DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course. And the chapter titles are courtesy of Robert Burns.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy found a dead body, Xander made a deal with Spike, and the female Scoobies seem infatuated with Duncan. Meanwhile, Buffy and Spike have reached a truce regarding the bed and his wound…

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

There had been dreams. Though the details now escaped her, the sensations remained…rhythmic rocking…humming, a low, masculine rumble…the tang of salt on her tongue as it slid against something smooth. She woke, parting the veils of slumber, to find herself cocooned beneath the blankets, her face buried in the curve of Spike's neck, her hand splayed across his chest, her leg bent and draped over his thigh. The pressure of his cheek resting against the top of her head was mirrored by the weight of his arm across her back, and his fingers curled around the line of her pelvis as if to hold her in place. For those few moments when she floated between sleep and consciousness, Buffy savored the peace that seemed to infuse her body, relaxing it against his in a semblance of normalcy that had been missing from her life for years.

He felt the change within her body, the breathing that quickened just ever so slightly as she awoke, the tiny sighs that escaped her throat, and knew she was waking, wondering just what her response was going to be when she did. As for himself, Spike had only been alert for a minute or so; up until then, he had been lost in a more restful sleep than he'd had in ages, dreaming of playing pool with the Slayer, leaning over her as he taught her how to line up her shots, guiding her hand as it curled around the cue. It had really been a shame he had to wake up.

Now, though, the question remained as to what he should do. She was up, but what was going through that blonde head of hers? Was she aware of just how much of her was touching him? God knew, he certainly was. For that matter, was the fact that he held her more intimately than when they'd fallen asleep going to turn him into stake fodder? She wasn't moving, but that didn't mean she was actually enjoying it, that she wasn't at that very moment contemplating the best way to get rid of him once and for all, so, rather than have to face a rejection that would most likely shatter his blissful mood, Spike loosened his grip on her hip, allowing his hand to slip down to the mattress, offering her the escape she had yet to ask for and desperately hoping she wouldn't take it.

In all honesty, she didn't want to move, but Buffy did so anyway, pulling back slightly as she retracted her leg. When her gaze flickered up to his face, she saw him watching her, and blushed. "Sorry," she murmured, and slid from under the blankets, rising to her feet and stretching in the dim morning light that filtered through the window. Just like the day previous, the floor was ice beneath her, and silently she thanked whatever god last night had reminded her to go to bed with her socks on.

Spike frowned. "Sorry for what?" Apologies from the Slayer were the last thing he was expecting; she'd done nothing wrong. Carefully, he propped himself up on his elbows, still mindful of the wound in his side, and watched as she did everything to avoid his steady gaze.

"For the…getting too comfortableness, and the…leg touching, and…" She smiled weakly. "I'm not usually that big on the body drapage. Not that I'm against it or anything. Just that I'm usually the drapee, not the…draper. And this is probably waaaay too much information, so shutting up now."

"Oh." His brow eased as his tongue ran along the inside of his teeth. Just how aware was she of what she'd just admitted? he wondered. She couldn't be, and not still be standing there, finally looking at him, staring like she was genuinely apologetic. "But you slept, right?" he couldn't help but query, unable to hide the concern from his voice.

Buffy was quick to brighten. "Oh, yeah," she affirmed. "We're talking forty winks and then some. In fact…" She took in an exaggerated deep breath. "I'd venture to say my jet lag has officially skedaddled."

The knock at the door stopped Spike from replying, and he watched as she quickly strode to answer it, a spring in her step that had definitely not been there the previous day. She may not say the words, or admit to the implications, but there was no denying their shared night together had given her the rest she'd needed, or that his presence had actually contributed to her present state of relaxation. What exactly that meant was still up in the air, and as he carefully raised himself into a sitting position, he realized that for the first time, he actually believed he stood a chance with her.

"Hey, Will," Buffy chirped as she opened the door.

The redhead's smile was bright. "Didn't want you sleeping through another meal," she said, stepping into the room. Her face froze as, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the sight of a semi-naked Spike in the bed, as in under-the-covers in the bed, and her eyes widened as she glanced back at her friend. "Did you…have a good night?" she asked. "Not that you wouldn't have a bad night, but with the patrol, and the…" Her gaze slid back to Spike. "…vamp sitting…I was just…wondering, you know…was it…good?"

"The best," the Slayer replied. "I finally got exactly what I needed."

Willow's smile faded, to be replaced by a tiny line between her brows as she began to gnaw at her lip, and it was all the vamp could do not to laugh out loud. Buffy was oblivious to the impression she had just given the witch, walking over to the wardrobe as if she didn't have a care in the world, and his blue eyes danced as he met the redhead's gaze.

"What about you, Spike?" she asked. "Did you get some quality healing done?"

"You know me, Red," he drawled. "Can't keep a good vamp down."

"You look a lot better today than you did yesterday, Will," Buffy commented as she pulled out a pair of jeans. "You obviously got more sleep."

"I think the time zone thing finally caught up with Xander and Anya, because we didn't hear a peep out of them all night." Her frown deepened. "Unless they were using some sort of gag as a sexual thing, in which case, no, they haven't adjusted, and I really have to stop this train of thought before it crashes from the imagery that is now running through my head."

"What about Giles?" The Slayer didn't even look back as she crossed the room to the screened-off corner. "He here yet?"

"No, not…" The breath caught in her throat as Willow saw the t-shirt Buffy had been wearing get tossed over the top of the screen, and heard the chuckle come from the vampire on the bed. "…yet."

"We found a body last night." The sweats found their way over the t-shirt, only to slip and fall to the floor on the opposite side. "It looked like it was attacked by the same kind of thing that took a bite out of Spike, so we're going to go out and take a look at it in the light to make sure." The sound of a zipper being pulled up preceded Buffy's emergence from behind the screen. "Wanna come?"

"As much as I'd love to play Quincy," Willow replied, "I can't. According to Colin's schedule, Tara and I are supposed to be on ritual research."

"Am I on that schedule?"

"You and Spike are supposed to be investigating the dungeons some more." The redhead's gaze flickered back to the vampire.

"Well, that's not happening. Not as long as he's still the English patient." As she reached for her boots on the floor, Buffy looked at her roommate. "You going to come down for breakfast or do you want me to bring it up here?" she asked, slipping them on.

