cut a swathe across the water as she stopped in her tracks to turn and face the vampire. "You're going to stick to your word, right?" she asked. At his frown, she elaborated. "About not telling him and Anya about the not-being-useful thing."

"Oh, that," he said, relaxing. "Personally, I can't believe he hasn't sussed it out already. Your new Watcher did just about everything he could to ignore him during his little confab."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too." She bit her lip. "Willow thinks we should just come clean. Then, you'd share a room with Xander and I'd be in with Anya."

For a moment, Spike panicked, his heart leaping into his throat. Lose the current arrangement? Especially to share with Harris? Not in this lifetime. "Red may be smart, but that doesn't mean she's always right," he said as calmly as he could manage. "You go tellin' him the truth now, it'll just make it worse 'cause he'll think you're feelin' sorry for him."

"That's what I thought," she said, nodding. "Though I hardly expected you to agree with me. I would've thought you'd love to see him squirm."

He pretended to be offended. "And here I thought we were startin' to come to an understanding, Slayer." He tsked under his breath as he brushed past her. "One of these days, you're goin' to open those eyes of yours and actually see what's in front of you for a change. Think you might be pleasantly surprised."

His words were curious, and Buffy frowned as she watched Spike stroll on ahead, moving his flashlight in front of him as he inspected the water and ground. She was used to his sweeping generalizations, insights into her head and her life that seemed to grind her own thinking to a halt, but, sometimes, on the rare occasion, he truly did seem to make no sense whatsoever. I'm sure it all connects somehow, she thought, somewhere underneath all that bleach. Deep, deep under the bleach.

The splashing in the stream next to her caught her attention before she could move forward, and Buffy turned, shining her light down at the water's surface. "You don't think there's actually fish in there, do you?" she asked, bending slightly in order to get a better look.

Spike turned just in time to see the black shape lunge from the stream toward her, catching her off-guard, and leapt forward to tackle it, his own safety forgotten as his fears for the young blonde's rooted in his instincts. The Slayer fell back, and she watched wide-eyed as the vamp disappeared with a thunderous spray, dragging whatever had jumped out at her down with him, the water cresting and waving as the pair sank to the bottom. She scrambled forward, edging herself to the stream's bank as close as the jagged rocks allowed, hazel eyes searching the murky depths for some sign of either of them, wondering what in hell had just happened. He hadn't just saved her…had he? Why on earth would Spike do something as…unselfish as that?

She debated for a moment about jumping in after him, but the lack of light within the cavern and her own slight inhibitions about the potential of drowning held her back, causing her to rationalize her own hesitancy. He can't drown, she reminded herself. Vampires don't breathe, so therefore they can't drown. But he could still get eaten, a tiny corner of her mind reminded her. Or it could cut off his head and finish him off that way. It didn't seem fair all of a sudden that he would do what he did and she wouldn't even try, so setting her flashlight to her side, Buffy tensed as she prepared to dive in after him.

His head broke through the surface, a white beacon amidst the black, and she saw the blood dripping from the large gash in his forehead. Automatically, she scrambled forward, heedless of the stones tearing at her trousers or slicing into her own flesh, her hand shooting forward in offering. "Here," she ordered, and only had to wait a moment before Spike's own grip met hers, pulling him out as quickly as possible to avoid as much contact with the rocks, laying him out in the path away from the rushing water.

Whatever it had been, it had put up a good fight, she thought grimly as her gaze inventoried the injuries dotting the vampire's body. Besides the cut on his face, there were lacerations up and down his arms---superficial, she decided---and a huge chunk torn out of his t-shirt, exposing a series of circular wounds almost six inches across. She leaned in closer, fingers reaching out to brush lightly across its surface. If she didn't know better, she would've almost said they looked like teeth marks.

Spike groaned, trying to sit up. "Well, that wasn't bloody fun," he muttered, only to crumple back to the ground as a wave of pain washed over his torso.

"Yes, because water aerobics with demons twice your size is always a barrel of monkeys," she retorted, ripping the wet fabric to reveal the rest of the bruises and gashes that adorned his pale-white flesh. "You know, if you'd wanted to take a swim, you should've brought your swimsuit."

He grinned in spite of the pain. "Always preferred skinny dippin' myself," he murmured, feeling her fingers dance over his skin. Getting hurt wouldn't have been his first choice in getting him to touch him, but he'd take it any way he could get it.

"What was it? And why on earth did you go after it?"

"Dunno. All I saw was black," he said, and felt his head begin to swim as darkness threatened to overtake him. "And didn't have a choice. It was goin' after you…" And with that, the world faded away around him.

*************

Duncan's eyes widened as he saw the American girl sweep by, the unconscious form of the man dripping in her arms. He'd heard the commotion as the group returned from the dungeons, knew something was amiss, but the incongruous sight of the two blonds took him by surprise. Not the norm, he thought. Most definitely, not the norm.

"Do you need anything?" he called after them as she headed for the stairs. "Some hot water, perhaps? Or some bandages?"

She seemed to contemplate his request for a moment, and then turned. "Both," she ordered. "Just bring them to my room. I'm going to fix him up there." When she swiveled back to face the stairwell though, she hesitated, hazel eyes glancing between the narrow opening and the blond lying across her forearms. "Xander!" she called out. "Come here and help me." The young man rushed forward, stopping at his friend's side. "You take his shoulders and go up first. I'll get his legs."

"Why don't you just throw him over your shoulder and take him up that way?" Xander asked. "Not like you've never done it before."

"Because he's not a sack of potatoes, that's why!" Her tone was harsh, and Duncan watched as she took a deep breath, seemingly to steady her nerves. "If I try this on my own on those stairs, you're going to see me on my ass and Spike hurt even worse than he is now because I've dropped him on his head. So, just help me with this, because I've got vamp blood dripping off my elbows here."

It took only a moment for the pair to reposition the wounded man, and Duncan frowned, watching as the trio vanished up the stairwell. "Should we call a doctor?" he asked the older man at his side.

"That won't be necessary," was the response. "Buffy is well trained in these matters."

The group dispersed, the energy gone from their initial descent, leaving Duncan alone outside the great hall. Less than one day, and things were already taking an interesting bend. His smile curled his lips as he turned to return to the kitchen for the supplies. Most interesting…

He was still unconscious. In spite of the number of people who had trekked in and out of their room over the past half hour, Spike remained down for the count, stretched out on a blanket on the floor, torso bared as Buffy went to work cleaning out the bite mark on his side. In the corner, the old-fashioned tub was brimming with hot water, the screen having been pulled away when Duncan had filled it, just waiting for her to slip in and clean herself off. Right now, though, her priority lay in getting the vampire taken care of.

No one had been more surprised than Buffy when she'd turned down all offers of aid, insisting she was all right on her own and that her tiny room couldn't afford too many visitors at one time. She'd even argued with Giles about debriefing on what had happened in the dungeon, telling him in no uncertain terms that it could wait until Spike came around so that the vamp could explain what he'd seen as well, since he was the one who'd really been attacked there, not her. That actually hadn't gone over very well.

"If there's a threat in the castle," he'd lectured, "we need to be completely aware of its capabilities in order to protect ourselves."

"Did Colin put the barrier back up over the tunnel?" she'd asked.

"Well, yes---."

"Then the threat's contained, and debriefing can wait until Spike wakes up," she'd replied, and that had been that.

But it wasn't just that, because she couldn't for the life of her figure out why she was feeling so damn protective of the stupid vamp in the first place. Though she'd only gotten a glimpse of it before it had disappeared back into the water, Buffy knew from the size of the mark on the vampire's side that whatever had bitten him was huge, at least twice his size, and wondered for what seemed the bajillionth time since dragging him out why on earth he had gone after it. What was it he'd said down by the stream? That he hadn't had a choice because it was coming after her? That made absolutely no sense whatsoever, and as soon as he decided to wake up, she was going to ask him about it again and again until she got an answer that she understood.

Sitting back on her heels, Buffy looked down at the oblong injury that now marred the alabaster flesh of the unconscious vampire, her gaze sliding irresistibly upward over the defined muscles of his chest. Twice in one day, she thought. I've known Spike for how long without seeing him naked, and now I get it in double doses. Her eyes widened in alarm. No, not naked, she quickly amended. Just semi-naked. Big---no, make that huge---difference. A huge world of difference. And before she could stop herself, her eyes had traveled back down, halting at the still-buttoned waistband of his jeans, the thought---I wonder how huge---popping into her head as if an eensy weensy devil Buffy was whispering in her ear.

Bolting to her feet, the Slayer jumped away from him as if burned, darting around the furniture until the bed stood safely between her and Spike. Not good to be considering body parts of a male who wasn't her boyfriend. Squeezing her eyes shut, Buffy concentrated on inhaling deeply, deliberately summoning a picture of Riley to her mind. OK, this is good. Six feet plus of corn-fed Iowa goodness. Broad shoulders, goofy grin. Not a vampire. And most importantly, not Spike.

When she'd managed to hop on the Spike-is-a-hotty express, Buffy had no idea. It had to have been simply because she'd just spent the better part of the last hour touching him, taking the time to clean his injuries and having to stare at the tight definition of his abdomen without having to listen to him make snarky remarks about her or her friends. Why her acknowledgment surprised her, though, was another matter. She'd certainly learned during Willow's little spell last year what the vampire felt like under his clothes, the memories of their constant groping and kissage still managing to bring a blush to her cheeks. Truth be told, if she was one hundred percent honest with herself, she'd have to admit to even having a couple semi-naughty dreams about the blond vamp after that---before she'd hooked up with Riley, that is---so noticing him now was only natural. Especially given their current circumstances. Sharing a bed with someone, albeit platonically, was bound to stir up thoughts of compatible body parts, even if neither of one of them had any interest or desire in taking it any further. It was just…human nature.

With her rationalization tucked firmly away, Buffy's attention came back to her own body and the sickly reminder of how her top was clinging to her stomach. Glancing down, her nose wrinkled as she plucked at the blood-soaked fabric, hearing the audible squelch as it separated from her skin, and looked up longingly at the steam arising from the tub in the corner before returning her gaze to the unconscious vampire on the floor. "Spike," she said, testing to see if he'd respond only to be met by his deathly stillness. "Spike," she repeated, a little louder this time, but again…nothing.

Never letting her eyes leave his inert form, Buffy stepped around the bed to the edge of the tub, dropping her hand to allow her fingers to trail across the surface. The immediacy of the sensations was almost orgasmic, the heat creeping up her flesh in prickling waves, reminding her all too vividly that she hadn't bathed since leaving Sunnydale. She bit her lip. It couldn't hurt to just hop in for a few minutes, to get the top layer of Scottish dust and vamp blood off her skin, her patient looking for all intents and purposes to be out of it for a few more hours at least. Just to be safe, though…

"Spike!" It was almost a yell this time, but no way was Buffy going to get naked in front of the blond vamp if he was just going to wake up in the next few minutes. And still…not a whisper of a movement.

She'd never gotten undressed so quickly or so quietly in her life. Sliding herself into the tub, Buffy's eyes fluttered closed as the heat engulfed her, drowning her in goosebumps, lapping with tongues of fire against the coarse curls between her legs and sending tremors of electricity shooting up her inner walls. Though the numerous cuts and scratches on her calves stung briefly from the contact with the water, the slight pain was inconsequential compared to the bliss that rolled over her skin everywhere else, all the strain housed within her tiny form evaporating with the steam. She couldn't help the sigh of pleasure that escaped her throat. Not even sex with Riley felt as good as this.

As she stretched herself out, the Slayer's eyes opened to stare up at the ceiling, noting the lengthening shadows that the single window was playing across the stone. I'm going to have to light some candles soon, she thought, twisting slightly to see the tapers at the other end of the room, and frowned when she saw her towel sitting on the bed. Crap. Forgot to grab it. I better make this quick then, especially since I didn't put the screen back, either.

Buffy sighed. Gotta be the jet lag starting to catch up with me, she reasoned. My mind's just not working as fast as it usually does…

*************

The first thing he became aware of was the tightness of his jeans as they stuck to his thighs, the wet denim closer than a second skin as it cinched into his hips. Automatically, Spike grimaced, reaching for the button to undo the fly, only to wince in pain as needles erupted along his side, causing his lids to shoot open as the clarity of his recent injury rooted itself in his memory. The darkness surprised him, although the fact that he was stretched out on the stone floor did not. Bitch probably just dumped me here and then went off gallivanting with her little pals, he groused, rising gingerly to his feet as his hands finished the path to his jeans. Don't mind the pathetic, chipped vampire; he'll fend for himself.

Getting out of the pants without sending waves of pain through his body was another matter, and the entire exercise took Spike too long to accomplish, all the while muttering under his breath about ungrateful Slayers. It was only when he finally stepped out of them, kicking them gracelessly into the darkness, that he heard it, freezing in his stance as he paused to listen. Complete silence, and then…

There it was, the incredibly gentle exhalation of someone's breath. No, not someone. He knew that smell, even mingling as it was with the aroma of heather soap, and if he concentrated, he'd be able to distinguish the unique rhythm of her particular pulse, thrumming into him with velvety pads. That wasn't just someone. That was Buffy.

Fuck, Spike muttered to himself, and immediately began squinting into the darkness, trying to command his eyes to adjust to the lower light level faster so that he could find his pants and get them back on. There was only one answer to the question of what the Slayer would do if she woke up and found him naked in front of her. Spike would get staked faster than he could blink.

Except the light wasn't cooperating by getting any better, the stone walls sucking up what little illumination there was to wrap him in a cloak that threatened to suffocate him. No choice but to try and find his way in the dark, which meant orienting himself in some way so that he could get to the bleedin' wardrobe and his dry clothes without breaking his damn neck. Stop and think, he thought, picturing the layout of the room in his head. Thank god there wasn't much furniture to navigate, just the tub and such behind the screen in the far left corner, the wardrobe near the door, and the bed somewhere in between. Now, assuming Buffy was asleep on the bed and that was coming from somewhere behind him and to the left, that would make the wardrobe somewhere straight ahead of him…

"Fuckin' hell!" he yelled as his shin slammed into the side of the bedframe, pitching him forward onto the mattress as he grabbed at his leg, the shooting pain through his side as he did so only adding to his irritation. Bloody bed's in the wrong place.