"No reason I can't be social," he said, tossing back the blankets. "Anything's got to be better than bloody solitaire for hours on end."

"Do you need help with the bandages?" she offered.

He shook his head. "It's healed up enough so I can manage myself, thanks."

"Well…" She pulled her blonde hair up into a tight ponytail as she headed for the door. "See you downstairs, then."

As Buffy disappeared into the corridor, Spike's lips curled into a smile at the confused green gaze of the witch. "Need somethin, Red?" he asked, affecting an air of innocence that he knew would only perplex her further.

"Ummm…no. Nothing. No need for me." She hastened after her friend. "See you at breakfast."

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

As much as he didn't like not being onsite with Buffy, Giles had to admit the comforts of the bed and breakfast more than made up for his injured pride. Granted, the excessive floral prints that decorated the Victorian cottage reminded him all too much of his nan's tiny house when he was growing up, and the British predilection for net curtains still managed to amaze him, but the house was calm and cozy, with a hostess who had proven at the previous day's breakfast that her sterling reputation for her baked goods was more than well-deserved.

As the warm scents of fresh bread wafted through his open door, Giles heard the distant ring of the telephone, followed almost immediately by the murmur of Ibbie MacDonald's voice as she answered it. Must remember to ask Colin about mobile phones for the gang, he thought. They could surely come in handy, seeing as they are out in the middle of nowhere with no other connections to the outside world.

"Mr. Giles?" Her voice drifted from the bottom of the stairs, and the Watcher stepped out to look down at her upturned face.

"Yes?"

"Telephone."

"For me?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Are you sure?"

Ibbie's blue eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Fairly. My other guest is a woman."

He couldn't help but frown as he picked up the receiver. There weren't any phones at the castle, and the only other person to have this number was Joyce; he'd called and left it with Dawn when he'd first arrived. I do hope nothing is wrong, he thought worriedly before saying, "Hello?"

"Mr. Giles?"

A woman. Not Joyce. "Yes, this is Rupert Giles."

"I didn't think I was going to catch you. I wasn't sure when you'd be leaving to join your friends."

Whoever she was, she was Scottish, which narrowed his options even further. "I'm sorry. May I ask who's calling?"

A dog barked on the other end, and he heard the woman fumble with the phone. "Billy!" she called out. "Get away from that bin!" More fumbling, and then, "So sorry, what was that again?" When he repeated his query, she laughed. "When you live your entire life in one place, you forget that not everyone automatically knows who you are. I'm Fiona Davison. My nephew Duncan---."

"Oh, yes, of course. What can I do for you, Mrs. Davison?"

He was only half-listening as he noted the older woman's instructions, scrambling halfway through for a piece of scrap paper and a pencil to write down the specifics, wondering why exactly the young cook had dispensed his particulars to his aunt. When he replaced the receiver, his hostess appeared out of nowhere, smiling up at him with an affable grin. "Is porridge all right again?" she queried. "I've made some fresh scones to go with it."

"That would be lovely, thank you." He squinted at the scrap of paper in his hand. "I don't suppose you could show me how to get to Rectory Road after breakfast, could you?"

Ibbie's eyebrows lifted. "You need to go see Fiona?"

He nodded. "Apparently, Duncan forgot something when he left this morning," he explained. "She's asked me to take it to him."

"That boy would forget his own head if it wasn't attached," she commented as she turned to head back into the kitchen. "Always has his head in the clouds, that one."

Giles trailed after her, sliding the paper into his pocket as he walked. This was going to make him late, he knew. He just hoped Buffy would wait for him to arrive before going out.

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

"And you're certain they're the same marks?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. "For the last time, yes. They were the same the first time you asked ten minutes ago, and they're still the same. I'm beginning to wish I'd taken a camera just to prove it." She watched as Colin scribbled some more notes onto his writing pad. "Look, as soon as Giles gets here, we'll go and you can check out Grandma for yourself."

His pen stopped, and the Englishman looked up to gaze at the young woman, a small frown worrying his brow. "Grandma?"

She shrugged. "She looked like a grandma. You know. Old. Wrinkly. Funny smell. Except that was probably the whole being dead thing, but you know what I mean."

"Were there any other distinguishing marks? Scars, perhaps? Or unusual facial features?"

"To be honest, I kind of got distracted by the bite," Buffy admitted. "But we can check it out when we go see her." She glanced over at the closed door of the great hall. "I wonder what's keeping Giles. He said he was going to be here right after breakfast."

"I'm sure he'll be along shortly." Colin chewed at the end of his pencil as he slowly closed his pad. "Why don't you help Willow and the others with the research until he arrives? I have some…business I should really attend to."

"Research?" Her nose crinkled. "I was thinking I'd go wait by the body for Giles to show up." Even babysitting corpses was better than research.

The Watcher rose to his feet, his pad tucked beneath his arm. "I understand you're accustomed to…being your own Slayer, so to speak," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I can even appreciate your…ability to lead. But, I really don't think it's wise to go out into the countryside without Mr. Giles or myself to accompany you. There are perils you may not expect, and if you should get lost…" His voice trailed off, blushing at the smile of amusement on her face. Another tactic, perhaps, he thought. "If you're not eager to aid in the research, then, I think it might be a good idea for you and Spike to go take another look in the dungeons. Not to venture into the tunnel, of course, but merely to scout around, see if you find anything of note that we might have missed."

"OK, let me get this straight." Her hazel eyes twinkled as she tilted her head, leveling her gaze at the Watcher. "You don't want me to go out in the beautiful albeit cold sunshine because of the potential danger involved, because you'd rather I go poking around in a dark, smelly dungeon that's most likely the home of a really big water demon that just yesterday tried attacking me. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Colin's blush deepened. "Well…yes," he admitted, then hastened to add, "Only until Mr. Giles arrives, of course."

Buffy stood up. "OK. I was just checking." Glancing around at the empty room for Spike, she said, "I wonder where he took off to."

"I believe I saw him leave with…" Damn it, why could he never remember that boy's name? "…your male friend when the girls went to help Duncan wash up."

Her head whipped around. "He left with Xander?" She didn't wait for a reply, but instead bolted for the door, allowing Colin to quickly grab his pencil and scribble onto his writing pad. Xander. There. He wouldn't forget again now.