The splash of water hitting stone was unmistakable, and Spike realized exactly where his error had been. She's not in the bed, he thought, his head swiveling around toward the sound as he straightened, his mouth instantly salivating. She's in the bath…

"Spike?"

Her voice was still slightly groggy, but he could hear the anxiety edging it, the distinct dripping as she sat up echoing against the carved walls. The images came unbidden to his mind's eye…golden hair plastered against the elegance of her shoulders…nipples erect from the cooling temperature, poking out from the bathwater the water coursed down to the tub's surface…It was only when he felt himself harden did he silently curse his overactive imagination. Great. How in hell was he going to get out of this one?

"Right here, Slayer." His tone betrayed nothing, solid assurance as if everything were completely normal and not all cocked to hell. "Guess we forgot to pay the light bill."

The long silence that followed sent his brain racing, trying to concentrate on anything other than thoughts of a naked Slayer just feet away. Everything failed, especially when he realized that her heartbeat had been gradually quickening, driving against his flesh in a maddening rhythm that reverberated down his spine, straight through to the head of his now rock-hard erection.

"You're not…lying down anymore," Buffy finally said.

"Not that the floor isn't delightfully comfy, but we had a deal, pet. And I do my best recuperating in bed."

"How do you feel?"

The query was unexpected. In the darkness, Spike tilted his head as he pondered why she would ask, why in light of the current circumstances she would go to the bother of finding out. "It hurts, but I'll do," he said slowly.

There was another pause, and then he heard the unmistakable sound of her laughter under her breath. "Guess it's kind of silly to keep on pretending I didn't fall asleep in the bathtub, huh?" she said.

"Just a tad," he replied, relaxing with his own chuckle.

"OK, here's the deal. My towel's on the bed. Where are you?"

In deep shit, he thought, but said out loud, "You know that big bang that pulled you out of dreamland? That would've been me hittin' that same bed."

"Oh. Crap." Silence. "I don't suppose you'd go back where you were lying down?" she asked.

"Well, considerin' last time I tried finding my way 'round, I found the bed when I was aimin' for the wardrobe, I'm goin' to say, probably not the best idea, or next thing you know, I'll be in that bathtub with you." He almost groaned out loud from the prospect. Wet Slayer, pressed against him, sliding up and down…This was doing nothing in making his hard-on go away.

"If you're at the bed then, maybe you could get me my towel," she suggested. "Can you find it?"

It took only a moment of blind groping to locate the terry. "Got it."

"You think you could throw it in my direction if I keep talking?"

"It's not brain surgery, pet. Think I can suss out where you are enough to toss a bloody towel."

"Hang on." He heard more splashing as she stepped out of the tub, the soft tread of her foot followed almost immediately by her sharp hiss as her bare flesh met the cool air. Immediately, the vision of her standing there, lithe limbs gleaming, reaffirmed his arousal. "OK, I'm ready, and I'm talking, and I'm waiting for you to throw---." The quick flick of his wrist was followed almost instantly with a sodden splash.

"Oh. Sorry, luv."

"It's all right," Buffy replied, audibly fishing around in the bath to drag the towel out, water spattering across the floor as she did so. "As long as I'm no longer playing Blue Lagoon here, I think I can handle being wet for a little longer while we find the lights."

"I don't suppose you thought to bring up one of those torches the Watcher got?" Spike asked, taking time with his words. Please say yes, he thought desperately. With his lighter still in his jeans, they were goin' to have a merry old time of it if she said…

"…No. Sorry."

Not as sorry as I am, pet.

"Look, Buffy, there's something I've got to tell you---."

"Can't it wait? I'm freezing here." There was no mistaking the chattering of her teeth as she spoke. "I just want to get some light so I can find my clothes and get warm again."

"It's about the light---."

"Oh, unless you don't want to play Blind Vamp's Bluff 'cause it hurts too much to move," she rushed, as if she'd all of a sudden remembered his injury. "You're not bleeding again or anything, are you?"

"No, and it doesn't---."

"You just wait there," she ordered. "I'm pretty sure I can find the door."

She began walking as she spoke, the dripping following her as she edged her way toward the door, but had only taken a couple steps when the sound changed, no longer the wet suction of her toes sliding across the stone. No, this one was softer, muffled, still wet, but most definitely not the floor. Shit.

"Spike." Her voice was low, and the vampire strained to hear what she was doing, only to come up with nothing other than not walking. "Please tell me you're still wearing your jeans."

"Well," he said with a sigh, "that's what I've been trying to tell you."

"How long were you going to just stand there in your underwear?" she demanded. "And thank you soooo much for sticking that image in my head."

He knew even before he said it that it was a mistake. "Who said I was wearing underwear?" Her sharp gasp pushed him onward. "Look," he said, "my jeans were wet, and bloody uncomfortable, and how in hell was I supposed to know you were asleep in the soddin' tub? Weren't you the one who said, 'Buffy takes a bath, Spike leaves the room?' If you were goin' to change the tune, least you could've done is taught me the new words."

"The only tune I'm interested in right now is Another One Bites the Dust," she said through gritted teeth. "Now. You're next to the bed, right?"

"We've already established that, Slayer."

"Grab a blanket and wrap yourself up in it."

He grimaced, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Fuck. He should've thought of that before this whole mess got started in the first place.

"Are you decent now?"

In spite of the tension in the air, Spike chuckled at her choice of words. "Let's just say I'm covered," he replied.

"OK. I'm going to walk over to the door now---."

"Why bother? You've got my jeans. My lighter's in the front pocket."

He heard her fumble with the fabric, and felt the adrenalin surging through her veins as the rhythms of her body pulsed into his. Well, even if nothing else, he knew he could wind her up. He seemed to be very good at that.

The single flame was enough to guide Buffy to the candle sconces on the wall, returning light to the small room, casting flickering shadows across the carvings as she turned to look back at him standing by the bed. The wet towel clung to her curves, but Spike could feel her shivering, see the goosebumps raised along her arms.

Pulling the blanket tighter around him, the vampire strode to the bedroom exit. "You need to get some clothes on, warm yourself up," he said. "I'll wait in the hall 'til you're through." Glancing back as he opened the door, he was met with Buffy's frown, her eyes riveted to the floor behind him, and he lowered his gaze to see what captured her attention so.

"I thought you said you were OK," she said.

"I am---."

"Then why are you bleeding all over the floor?" She stepped forward, grabbing his arm through the blanket and jerking him back. "Wrap the blanket around your waist and lie down," she ordered, returning to the side of the tub to get water and a cloth. Spike did as he was instructed. "Now you know why I didn't want you on the bed," she joked and knelt at his side.

Her touch was surprisingly gentle, and the vampire watched in silence as she cleaned up the re-opened wound. "Look, Slayer," he started.

"I'll make you a deal," Buffy interrupted, and he noticed she was careful not to meet his eyes. "In order to make this arrangement just a little bit easier to live with, let's say we forget about what just happened here and chalk it up to a learning experience, OK? I'll try and forget all the commando imagery, and you forget about me falling asleep in the bathtub."

"And what's got you wanting to play nice-nice all of a sudden?" he asked, his voice a mere murmur, blue eyes almost black in the dim light.

She shrugged. "Maybe the fact that I'm sitting here, staring at where some water demon tried to take a bite out of you, and realizing that you probably saved my life down there." She threw him a quick glance. "That, and that I don't want you to say anything to Giles about the bath sleeping thing. He gets a little weird about me and water ever since my death by drowning."

Spike's lips curled into a smile. "It's a deal."

As she emerged from the stairwell, Buffy heard the crystal tones of laughter drifting down the corridor, the muted voices of her friends rooting her back into the present and away from unsolicited images of pale shoulders and sculpted cheekbones. Spike still hadn't given her a satisfactory response regarding the aborted attack in the dungeon; in fact, when she'd brought it up again while re-bandaging his wound, the vamp had quite effectively side-stepped the entire issue by diverting her attention to the still-open door, commenting dryly that Giles would probably stake both of them if he caught them so casually dressed. By the time she had leapt up to close it, another offhand comment regarding dinner and feeling peckish had reminded her of her own growling stomach, and that had been that.

She wasn't sure why, but for some reason probably only known by God or John Edward, she was actually getting used to having Spike around, and in a not-so-annoying-I-need-to-stake-him kind of way. Playing slapjack with him on the plane had admittedly been a riot, and if she was being completely honest with herself, more fun than she'd had with anyone---including Riley---in months. So, OK, he'd pretty much resorted to blackmail to get out of sleeping on the floor, but he had saved her life down in the dungeon, and their chatting while they were unpacking Colin's stuff hadn't had its usual wattage of hateful remarks bandied about. When he wanted to be, Spike was proving to be entertaining company…which was probably a good thing since she was stuck with him for three more weeks.

Stuck…Her thoughts drifted back to the bedroom and the memory of Spike's face when she'd turned from lighting the candles in their room, the irrepressible sensation of feeling naked in spite of the towel that had been wrapped around her. Even across the space that separated them, his gaze as it had swept over her had been almost a physical caress, and the electrical charge that had tingled across her skin had startled her with its ferocity, the sudden urge to feel his body against hers overwhelming. There had been something in his eyes---something dark, unreadable---and it was only when he'd broken the contact to walk to the door, leaving the bloody trail behind him, did she realize that she'd been holding her breath. She wasn't sure why. She only knew that for a few seconds at least, the world around her had vanished, and the prospect of his hands on her flesh had made her shiver, raising goosebumps of anticipation along her arms.

But that had been in the room. Earlier. Just fleeting hints of possibility that meant absolutely nothing in the light of day. Or the light of dusk, as the case may be. Only one thing was really bugging her now, and Buffy was fighting the urge to turn around and go back up to the room to ask the vampire to spell it out for her. When she'd woken up from her nap in the bath, the first thing she had noticed was the complete absence of light; not even the small window offered any break in the murky darkness that permeated the room. The fact that she couldn't see her hand in front of her face didn't surprise her; what did was Spike's obvious demonstration with the towel toss and the following protestations that he was just as blind in the dark as she was. For some reason, she'd always taken vamp night vision for granted; they certainly fought well enough in its absence. Maybe the complete absence of ambient light---like being in the dungeon twenty feet below ground or in a stone-walled room with no artificial illumination---made them just as vulnerable as humans. If that was true, then Spike hadn't seen anything at all until she'd lit the lighter. If it wasn't, then…

Her lips pursed. Nope. Not going to think about the possibility of him seeing me naked. Not going there. Because then I'd have to kill him. Or tell Xander the truth so that I could kick Spike out of the room. Which might not actually be a bad thing if it weren't for the whole hurting-my-friend's-feelings part. Crap. I hate it when I have to trust vamps.

The laughter grew louder as she pushed open the door to the great hall, and Buffy's nose was assailed with the heady scents of spices, her skin prickling from the heat that suffused the large room. Her stomach grumbled audibly, and she smiled brightly she strode up to her friends at the dining table.

"Please tell me Xander left something for me," she chirped hopefully, eyes sweeping the length of the table, taking in the empty plates and mostly empty serving dishes strewn about.

"Oh, my god," Willow said with a huge smile. "You just missed the most amazing meal. I don't think I've ever eaten so much in my life when there wasn't chocolate involved."

"And you didn't come and get me?" Buffy pouted.

"We tried," offered Giles from the head of the table. "We knocked at your door, but when you didn't answer, we assumed you were getting some much needed rest."

"Is S-s-spike all right?" asked Tara.

"Unfortunately, the answer to that question is yes," the Slayer replied. "Which reminds me, I need to take something up to him before his complaining can be heard all the way down here."

Duncan jumped to his feet, and for the first time, Buffy noticed that the cook was actually in the room, firmly ensconced in a seat between Anya and Xander. "I left some in the kitchen in case you came down," he started. "I'll just go get it."

"No!" He stopped at the sharpness of her tone, and she blushed when he frowned back at her. "I mean, that's nice and all, but totally unnecessary. Spike doesn't eat regular food. He's on a…liquid diet."

"Yes," Colin interjected, rising to his own feet. "I believe I told you he has special dietary needs."

"Well, yes, you did," Duncan said. "But---."

"You won't have to worry yourself about taking care of them," the Watcher continued. "Buffy and I will handle everything when it comes to Spike's…needs."

At the mention of her name, she tossed the dark-haired cook a bright smile, nodding in agreement. "Besides, you're better off not having to deal with him. Spike can be a little…temperamental." She ignored Xander's none-too-subtle guffaw and watched as Colin began heading for the kitchen. "I'll just run it up to him when it's ready."

Duncan smiled at her as he settled back into his chair. "I do hope your boyfriend is all right," he said casually. "That was a nasty---."

"Spike's not my boyfriend," Buffy interrupted, eyes wide. "Why would you think that?"

"You're…sharing a room, and the way you two…" His words trailed off, confusion coloring his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I just assumed…"

"You assumed a huge world of wrong. We work together. That's it. I have a boyfriend back home."

"Oh." Duncan's frown eased, and his lips twisted into a bemused half-smile. "This boyfriend must be a very understanding sort to let his girlfriend share her bedroom with a male colleague then. I think I'd be jealous if I were in his shoes. Especially if she was as pretty as you are."

The compliment went right over her head as Buffy struggled with the sudden rush of guilt at the mention of Riley. Sure, he's totally understanding, she thought. In the way of totally having no idea that Spike's even here. When the kitchen door opened, she leapt forward, desperate to get away from the inquisitive stare of the cook. "Thanks, Colin," she said, taking the thermos from his hand. "I'll just run this upstairs."

"What about your own meal?" Duncan asked, swiveling in his chair to watch her almost run for the hall.