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

"For someone so worried 'bout his girlfriend getting too cozy with another bloke," Spike said, folding his arms across his chest as he watched the other man pull open another cupboard, "you don't seem too fussed about leavin' her alone with him."

"She's not alone. She's got Willow and Tara with her, plus Buffy and Colin are right in the next room, so I'm thinking, all's safe on the Anya front." Xander glanced over at where the vampire lounged against the doorframe. "And, just so you grasp the concept, you're supposed to be my lookout, which usually entails actually going and looking out, as opposed to watching the guy you're supposed to be doing the looking out for."

Spike shook his head. "This is a bloody waste of time. The man's not goin' to be hidin' his secrets in the soddin' linen closet."

"It's called being thorough. He comes in here all the time. Who knows what he may have tucked between his perky colors and fresh whites?" All of a sudden, his hand jerked back, and he hastily stepped away from the cupboard, causing his partner to straighten.

"What is it?" Spike asked. "You find somethin'?"

Xander glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Spider," he finally said, his voice clipped, the hand he'd just removed rubbing across the top of his thigh like he was trying to wipe something from it. "Just a…big…hairy…creepy spider."

The vamp chuckled, relaxing back against the door. "You ready to pack it in then? Or do you fancy another round? Maybe the pantry this time. No tellin' what's lurking in with the Weetabix."

"Ha ha, very funny. If you didn't want to---."

"Hey, guys." Buffy's sudden appearance cut Xander off in mid-sentence, and she smiled brightly at the pair. Too brightly. "Whatcha doing?"

"Towels," Spike offered, much to the relief of the other man in the room. "Thought I'd get us some extras, seein' as how someone used up all the ones we had yesterday…" He let the words trail away, quirking his lips as he gazed down at the blonde beauty.

"Yeah," Xander jumped in. "I was just showing him where Duncan's keeping everything."

"Chuck me one, would you?" the vampire asked, his smile widening at the alarm that spread across Xander's face, his brown eyes darting back to the cupboard he'd just moved away from.

"Actually, we don't have time for that," Buffy said. "Giles isn't here yet so Colin wants us to do some more poking around downstairs."

His eyes danced, irises darkening, and there was no mistaking the lean of Spike's body as he looked down at her. "Just…poking?" he said. "Thought you said I wasn't fit enough to be doin' any more…poking down there just yet."

It was only then that Buffy realized what exactly she said, and she hastily backed away from him, all too aware suddenly of the curve of his arms under the black t-shirt. "It's only until Giles shows up," she defended. "And we probably won't find anything anyway. And if you don't want to come, you don't have to."

"Oh, no, I think I most definitely want to…come, pet," Spike drawled. "I'm always up for a bit of the rough and tumble." He glanced over at Xander. "Toss me a towel anyway. No tellin' what'll happen when we get down there. Might end up taking another swim in the stream."

"Because I'm going to push you in myself," Buffy muttered. Only the vampire heard her, and she quickly stepped back into the hall and away from his mocking gaze.

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

Perhaps it will be better outside, Colin thought, staring at the display on his phone as he scurried to the front door of the castle. He had been warned about the intermittent receptivity here in the Highlands, and truth be told, he really hadn't considered that he was going to need the mobile all that much. Of course, now that it was urgent, the blasted thing couldn't find signal if its life depended on it. Which it probably would because he was going to throw it against the wall in about two…

Ah, he thought as he stepped into the cool air. That's better. The bars on the LCD jumped, indicating full capabilities, and Colin quickly pressed the pre-programmed number, lifting the phone to his ear as he glanced nervously behind him. It wouldn't do for any of the others to see him, and he fervently hoped Mr. Giles wouldn't show up in the middle of his call. That might be difficult to explain.

It was answered on the first ring. "Hello?" came the brisk female voice.

"Quentin Travers, please."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Travers is in a meeting at the moment. Can I take a message?"

Colin cursed his bad luck. "Most definitely," he rushed. "It's rather critical that I speak with him as soon as possible. This is Colin, Colin Sadler. I'm the Watcher assigned to the Dall Rath excavation---."

"Oh, Mr. Sadler. I have instructions to put you right through in the event you rang. Please hold."

As he heard the faint click on the other line, he exhaled loudly, grateful for at least one thing going right this morning. Between attempting to keep some sort of rein on the Slayer and ensuring the witches didn't discover more than was necessary, Colin was beginning to wonder if requesting this mission had been folly on his part. He had little field experience, and absolutely none that involved young, headstrong women. It was going to take all his training to keep the project on schedule…

"Are you s-s-sure this is the ritual Colin was talking about?" Tara asked, pushing a strand of hair off her face as she turned to look at the redhead sitting next to her.

"Yeah, pretty sure." Willow frowned, looking up from her book. "Why?"

"I thought they said we couldn't do it until the end of the month."

Anya and Xander looked up from their own texts as Tara set hers down on the table, allowing her girlfriend to lean over and begin scanning the words. "What does it say?" the ex-demon asked.

"Maybe they have other references that refute this," Willow murmured.

"Then why w-w-would Colin give us this to study?" Tara queried.

"What does it say?" Anya repeated, her voice a little louder, her words slightly more articulated.

"It could be it has other ritual-type stuff in it that's supposed to help," the redhead said.

"It does have this nifty appendix on Celtic charms."

"And he did give us a lot of books to go through. Maybe this one got mixed in by mistake."

The loud crash from the other end of the table startled both witches into looking up. Smiling innocently, Anya ignored Xander as he stood to retrieve the book on the floor beside her, concentrating instead on the two girls. "What does it say?" she asked brightly, as if it was the first time she had posed the question.

"Oh." Willow sat back in her chair. "Remember how Colin said we had to wait to do the ritual because of the moon? That its success was determined by the moon's cycle?"

Anya waved a hand in dismissal. "Vaguely. Wasn't that the chart Xander started doing the moo noises with?"

"Yes," the redhead replied, turning annoyed eyes to him as he returned to his seat. "Which was a little rude, by the way."

"Aw, c'mon, the cow jumped over the moon? What's not funny about that?" He reached for one of the scones on the plate in the middle of the table. "Besides, it was his fifteenth flow chart. We needed something to liven up the show a little."