"I just remembered…I've got that…walking thing to do…right, Giles?" She looked at her mentor, hoping against hope that he understood what she was referring to. "You know, with our…walking sticks? Those sharp, pointy things that help us get out of…tight scrapes?"

"Oh. Yes. Of course." With a small start of understanding and a smile of apology, Giles tossed his napkin onto his table and pushed his chair back, rising to his feet. With a quick glance at Duncan, he turned to face Buffy and added, "I'll just gather our…walking supplies and meet you out front, all right?"

"Sounds like a plan." She smiled at the cook. "Just leave my dinner out. I'll grab it when I get back."

The exit of the two left the room in silence, broken only when Duncan stood back up. "I should probably start in with the washing up," he said, picking up his plate and reaching for the others.

Anya's hand stopped his, taking the dishes from his grasp with a too-wide smile. "No reason for you to do this by yourself," she said. "I'll help."

Xander's eyes widened, his jaw dropping to say something, only to have his words choked off when Willow and Tara both hopped to their feet. "Me, too," said the redhead, followed almost too quickly by her girlfriend's over-enthusiastic agreement. Before he could say anything, the four had disappeared into the kitchen, the girls chattering away with arms full of plates while an amused Duncan just smiled and trailed behind.

"How did he do that?" the young man demanded. "Anya never gets that excited about doing the dishes back home."

Colin shrugged. "He does seem to have a way with the young ladies."

"But that's my young lady!"

"Somehow, I don't think he minds." He glanced at the closed door. "If you're so worried, you could always go in and help."

"I'm not worried," Xander protested, but the deep line between his brows as his gaze fixed on the kitchen spoke otherwise, and he couldn't help the qualifier that came unbidden to his brain. Much…

*************

Her feet seemed to sink into the heather, drowning her legs in scent as she stepped carefully down the side of the hill. Although the dim light from the sky did little to illuminate her path, Buffy couldn't help but wonder at the beauty surrounded her, elegant curves of the mountains dotted with the occasional wildflower amidst the brush. It must look gorgeous by day, she thought, and mentally promised herself that even if she had to sneak out tomorrow, she was going to get a good look at it in the sunshine.

"How is Spike doing?" Giles asked, and Buffy jumped at the sound of his voice. She had never known a place to be so dark or so quiet in her entire life, and his words seemed to echo throughout the surrounding land.

"Fine," she replied, keeping her own tone hushed. "Complaining too much. Being his usual annoying self just because I wouldn't let him come patrol."

"About that. Not that I'm eager to be spending even more time with Spike, mind you, but why didn't you? Your encounter this afternoon certainly proves there are dangers here. Extra fighting hands could prove beneficial, even if they are Spike's."

"Because last time I checked, leaving a bloody trail makes us surefire demon bait."

"I thought you said he was fine."

"He is. He just refuses to keep still long enough for that bite to start healing properly." No reason to go into details about why it had opened up again; Buffy was fairly certain that Giles didn't want to hear about naked vampires.

"I rather hope the two of you will be prepared to elucidate what exactly happened down there," the Watcher continued, picking his way down the slope. "His injury looks quite serious. I'd hate for one of the others to be caught unawares."

"For some reason, I don't think Nessie's our demon problem. It didn't seem to want to come out of the water, and whatever's been killing the locals, it's definitely out, about, and roaming the countryside." She smiled back at him. "Like us."

"I still think it's a threat."

"As well as any good Watcher should." Her good humor faded almost instantly as she saw the dark shape lying half-hidden in the grass ahead, and held out a hand to stop Giles from approaching any closer. The stake that had been carefully tucked away in the back of her pants materialized in her ready grip, and Buffy's muscles tensed in anticipation as she crept forward, hazel eyes glued to the inert form.

Even amidst the aroma of the heather, the decay wafted into the sky with a determination to break free of the dead body, announcing its presence only to those close enough to fight past the fragrant foliage. Though she sensed nothing demonish, the Slayer kept her weapon poised as she slowly knelt beside it, tilting her head so that she could get a good look at the face without having to actually touch it.

"What is it?" Giles asked.

"How many victims did Colin say they'd found so far?" Her gaze swept over the lined face, the saggy jowls, noting with a tinge of sorrow the age of the woman. She could've been someone's grandma, she thought. Hell, she probably was.

"Six."

"Then, meet unlucky number seven." Buffy reached out and rolled the body over, exposing the weathered face to the sky, the swarm of bugs that had collected underneath her scattering for cover. As Giles stepped forward, sweeping the beam of his flashlight across the corpse, her eyes widened at the dried blood and marks on the upper torso.

"OK, you can officially say, I told you so," she said, straightening and edging back to his side.

"Why?"

She pointed to the series of scars that marred the woman's flesh. "Because, other than the fact that there's more of them and it actually killed her, that could be Spike lying down there." Buffy met his level gaze. "The bites are identical. Whatever killed her is either the same thing that attacked me down in the dungeon, or its Cousin Joe. Either way, not good."

*************

The cards were starting to bend from overshuffling, the edges starting to soften from overuse, and Spike cursed the fact that he'd only brought along the lone deck. Who would've thought I'd spend so much of my bloody time playing solitaire? he grumbled to himself as he laid out another tableau on the blanket before him. Plenty of beasties around to tangle with, and the Slayer puts me under house arrest. And all because of a little blood on the floor. Not even like there was a carpet to get stained and all.

What was worse, not only was he stuck inside the room, Buffy had also ordered he stay on his blankets on the floor until she got back. "I don't want to have to worry about blood on the sheets," she'd argued.

"I'm not a child," he'd countered. "I can drink my blood without spilling it."

"I'm not talking about your dinner. I'm talking about that bite." He'd wanted to argue, but the fact that he had in fact re-opened the wound just by disagreeing in the first place squashed that idea, so here he was, sprawled on the floor, his empty thermos at his side, the cold stone wall at his back. No shirt for him, not until the soddin' injury started to do some proper healin' and he didn't have to worry about bleeding anymore. With one t-shirt already ripped to shreds, he had to start being careful about his clothes. He hadn't brought enough along to be so careless with their maintenance.

It didn't even hurt that much anymore, not that Buffy was going to listen to anything he had to say after the little bath fiasco earlier. He knew she didn't completely believe him when he claimed not to have seen anything, but outside of giving her a lecture on the principles of optics and the need for at least a hint of light for eyes to work at all, Spike knew there was nothing he could say that would convince her otherwise. She was bound and determined to keep him on the not-to-be-trusted fence for as long as possible, and damn the evidence to the contrary. Fleetingly, he wondered just how many times he was going to have to save her damn life before she started believing he didn't want anything bad to happen to her.

The sharp knock at the door caused him to jerk, fumbling with the cards in his hands so that they went scattering. "Bugger," he said under his breath, and tossed the remaining cards down before barking out, "Who the hell is it?"

The heavy door swung open, revealing Xander standing in the hall. Spike's eyebrow cocked. "You must be either really bored, or I'm having another of those basement nightmares," he drawled.

He watched as the young man pressed his lips together, physically restraining himself from the retort that automatically sprung there. "Can I come in?" he asked instead, his voice tight with control.