"Anyway," Willow continued, "according to this book, the ritual is dependent on the moon's cycle but not like how Colin described. If this is right, there's no reason why we can't try the ritual tomorrow. We could be back in Sunnydale by the end of the week."

"Really?" Anya frowned. "Is that what we want?" She stiffened when all three turned to stare at her in amazement. "I'm just saying, think about it for a second. We've only just got here. We're only just starting to get over our jet lag. Do we really want to have to go through all this again by going back so quickly?"

"Don't you want to go back?" asked Tara.

The ex-demon shrugged. "It's nice having a vacation," she said. "I used to travel all over the world before I lost my powers. Sometimes, I miss that."

"You miss drafty old castles and no central heating?" Willow's eyes were wide. "I mean, not to be the pooper of parties or anything, but this hasn't exactly been a Carnival cruise here."

"I only meant, it makes a nice change…" She stopped, all of a sudden straightening in her seat, and Xander turned his head to see the other girls doing the same, three sets of eyes glued to the kitchen door that had just swung open.

"So sorry," Duncan apologized. "I don't mean to interrupt---."

"No, please, interrupt away," Willow chirped.

"This is really quite embarrassing," the young man started, his hand coming up to run through his dark curls.

"Ah, no, really? That's too bad," responded Xander in mock sympathy, only to wince when his girlfriend slapped his knee under the table, his fake smile dissolving back into the scowl he normally wore around the cook.

"What's wrong?" came from Tara.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Duncan continued, as if he'd never been interrupted. "Mr. Sadler was quite adamant about that. He asked if I could possibly fix an all-American tea for you, as a small reminder of home, seeing as you're so far away."

"What's so hard about tea?" Xander challenged. "Some hot water, a little baggie with a string, and voila. All done."

"He's talking about supper, dufus," Willow chastised.

"Oh." He slouched down into his chair.

"Regardless, I'm afraid I've gone and mucked things up and I don't believe if I were to continue, it would be what he had in mind at all." Duncan's brown eyes darted between the young women, studiedly ignoring meeting those of the other man in the room. "I don't suppose any of you might consider coming in and telling me where I went---?"

He didn't even have time to finish the request before Willow was on her feet. "I can help," she offered. "I'm about as all-American as you can get."

"Me, too," said the other witch, rising to follow her girlfriend to the cook's side.

"Well, me three," Anya said, and before Xander could stop her, she was up and across the room, disappearing into the kitchen before the young construction worker could speak up.

"What about research?" he called after the closed door, then slumped into his chair. He didn't know how the guy did it. Just a few words and they ran like rabbits, and sure, given the choice, he'd vote for food over books any time, but this was just plain wrong. Memo to self, he thought as he picked up the text on water demons again. Learn how to cook.

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

Having the flashlights didn't make a bit of difference, she grumbled as she caught the heel of her boot in yet another unseen cranny in the floor. Not that she had really expected to find anything more than they had the first night she and Spike had come exploring, but it would've been nice if she could go six feet without turning her ankle. Gotta remember to wear flat shoes next time we come down here, she mentally noted.

Ahead of her, Spike's beam swept across the cold stone, revealing the same featureless walls, the same lack of detail that had been so not thrilling during their previous visits to the dungeon. Though they had exchanged few words since coming down, there was an ease between them that hadn't been there before, some unspoken familiarity that Buffy found both a relief and a puzzle, and she found herself watching the vampire's back as he walked along, almost wishing he'd turn around and say something rude or offensive so that she could go back to being annoyed at him. That had to be easier.

Rounding the corner of the corridor, an unexpected outcropping of stone caught Spike along his side, and Buffy heard him hiss slightly as his torso skittered away from the wall, his shoulder lowering as he bent into the pain. "Are you OK?" she asked, the question popping out of her mouth before she could stop it.

His face was hidden in shadows as he glanced back at her, and she found the only distinguishable feature she could see was the curve of his mouth, lips slightly parted as the tip of his tongue ran along the edge of his teeth. "Doesn't exactly tickle," he said, "but I'll do."

Before he could move further, Buffy had marched forward, shining her flashlight onto his side as she lifted the edge of his t-shirt to examine his bandages. Her fingers skated over the tape that bound them to his skin, watching as if in anticipation of the crimson stains she expected to spring onto the gauze, and Spike froze as the heat of her hand sent tiny shivers of electricity skittering across his stomach.

"This is never going to heal if you keep bumping it," she said, and though the blood she'd foreseen didn't show up, her touch lingered, drawn to the carved muscles by some inexplicable force. Now was the time for her to ask, now that there was this weird truce thing happening between them, but for some reason, Buffy was finding it difficult to get her mouth to start working. Or, for that matter, her lungs.

Carefully, Spike edged away, distancing himself from her hand so that his shirt slipped back down. Her fingertips were almost vibrating from the intensity of her pulse, and the corresponding shocks it was sending through his own system made continued contact a really bad idea, not if he wanted to maintain some leash on his self-control. "It's all right," he reiterated, and turned away, ready to return to the waste of time the Watcher had planned for them.

"Why'd you do it?"

Her voice was a mere murmur and when he looked back, her hazel gaze was still fixed on his side. "I've done lots of stuff, Slayer," he said, keeping his own tone low. "Can't really go explainin' myself unless I know what it is you're referring to."

Damn it, he was going to make this hard for her. She took a deep breath. "Since when did Slayer-saving become the recreation of choice for William the Bloody?" Buffy asked, this time lifting her eyes to meet his. "I just don't get why you played interception guy with Nessie yesterday."

Moment of truth, Spike thought, staring down at her. Perfect opportunity to tell her how you feel. Stop pussy-footing around the issue and just lay it on the line. And kiss goodbye to what little ground you've gained. "Told you," he said. "It was goin' after you. Since water's not exactly your thing, I figured rather than have to endure the rest of this little holiday minus the one person who actually makes it interesting, I'd take a little swim and see if I could help. End of story."

"No, not end of story," she argued. "Because I still don't get it. What have you possibly got to gain from saving me?"

His lips pursed. "Now, I understand. I can't just do something 'cause I want to. I've got to have some ulterior motive. Is that what you're saying?"

"Hello? You're a vampire, remember? Slayer-saving, not really part of your job description, Spike." This was better, familiar territory, and Buffy felt the fire flare in her voice. "Your whole existence is about ulterior motives."

He turned and started to walk away. "The song's gettin' old, Slayer. Let me know when you're ready to change the tune."

Her iron-grip around his arm was the last thing he expected and Spike found himself flung against the wall, the flashlight in his hand cracking against the stone and immediately extinguishing, cutting their illumination in half. The sharp stab in his side was instant, and the vampire grunted in pain, clutching at the wound as he whipped his head around to glare at the young woman.

"Why do you make me do this?" she demanded. "Why can't you just give me a straight answer for once?"

"Don't believe the words, 'Throw me into the soddin' wall' came from my mouth, pet," he snarled, and felt the familiar seep of blood begin to wet his fingers. Fuck. Bitch opened it up again.

"I knew you being normal was too good to be true," Buffy continued. "All I wanted was you…" She stopped, frowning as she saw him holding his side. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is that I'm most likely goin' to have to do some shopping to make up for all these shirts you keep ruining," he said.

Just as quickly as she'd thrown him, she was standing in front of Spike, yanking up his t-shirt to shine her light on the scarlet stain now appearing, hazel eyes darting between that and the blood that colored his fingers. "Shit," she muttered, and felt the pangs of guilt begin to stab at her stomach. She hadn't expected her reaction to his walking away---it had been reflex more than anything else---and now, knowing that she'd caused his injury to re-open, she felt even worse.

The dissipation of her anger was almost palpable, and Spike winced as she peeled the bandage away, exposing the oozing bites to the chill dungeon air. "Sorry," she murmured, and then looked up, eyes dark. "Really."

He watched as she used the edge of the gauze to dab at the running blood, taking every care not to make it hurt worse. Her mercurial moods were a mystery to him; he wasn't sure what caused the hot and cold to run so erratically, but he could only hope that he might be able to have enough time around the beautiful Slayer to figure it out. Spike swallowed. "Didn't want you gettin' hurt, Summers," he said softly, and saw her hands hesitate. "Don't think I could bear that."

Not what she'd been expecting to hear, but surprisingly enough, the sincerity behind his words rang true to Buffy, and she found herself looking up into the vamp's cerulean eyes, feeling her heart begin to race within her chest, the air suddenly too close around her. It was there as well, reflected in the enigmatic depths, and the sensation of falling into them, drowning in the sea of blue, suddenly overwhelmed her.

"Buffy?"

Her head jerked at the sound of her Watcher's voice, the ends of her hair flickering across Spike's chest, and he cursed Rupert's inopportune timing. Some wall between them had come down---he'd practically heard it crash---but now he was afraid that Buffy would find some excuse to put it back up again.

"Right here, Giles!" she called, stepping slightly away from the vampire.

The beam of light appeared around the corner, and the pair squinted as the Watcher stopped, his eyes flitting between the two. "Colin said you were down here. Is everything all right?"

Spike heard her inhale to speak, but inched forward, cutting her off. "Just me bein' my not so graceful self," he said dryly. "Snagged my bandages and started bleedin' again, is all."

She was grateful her face was in shadow as she glanced up at him, the frown clouding her eyes. Why was he lying? And why was she letting him?

"Oh. Well, I was rather hoping you were ready to go examine the body, Buffy. I'm afraid my tardiness has already cost us a good portion of the morning, but we can still be back before lunchtime if we hurry."

"Just give me ten, Giles. That should be enough time for me to get Spike cleaned up."

It was his turn to look upon her with curiosity, his head tilted as he caught her eyes. The charge that passed between them reminded her of that moment in their bedroom when she'd first lit the lighter, and Buffy felt the world around her slip away. This was her fault---he was bleeding now for her---and she wanted him to know that right then, she needed for him to be OK.

"You've got work to do, Slayer," he said quietly. "I can take care of this myself." His mouth twisted into a smile. "Certainly done my share of nursing in my time."

"Are you sure?"

This time, he was positive he heard the concern in her voice, coloring it in orange and red, and his smile softened. "Sure."

She could feel him watching her as she walked past him to join Giles as he turned to go back upstairs, and had to resist the urge to look back, to give him one last smile of apology before disappearing on him. Duty first, she reminded herself. I'll give him the full I'm-sorry routine later. I have to.

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

She hung back as the three men bent over the body, the two Watchers in the front, the doctor from the village just behind. Buffy had been surprised when they'd emerged from the castle to find him waiting for them; it was only after Colin had explained they would need someone local to both identify the body and to arrange for family to be contacted that his presence made any sense.

"So, do you know who she is?" Giles asked, pushing up his glasses as he straightened.

The doctor nodded. "Peg Calvock," he replied, his Scottish accent so thick Buffy almost didn't understand what he'd said. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped at his grizzled face, stepping back and exhaling loudly as if to clear his lungs. "Such a shame."

"I suppose you'll need to contact her family," Colin said. "Please express our condolences when you do."

"Thank the Lord, but I won't have to do that this time." His watery eyes met the puzzled gazes of the Watchers. "Peg's been without family in these parts for years. The last of her clan, you could say. I'm afraid it'll be naught but friends at her funeral." He scratched at his balding head. "I can't say that I've seen anything so large in these hills that could do such a fair amount of damage as that, though. I don't suppose you've seen anything out of the ordinary at the castle?"

Colin shook his head. "Everything has been quite peaceful," he lied. "We really have no idea what could've done such a thing."

Buffy's lips thinned. Oh, they knew all right, but trying to explain underground water demons that were ten feet tall and had somehow escaped into the countryside seemed like more than this quaint village doctor could take. Just as she had thought last night, seeing the body in broad daylight had only confirmed that the bites were identical to the ones on Spike, only more savage, since this woman had obviously not the power to fight off the attack like the vampire had. Whatever it was, it could prove lethal to those unable to defend themselves, and the Slayer had the sudden urge to return to Dall Rath and confirm that her friends were OK.

"Are we about done here?" she asked. "Because my stomach is telling me it's lunch time, and I am starved."

Giles nodded. "I think we've done about all we can."

Reaching into his wool jacket, the doctor pulled out a small mobile phone and began punching in numbers. "I'll just stay here until they can pick Peg up," he explained. "And thank you again for bringing this to our attention."

"If there's anything you should need---," Colin started, only to be cut off by the doctor's hand.

"I know where to find you," he said. "Now go eat. Duncan's not a patient boy. He won't be happy if you're late for one of his meals."