"Not like you need an invitation," Spike replied. "Bein' all human and everything."

"Look," Xander said, shutting the door shut behind him, "I'm really in need of some male perspective here, and Giles is out patrolling with Buffy---."

"She let the Watcher go with her?" he asked incredulous, straightening in his seat.

"Yes, but---."

"Even with a chunk out of my side, I can still slay better than Rupes," Spike continued, shaking his head. "I can't believe---."

"Hey! Can we focus, please?" Xander sat down on the edge of the bed. "This isn't about you. I'm serious. I need to talk to another guy about this, and with Giles gone, that leaves you as my only option."

"What about the other Watcher? The one that makes Rupert look like Sid Vicious?"

"Nah, he's no good. Most of the time, he acts like I'm not even there. So, as much as I hate to say it, you're my only choice."

Leaning back against the wall, Spike smirked as he watched the other man shift uncomfortably in his seat. "Havin' lady problems?" he asked. "Need some advice on how to keep the little missus happy in the sack? Know a right dandy little trick involving a long paintbrush and---."

"This isn't about sex! Anya and I don't need---." He stopped, suddenly oddly intrigued. "A paintbrush? And what?" He held up his hand before the vampire could respond. "Wait. Never mind. This is so not about that."

"So what's got you in such a lather then?"

"Not what. Who. What do you think of that Duncan guy?"

The mention of the cook's name elicited a snort of derision from the blond vamp, rolling his eyes as his shoulders tensed. "Do I have to?" he said. "Bastard's a wolf in chef's clothing. Made me sick watching the Slayer fawn all over him at breakfast."

"Thank you!" The relief on Xander's face took Spike by surprise. "I was beginning to think it was just me. I mean, Anya just won't shut up about the guy. It's all, Duncan said this and Duncan did that. He's even got her down there doing the dishes for him right now."

"Surprised Buffy didn't volunteer for dish duty."

"Well, she kind of had the whole patrolling thing to do, but…" He ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it even further. "He's even got Will and Tara going all googly, and they're not even supposed to like boys! I just don't get it."

"Maybe we should have a little chat with him," Spike offered, eyes gleaming at the possibility. "Tell him in no uncertain terms we don't like whatever game he's playing."

"OK, first of all, noooo. Even I know it's not a good idea to go pissing off the guy who's cooking our food. That way, leads rat poison badness. Trust me on this. And secondly, have you forgotten already about that chip in your head? Duncan's not a demon, so unless you're jonesing for a whopper of a headache, violence is not the answer here."

"Who said anything about violence? I could just make with a couple well-timed growls, maybe a little fang action. I'm sure he'd get the hint and back it off."

"That's not a hint. That's a death warrant for both of us if Buffy finds out." Standing, Xander began pacing around the room, hands working in front of him as he spoke. "I'm thinking the girls aren't being too logical about this Duncan guy, so it's up to us to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't cross the line. I figure between the two of us, we can pretty much keep him covered. I know we'll find something. The guy just rubs me the wrong way." He stopped in his tracks, pointing a warning finger at the vampire still slouching on his blankets on the floor. "But we can't let Buff find out what we're doing until we've got something concrete. With his mojo, I'm not one hundred percent sure we'd come off as the good guys in this. And I cannot believe I just referred to you as one of the good guys."

"You want me to keep a secret from the Slayer?" Spike couldn't help the amused smile that spread across his face. "An absolute doddle. And you're goin' to have to trust me on that. But," his smile faded, eyes narrowing, "humor me here, Harris. Why in hell are you askin' for my help? We're not exactly best mates, y'know."

Xander's hand dropped to his side, and he straightened, trying to appear more confident than he felt. "Because I got no one else to ask," he said simply. "I'd go to Giles, but he's only here half the time, and since I'm not even a blip on that Colin guy's radar, you're the only other one around who seems immune to the whole Duncan mystique. And I can't do this by myself, much as I would like to."

Spike nodded. "Fair enough." His face remained calm, but inwardly, the irony of the whole situation tickled him pink, and it was all he could do not to laugh in the young man's face. Secret, secret, who's got the secret? The way this ride was going, the only one who'd be left without a secret to tell was going to be Colin…

As he laid there staring up at the ceiling he couldn't see, Xander was grateful for his girlfriend's ongoing paranoia about sleeping with lit candles in the room. This way, she couldn't see the grimace that distorted his even features…and he didn't have to see the animation that bubbled her voice.

"He went to Oxford, you know. They wanted him at Cambridge, but he turned them down because he didn't think their curriculum was challenging enough. Smart move, I think..."

"Anya…"

"…and did you know, he has never left the UK? Of course, you'd never left America until this trip, but that's a little different considering that this country could pretty much fit in California. I just think it's amazing how cultured he seems when he's never taken the time to travel. That doesn't stop him from learning the languages, though. He told Willow that he spoke six different ones, and then they started babbling away in French, which, if you think about it, really isn't fair. I mean, I speak about a zillion demon languages but do I get to take any credit for that? Noooo."

"Ahn…"

"I just can't believe he doesn't have a girlfriend. He's so good-looking, and well-spoken, and he's not even gay or anything---."

"Anya!"

The sharpness of his tone made her stiffen, and Xander felt her turn her head in his direction. "What?" she asked, oblivious to his peevishness.

"Is it possible to just maybe save the Duncan Davison lovefest until tomorrow? You know, for when we're not trying to sleep."

"Oh, sure, of course. G'night."

He heard her make that little noise she always did as she settled down to sleep, not quite a sigh with just a hint of a moan, and let his own eyes flicker shut, grateful for the silence. He may love her to death, but sometimes the talking thing got just a little too much, especially if it was nonstop gushing about a guy who wasn't him.

He was almost asleep when he felt the first touch on his thigh, that firm pressure that was sure indication of Anya's desire for sex, growing more insistent as it traveled to the waistband of his sweats. It jerked him instantly from the shadows of the dream that had already started to flit across his mind's eye, and when he felt her fingernails scrape across his stomach as they slid underneath the thick elastic, Xander reached out and grabbed her wrist. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, amazed. "You are not thinking we're going to have sex."

"Why not? I'm awake, you're awake, I'm horny, you're---."

"Flabber with more than just a touch of gasted that you're even suggesting it!" Pushing her hand away, he sat up and leaned over to reach for the flashlight on the nightstand, flicking it on to swing it around and aim it in his girlfriend's face. If he'd had any doubts as to her excitement, the color in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, not to mention the fact that she was busy pulling her top over her head, dispelled them with a fast shove.

"Is it because you're still jet lagged?" she queried as she climbed over to sit on his lap, straddling his hips as she began pulling at his t-shirt. "Because if you are, that's OK. I'll do all the work. All you have to do is lie there."

With his one free hand, Xander batted her fingers away, leaning back to place the flashlight between them, directing it into her eyes. "How do you expect me to be in the mood when you've just spent the last half hour talking about the hired help like he's the second coming?"

"Don't tell me you're not in the mood." She wriggled against his hips, her lip caught between her teeth. "Little Lavelle seems plenty awake to me."