As the trio walked away, the doctor glanced back down at the body lying in the heather, quickly scanning the bared torso and the marks that were witness to its death, and raised the phone to his ear. Almost immediately, the other end of the line was answered and he heard the clipped tones of the receptionist. With one last look at the others to confirm they were out of hearing distance, he spoke quietly into the phone.

"This is Hornbrook," he said, the Scottish accent suddenly gone, replaced with the more genteel tones of London. A longer pause as he was put through, and then, "It's her. I'm going to need a removal team here as soon as possible."

One shirt ripped to shreds, another one semi-soaked with blood. Felt like home.

The injury still hurt, but Spike was oblivious to the pain, the memory of the look in her eyes refueling his good mood of earlier. That had been genuine concern for his well-being, he thought, as well as apology for being the cause of it, and no way was he going to let that go. Coming from the Slayer, that was a first. Doing the I’m-sorry thing was just not her style, at least, when it came to him. What that really meant, though, he had no idea. Could mean she was finally starting to see him as someone real, not just some bothersome demon she was forced to have to deal with on the odd occasion their paths crossed. Could be their cramped circumstances were making her re-evaluate their relationship, making her admit that when the walls were down, she and Spike actually had lots in common, enough certainly to at least base a friendship on. Could be she might even be feeling something even more for him.

Personally…he was holding out for the more.

As he stood before the wardrobe suddenly lost in the decision of what to wear, music was filling his head, and Spike found himself nodding to the tune that began to reverberate in his throat, filling the bedroom with his humming as he looked past the folded t-shirts to sort the various ones on hangers. Wonder what Buffy would like, he mused. Not that it really made a difference. He sincerely doubted she’d ever paid two figs of attention to what he was wearing, outside of his leather. For that matter, he probably wasn’t going to see her before teatime anyway, not with Giles now on the scene and research to be done. Slayer duty called, and all that rot.

“She’s a sensation…” The lyrics came from his lips, the song unable to contain itself anymore, and Spike reached for the nearest shirt, consciously deciding not to deliberate any longer on Buffy’s choice, or Buffy’s favorite color. “She’s a sensation…” ‘Course, he’d be barmy not to make sure he at least looked presentable. Didn’t need to go throwing water on any fire that might just be starting up in the Slayer. “Good enough to eat…”

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

Her heels clicked against the stone floor as she emerged from the stairwell, the sounds echoing around her, and Buffy wondered again about how the castle seemed to take up all the noise and swallow it whole, almost as if it was starving for any sign of life. Maybe it was her mood, but she wasn’t as intimidated by the old building as she’d been when she’d arrived. In spite of its lack of amenities, she was starting to see some of the charm Tara had been going on about at breakfast; the smells that now drifted up from the kitchen certainly didn’t hurt, either.

Though she was starving, Buffy wanted to get this apology to Spike done and out of the way before she’d allow herself to eat. Guilt had plagued her the entire time she’d been out on the mountain, flashes of the blood on his hand interspersing with the look on his face after she’d lashed out at him lingering on her mind’s eye until even Giles was commenting on her distance. She didn’t know where it was coming from---she’d certainly taken her frustration out on the chipped vamp before---but as soon as she’d stepped foot back into the castle, the Slayer had excused herself, almost running for the stairwell in her hurry to assuage her feelings.

As she reached for the door, she heard his voice filtering into the hall, and frowned. Who could he be talking to? Everyone else in the castle was downstairs in the great hall, either already eating or about to, which meant either Spike had spent so much time alone he was now finding himself the best company, or there was another presence in Dall Rath that had somehow stumbled into their room. At the moment, she wasn’t sure which she preferred.

Buffy pressed her ear to the door, straining to make out the words, and it took only a moment to realize he wasn’t talking. She stifled the giggle that rose to her lips. Spike was singing.

“No matter what you do…I give my heart to you…And oh, oh, baby, I will give it to you…”

She didn’t recognize the lyrics, but knowing the vamp, it had to be something punk; he’d certainly made no secret of his affection for the genre. But it was so…bouncy. Buffy’s smile widened. If she didn’t know better, she’s almost say it could’ve come from a John Hughes soundtrack, one of those Molly Ringwald movies that she occasionally caught on cable. Who knew Spike had a secret taste for sappy love songs?

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

Stick with the tried and true, he believed, and slipped his arm inside the black cotton sleeve. “No matter what they say…” he sang, his voice unapologetically rough. “Yeah, we can find a way…And oh, oh, baby, we can find a…” He froze as the door opened, the Slayer standing in its entrance, her amused grin a broad testimony that she had heard enough of the impromptu concert to make Spike duck his head in embarrassment. Shit. Too lost in his own good mood. Didn’t even hear her walk up.

“No, really, don’t stop on my account,” Buffy said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. “This is great blackmail material.”

He finished putting on the shirt and dropped his hands, allowing the buttons to remain undone while he surveyed the young woman. “If that’s the best stuff you can get,” he drawled, “I’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

Doing her best not to pay too much attention to the semi-bare chest before her, her gaze fell to rest on the edge of the bandage that was visible under his shirt. “How’s it doing?” she asked. “I assume since you seem to be all absorby in the vocal stylings at the mo, that it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Hurt’s all relative,” he replied. “’S’long as you don’t go throwing me up against any more walls, it should heal up just fine.”

Her smile immediately disappeared, her guilt returning with a surge through her chest. “Look, about that,” Buffy started, and took a step closer. She sucked at the whole word thing, and wished more than anything that she could get out of this without having to use them, let him know how she felt about what had happened in the dungeon with something other than the usual verbiage. But other possibilities escaped her at the moment, so, inhaling deeply, she raised her head to look directly into his eyes.

“You already said you were sorry, ducks,” Spike said before she could even open her mouth to speak. “No sense in wasting energy in repeating yourself.” His lips curled into a grin. “Even if it does rate high on the novelty scale.”

She blinked. He had not just beaten her to the punch. Why was he letting her off the hook like this? C’mon, she wanted to say. Milk this for what it’s worth. This is supposed to be the kind of thing you eat up with a spoon. Slayer at the mercy of the Big Bad…this is what you live for, right? Instead, she found herself caught like a deer in headlights, watching the way he was running his tongue along his teeth, blue eyes narrowed slightly as he waited for her to respond. “I…over-reacted,” she finally managed. “You gave me your reason, and I should’ve just let it go.” Look away, damn it. Make this a whole world of easy for you by not staring at him like he’s lunch.

“Probably half my fault anyway,” he replied. “Any vamp worth his salt knows better than to turn his back on the Slayer.” The music in his head was gone now, replaced with an ever-quickening rhythm that echoed against his skull. A quick glance down at the hollow of Buffy’s neck confirmed what he could already feel with his skin; her heart was racing like a thoroughbred in the last stretch. “Baaaad Spike,” he drawled, the timbre of his voice dripping in melted caramel.

His obviousness should’ve pissed her off, should’ve made her haul her arm back only to drive it into his jaw, but it didn’t. If anything, it was an addictive magnet, her fingers inching forward to grasp the edge of his shirt, pulling it aside to expose the musculature that she was coming to know so well. Buffy’s eyes lowered to the wound’s dressing, remembering the hurt anger in his own aspect when she’d made him bleed yet again, and swallowed. “You think you might be up to patrolling with me tonight?” she asked. Change of subject. Good. Plus, offer him something he wants. Always helps to ease the guilt.

“That what you want, pet?”

How was she supposed to answer that? “Only if it’s what you want,” she countered. “And as long as you’re up to it.” There. Ball was back in his court.

He sighed, more for effect than anything else. “Is it really that hard to make a choice, Slayer?” he asked softly. “It’s not like we’re talkin’ a life and death situation here. Me, I can take anything the local nasties want to dish. The question is, do you want me there?”

Damn. How did he do that?

She let the fabric fall from her fingers, her pulse pounding in her ears, and took a step back, lengthening the distance between them as if the additional space would help clear her head. Since when did dealing with Spike get so hard? Or so…distracting? Business. Focus on business. That’s what this was about. “You’re always an asset in a fight, Spike,” Buffy said as calmly as she could. “If something goes down, then yes, I’d want you there.” She smiled, trying to turn it into a joke. “Plus, no walls to go bumping against. That’s gotta be a bonus.”

His eyes were dark as his shoulders relaxed. He couldn’t really be expecting any miracles, now could he? She’d invited him, and in spite of her rather circuitous response, she wanted him there, and bugger if he was going to turn that down. “I’ll be there with bells on,” he said, and reached up to begin fastening the buttons on his shirt. “Though I still think you should’ve let me go last night.”

Buffy smiled, grateful for the return to normalcy his words conveyed, and started to turn for the door only to stop and glance back at the vampire. “What’re you doing about lunch?” she queried. “You want me to bring a thermos up?”

“Actually, I rather fancied something a little more solid.” He smiled at her lifted brows. “What? You’re the one who let the bloody smells in the room. Not my fault it smells like it might actually be more than edible. Even if the pillock did cook it.”

Tilting her head, Buffy gazed quizzically at her roommate. “Don’t you like Duncan?”

Spike snorted. “About as much as I liked havin’ this chip shoved up my head.”

“I think he’s nice.”

“And I think he’s an over-educated prat who probably has problems keeping his pants up whenever a piece of skirt walks by.” He shrugged at her look of amazement. “You asked.”

She was halfway out the door before she spoke again. “Doesn’t mean he can’t cook, though.”

“Never said it did, luv.”

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

Buffy almost groaned out loud when the door to the great hall opened and a large whiteboard on wheels appeared, quickly followed by the guiding hands of Colin and Xander. “You know,” she said, “for being out in the middle of nowhere, you sure have a lot of crap in this place.”

Colin’s gaze was steady as he helped push the board to the head of the table. “I didn’t hear you whinging when you saw the weapons cache,” he commented archly.

Buffy smiled, her eyebrows raised. “Well, well, well. Certainly didn’t take long for you to get into the holding of your own around here.”

In spite of his desire to maintain his composure, the Watcher blushed at her amusement, turning at the last minute to avoid seeing her laugh at him, the chuckle from the vampire in the corner undeniable. “I haven’t decided yet if your forthrightness is due to your being American, or due to your being the Slayer,” he said.

“Or any combination thereof,” Giles murmured, eyes twinkling as he looked at Buffy over the rim of his glasses.

“Don’t forget the whole California girl thing,” Spike contributed.

“Not to mention dying and coming back to life,” chimed in Willow. “That’s got to give someone the right to speak her mind.”

“Hey!” All eyes turned to look at Buffy, as she folded her arms across her chest in mock indignation. “Still in the room here.”

“Yes, and we still have much to accomplish today.” Colin reached for the tray of markers on the table and carefully uncapped both the black and red pens before turning back to the white board. “I want to discuss our dungeon guest first,” he said as he began writing.

Spike snorted. “Since when do guests try to eat each other?”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Buffy said. “Seeing as how you’re the only vampire in the room.”

“Like I’d even try to eat any of you. Probably give myself a tummy ache.”

“Well, you did try to bite me that time after the Initiative chipped you.” This came from Willow.

“And how many times have we heard how you’d kill any of us if you didn’t have to worry about blinding pain in the above-the-neck region?” quipped Buffy.

The vamp rolled his eyes. “Kill does not necessarily equal eat, Slayer.”

“People!” Colin’s voice was sharp, gathering back their attention at the head of the table. “Focus here. We’re discussing the demon in the dungeon now. What possibilities have we come up with in our research?”

“Not a whole lot,” Willow admitted, reaching for her own notepad. “The most obvious one is the kelpie---.”

“Ah, yes, the kelpie, of course.” Colin began scrawling across the board.

“Sounds like a baby fish,” Buffy commented. “Not like what went after Spike.”

“Actually, they’re purported to be quite malevolent,” the Watcher explained. “They’ve been known to lure unsuspecting humans into deep waters with the intent to kill them.”

“Didn’t look like luring to me,” the Slayer said. “It looked more like grabbing.”

“I don’t think we’re looking for Trigger here anyway,” the vampire offered. “Not unless these kelpies can grow hands.”

She turned in her chair to look at him. “Trigger? What’re you talking about?”

Spike settled his gaze on her. “Kelpies are horses. You know…ride ‘em, cowboy, kind of demons.”

“That’s not entirely t-t-true.” Tara picked up the book in front of her and handed it to Colin. “Kelpies are shapeshifters. It’s just that their shape of choice happens to be a horse.”