Mentally, Xander cursed the overactive hormones of twenty-year-old males and tried desperately not to think about his growing excitement as Anya proceeded to slide her hands up inside his shirt, leaning down to begin nibbling at his neck. Using the flashlight that was now trapped between them, he squinted and nudged at her chest, trying to break the contact, the beam that was now faced at him alternately blinding him as it swept across his face. "Hard evidence aside," he said, "the fact that you're only in the mood right now because of Duncan does not make me a happy Xander. I'd prefer for us to…make love…when it's because you want to be with me, not because you've been daydreaming about flipping burgers with the cook."

"Oh, my god," Anya said, sitting back up to look down at him. "You're jealous."

"And can you blame me?" He propped himself up on his elbows. "At least Dracula, I kinda understood. But this guy…"

"…is totally a non-threat," she finished. "OK, so maybe my timing wasn't the best, but you're the one I want to be with, not him. Otherwise, I would've volunteered to walk back with him to the village and jumped him along the way." The last was said in jest, but Xander tensed anyway at the sudden image of his girlfriend straddling Duncan in the middle of the heather. Anya shook her head, rolling her eyes as she took the flashlight from his hand and returned it to the nightstand, climbing off his hips at the same time. "How about we just cuddle?" she said, drowning them in darkness yet again. "Sometimes, cuddling can be just as fulfilling as having sex, albeit not quite as much fun. And this way, you don't have to worry about me inadvertently calling out another man's name in the throes of passion."

"Not helping, Ahn."

She slapped at his chest as she rested her cheek against it, burrowing herself into his side. "Lighten up, Xander. I'm just kidding."

He listened as her breathing slowed, the palm of her hand warm against him, her hair tickling where it feathered against his cheek. Non-threat, huh? Her protestations aside, Xander wasn't so sure. The timing was not a coincidence, too off to not be something more. Or maybe he was just being insecure. Wouldn't be the first time. Maybe this Duncan guy wasn't up to anything after all.

Except Spike didn't like him either, and if Xander knew anything about the bleached vampire, it was that he was very rarely wrong in his instincts. There may be a world of wrong in everything else about him, but when it came to his assessment of people, unfortunately, Spike was usually right on the money.

*************

Buffy grimaced as the squeak from the door reverberated down the corridor, freezing in mid-motion as she peeked through the crack to see if it had disturbed her injured roommate. From her vantage point, she could see that he was still lying on the floor, pale shoulders almost golden in the candlelight that flickered within, but whether or not he was asleep, she couldn't tell as his head was turned away from her, lost in the deepening shadows of the room. It was really late, or rather, really early, and she'd put off coming up to bed for as long as possible, dallying over her cold food in the great hall, playing in the weapons cache, until exhaustion threatened to render her useless for even navigating the narrow stairs. Even now, she was fighting back the yawns as she pushed at the door some more, opening it just enough to slip inside before latching it firmly shut again.

Before taking a step further, the Slayer slipped off her boots, knowing the hard heels would clatter against the stone, and began tiptoeing toward the bed. Don't wake him up, she thought. Don't have the energy to deal with Spike right now.

"Appreciate the sentiment, pet, but don't be quiet on my account."

She stopped, glancing over at the blanket, and saw him watching her, one arm now tucked behind his head, stretching the line of muscles down his side in a glorious curve that seemed to accentuate the definition of his chest. The bandages on his side were still white, which meant the bite hadn't bled anymore, and she allowed her own gaze to dart back to his face, taking in the wry amusement that twisted his mouth.

"So, are you really feeling better, or did you just change the dressing so that I wouldn't give you hell again?" she asked.

"Why don't you take a look at it up close and personal-like, and see for yourself?" The dare tinged his voice in red, and Spike found himself swallowing as his mouth suddenly watered at the thought of her hands on his bare flesh. It was bad enough he was already responding physically at the scent of light sweat that emanated from her skin; anything else, and he'd never get any sleep tonight.

"Let's do us both a favor and say I take your word for it this time," Buffy replied, and dropped her boots onto the floor. It was then that she noticed the screen in the corner, and frowned, hazel eyes darting back to the blond vamp on the floor.

He shrugged. "Got bored," he said. "Figured you'd rather not have a repeat performance of the bathtub incident and moved it back so you wouldn't have to bother with it when you got in."

"Oh." Her face softened. "Thanks."

"So, you smell like you've been fightin', Slayer," Spike called out as she stepped to the privacy behind the screen. "That mean you've already bagged your beastie and I missed all the fun?"

"No, it means I was playing with some of the toys down in Colin's arsenal," she answered. "For being such a geek, he sure has good taste in weapons."

The soft swish of fabric hitting the floor was enough to bring Spike to a sitting position, the strain across the front of his jeans lessened by being more upright. "I can't believe you took Rupes out on patrol and made me cool my heels here," he complained. "If there was something out there, I could've sniffed it out for you."

Buffy emerged from the rear of the screen with a tiny line wrinkling her brow. As his eyes drank in the sweats and t-shirt combination, Spike found himself wistfully wondering what she would look like in one of his, the black hem stopping at the top of her bare thigh, her scent mingling with his so that whenever he wore it afterward, he would smell of her.

"How'd you know Giles went with me?" she asked.

He broke himself from his reverie. "Harris said so."

"You talked to Xander?" There was no hiding the alarm in her voice. "I thought we had a deal---."

"And we do, so long as you keep up your end of it." His mind raced, trying to come up with some plausible excuse for the young man to have been in the room, kicking himself for letting it slip already. An absolute doddle, he'd said. Right. As long as he stopped letting himself be distracted by his own libido, or by Buffy's mere presence, or by the way the candlelight picked out the gold in her hair, or the scent of her skin…Fuck. What was it he'd been thinking about again?

"Patrolling was a bust anyway," she was saying, and Spike inwardly thanked her for moving on with the conversation, releasing him from the need to explain an awkward situation even further. "Well, except for the dead body. That'll probably be useful. It had the same bite marks on it that you've got."

"I don't remember there bein' any water around here on the Watcher's maps," he mused with a small frown. "'Cept for what's underneath the castle, that is. You're sure they're the same?"

"With as much hands-on experience staring at your chest as I've had to do lately, yes, I'm pretty sure they're the same." She turned away before he could see the blush that crept into her cheek. Damn. That had sounded way more sexual coming out of her mouth than it had in her head. She could only hope Spike hadn't noticed.

He had. The satisfied grin lifted the corner of his mouth as he rose to his feet, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "And here I thought you didn't care," he joked.

Desperate for an air of nonchalance, Buffy rolled her eyes, climbing onto the bed and under the blankets. "Get over yourself, Spike," she said, avoiding his face as she rolled over onto her side and away from his lithe muscles and arrogant smile. She waited for his weight to settle behind her, steeling herself to his nearness while thankful for her own exhaustion; at least it wouldn't be hard to fall asleep this time.

It never came. After a full minute of staring at the wall and waiting, she rolled back over to see him standing there, head tilted as he watched her in the bed. "What's up?" she asked.

"Deal's a deal, Slayer."

"I know. So get in. I'm not stopping you."

"Actually, you are."

Exasperated, Buffy sat up and sighed. "OK, I'll bite. How exactly do you come to that conclusion? I'm on my side. I even invited you in. Sounds like non-stoppage to me."

"There's not enough room for me. You're goin' to have to get out." He couldn't restrain his chuckle of amusement as her jaw dropped.

"Are you kidding me?" Her hazel eyes flashed. "There was plenty of room last night for both of us."

"That was before I got this," Spike replied, pulling a hand out to indicate the bandage on his side. "If you don't want blood on the sheets, only safe way for me to sleep is on my back."

"You could sleep on your other side."

He shrugged. "Tried that while you were gone. Ended up pulling it open and bleedin' like a stuck pig."

"So you did change the bandage."

"Never said I didn't."

Buffy's face fell. Crap. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Her gaze scanned the narrow bed, the mental measurements she kept repeating refusing to change, and realized there was no way they were going to be able to repeat the same arrangement from the night before. The bed was just too small for two if one of them was lying flat, not without some major body draping, and there was absolutely no way she could let that happen. Double crap.

"Fine," she finally grumbled, grabbing the blankets as she rose from the bed. "You win. I'll take the floor."

"Y'know," Spike said as he stepped to the edge of the bed, "I kinda like the sound of that. Don't get to hear that out of the Slayer's mouth that often. You win." He nodded. "Got a nice ring to it."

Wrapping herself up in her blankets, Buffy settled herself onto his makeshift space on the floor, turning just in time to see him crawl up the bed, deliberately covering as much of the mattress as he could, casting a sly smirk back at her as he reached the head. "Don't get used to it," she warned. "You should be plenty healed by tomorrow night not to get away with this again."

"Then I should probably enjoy this while I can," he replied, blue eyes never leaving hers as he crossed his ankles, camouflaging his erection from her sight while at the same time propping himself up on his elbows. "Night night, Slayer," Spike drawled. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

As she buried her head into the thin pillow, all Buffy could hear was the vampire's deep laughter rumbling throughout the room.

*************

He had to give her credit. In spite of the cold, or the fact that she couldn't contain the chattering of her teeth, Buffy was sticking it out on the floor with the same determination that had always made her the most interesting of all his adversaries, and Spike felt his pride swell at the thought of the young woman's strength. That's my girl, he thought, even if she wasn't. It was just another of the reasons he'd fallen in love with her in the first place.

Still…he frowned into the dim light as he listened to the evidence of her chill. It had been at least forty-five minutes and she was still awake down there, her yawns tiny reminders of her current state, and he knew it was because of the cold that permeated the room. She wasn't going to be of any use to anyone if she didn't rest. And the fact of the matter was, it was eating him alive knowing she wasn't comfortable.

"Slayer."

He knew she heard him, heard the faint catch in her breathing as she recognized his voice, but after a minute had passed with no response, Spike found his irritation beginning to needle. "Slayer," he repeated, louder this time, his voice edged with impatience.

"What?" It was muffled through layers of cotton, but still clear, the fact that she was wide awake honed in annoyance.

"Stop bein' such a silly bint and get your ass up here."

That got her attention. "What're you talking about?" Buffy said, sitting up.

Her skin was pale, the shadows deepening under her eyes, and Spike felt his exasperation dissipate. "We both know you're not sleeping," he said softly. "At least up here, you don't have the draft and the mattress'll help keep you warm so you can get some rest."

"I thought you wanted the bed," she said warily.

"No reason we can't share so long as you're willing to curl up into my side." He saw her eyes widen, and hastened to add, "It's not anything to get yourself fussed about. You don't think I know you'll stake me if I even lay a finger out of line? Give me a little credit for self-preservation instincts. Besides, I've got a chunk outta my side and my bloody jeans still on. Hardly much of a threat."

She wanted to argue with him, to tell him to go to hell and just stick it out on the floor, but the possibility of warmth and most importantly sleep called with a siren's voice, urging her to accept his offer and just pack it in. What could it honestly hurt? It was only for one night, she reasoned, and Spike was smart enough not to let anything happen that might get him seriously hurt, more so than Nessie had already inflicted.

"Fine." Her voice was resigned, and he saw the slump in Buffy's shoulders as she struggled to get to her feet with the blankets still around her. In a flash, he was up and at her side, using his good side to help support her as she tripped her way to the bed. He could feel her confusion and felt his resolve weaken. This wasn't about winning. This was about need, and when Buffy collapsed onto the bed, a tiny sigh of relief escaping her throat, Spike found himself hanging back, watching as her face softened. Her need. And he was being a selfish bastard in even considering otherwise.

"Where are you going?" Buffy asked as she saw him turn away from her.

"I'll be right as rain on the floor," he said, glancing back at her. "You go ahead and get some sleep."

Their eyes locked, and she felt an unfamiliar pang of compassion for her unwanted roommate. "No reason for both of us to be miserable in the morning," she countered softly, and carefully edged herself as far to the edge of the mattress as she dared, the unspoken invitation there between them like a velvet gauntlet on the floor.

The flare of hope straightened his shoulders, and though Spike knew she was only offering out of that sense of fairplay he never quite understood, he didn't care, grasping the lifeline she extended with a duck of his head as he moved to the other side of the bed. Easing himself onto the sheet, his muscles tensed as Buffy tossed the blankets over the both of them, pressing her body stiffly into his as she laid her head down on his shoulder.

The scent of her hair filled his nostrils with heather, the light within the room suddenly more golden, and he had to physically restrain himself from reaching up and stroking the tendrils that curled against his cheek. For such a small thing, she was warmer than he'd ever imagined, a living flame that threatened to extinguish him with its heat, and the arm she rested against slowly curved to follow the line of her back, touching but not, a feather away from a real embrace but distant enough to not get him staked. His other hand gripped the sheet, as if by holding on he could ensure she wouldn't vanish, and he listened to the rhythmic cadence of her breath, feeling it pulse against his bare chest in a steady assurance that ripped forth every protective instinct he had. Infinitely better than the floor, he decided. No bloody comparison.

In spite of her reservations, the familiarity of ice against her cheek brought a whirlwind of memories to Buffy's inner eye, and she couldn't help but flash on the countless times she'd fallen asleep on Angel's shoulder. It was the same, but different, the touch lighter…leaner, the scents of leather and smoke pervading his skin even in spite of recently being washed. There was no sense of being overwhelmed that she sometimes got with Riley. Instead, she felt…matched, her body fitting into Spike's almost too well, and though there was no mistaking his tension as he held himself rigid beside her, it was oddly comforting, slowly easing her own stiffness until sleep actually seemed like a possibility and not some farfetched dream. Her eyes fluttered shut. This was workable. This was probably not the smartest thing she had ever done, but, this was…nice.

As her breathing slowed and she slipped into slumber, Spike allowed himself a sigh of contentment, his muscles relaxing back into the mattress. Regardless of what happened over the next few weeks, he was going to be returning to the Hellmouth knowing one thing. For one glorious, too-short night, he had held bliss within his arms, and her name was Buffy…