“Plus, they’re Scottish,” offered Anya. “So, you know, local.”

“How do you kill them?” Buffy asked. “Anything special about it?”

The two witches shrugged. “Not that we could find, but we’ll keep looking.”

“Which begs the next question.” Giles sat up, leaning forward to address the group. “How many are we dealing with?”

“I’m going to say two,” said the Slayer. “The one in the dungeon that came after me and Spike, and the one out in the real world that’s been having the locals for lunch. Unless there’s another way out of the castle that we don’t know about, there’s no way for the one downstairs to get out without one of us noticing.” She smiled. “I mean, we barely fit in the stairwell, let alone a ten-foot water demon.”

“It’s safer to assume two, as well,” Colin said. “If we were to kill one and then relax our guard because we believed to be done, we could very well be faced with a nasty surprise.”

“Hopefully when Spike and I patrol tonight, we’ll find it and narrow our most wanted list to just one.”

Both Giles and Colin frowned, turning to look at the vampire as he slouched in his normal corner chair. “Are you ready for that?” Giles asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Didn’t fly halfway across the world to cool my heels while the rest of you get to have all the fun.”

“So, what happens when Buffy and Spike are done playing rodeo?” questioned Xander.

Colin’s answer was firm. “We wait until the end of the month to perform the ritual that will seal the rift back up.”

“Um, yeah, about that.” Willow’s frown was immediate as she picked up the book from earlier. “I don’t think we have to wait that long.”

“Yes, we do,” the Watcher argued. “I’ve explained---.”

“Moon cycles, yeah, I know.” Flipping through the text, the redhead scanned the pages until she found what she was looking for, then handed it to the man at the head of the table. “Isn’t this the same thing you want us to do?”

His gaze skimmed the words, his brow gradually wrinkling in consternation, until finally he flipped the book closed, using his thumb to mark his page, his eyes quickly reading the title on its spine. “Where did you get this?”

“It was in the stack you gave us to read this morning.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never seen this particular text before.” There was no mistaking the confusion in his eyes, and he seemed only half-aware when the other Watcher took the book away to glance through it himself.

“There are a lot of books,” Buffy said. “Maybe it just got put in by mistake.”

“Did you pull the resources from the Council’s library yourself?” Giles queried.

“Mostly. There were some here from the original team, prior to the events of Samhain.”

“Then it’s most likely one of theirs.”

Colin took the book from his proffered hand. “But this is the same ritual I was referring to earlier,” he argued. “And this affords a different interpretation of its efficacy.”

Buffy leaned into her best friend. “It’s what-cacy?” she whispered.

“Effectiveness,” came the whispered response.

“So Will was right,” said Xander. “We can do the ritual tomorrow night.”

Colin shrugged. “I see no reason why not.”

From his vantage point, Spike listened to the discussion continue as the gang finished sorting out the details of the upcoming days, but his attention wandered, the disappointment at his shortened time with the Slayer a stone weighing in his stomach. So much for opportunities, he thought. Not when they’d be picking up stakes and moseying back to the Hellmouth so soon. ‘Course, he had more than enough fodder to sustain his imagination and dreams for years to come, but suddenly, that didn’t seem like quite enough, not when he’d had the real thing in his arms, even if it had been for only the briefest of nights.

Absently picking at his nails, he watched her through hooded eyes, her smile and laughter softening his resolve, eliciting long-forgotten words of passion in damning rhyming couplets, and the music he’d been unable to shake since the bedroom came filtering back, playing itself inside his skull even as he fought to keep himself from humming it again. “And I don’t care, what the neighbors say…I always will be true…I always will love you…”

What the hell…even if they did do the ritual the next night, that still gave him at least forty-eight hours with her. Who knew what would happen…

His fingers lingered over the leather-spine, tracing the gilt lettering in abandon, oblivious to the deafening quiet of the castle as he contemplated the book. Although Rupert’s explanation regarding its origin---that it was actually left by the first Council team to handle the expedition---made a certain sense, Colin was very doubtful as to its veracity, knowing as he did that the initial entourage had catalogued every text they’d deemed necessary for the affair, and this particular title had not been included on the list. It didn’t mean it couldn’t have appeared in that way; it just made its likelihood extremely slim.

The afternoon had been incredibly productive, and, in spite of the jocularity between the young Americans, Colin had found himself relaxing into their presence, even occasionally volunteering his own bit of whimsy when the opportunity arose. The young man---his gaze darted to his notebook---Xander, was actually quite entertaining, even if the Englishman only understood a third of his pop culture references. Really must watch more television, he thought.

Perhaps it was the growing sense of camaraderie that was creating the feelings of guilt in the Watcher now. He’d been so eager for this assignment, had trusted himself to be prepared for it, but now, in the face of such earnest belief as he was now witnessing in the Slayer and her friends, he was beginning to regret not being completely upfront with them. Mr. Travers’ voluble support of Buffy was beginning to make sense, even if Colin didn’t understand her rather flip attitude toward authority or her casual acceptance of Spike within the fold, and though he held that the information she didn’t have was really of no value in completing the project, he couldn’t help but wonder how she would react should she know the whole tale. Probably violently, knowing her tendencies. Violence directed toward him. He really hoped she never found out.

The door to the great hall opened, and Colin looked up to see Giles standing in the entrance, his coat dangling from his fingers. “Heading back to town?” he asked.

The other Englishman nodded. “No reason to linger, I don’t think. Everyone’s retired, well, except for Buffy and Spike, that is.” He began walking toward the kitchen. “I just thought I’d check to see if Duncan wanted a ride.”

“Oh.” Colin frowned. “I believe he’s left already.”

Giles stopped in his tracks and shook his head. “I’ve been in the States too long,” he murmured. “I keep forgetting people actually walk here.”

“I really don’t know how you’ve done it.” The admiration was evident in his voice as he regarded the older man. “She’s very…spirited. I think I probably would’ve requested a transfer within a week if it had been me.”

“Being a Watcher isn’t like working in an office. There is no interdepartmental juggling when one has difficulties.”

Colin blushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean…I mean, Miss Summers is exceptional…as the Slayer, of course. Not in a…non-Slayer capacity.” In his fluster, he turned back to the table, unnecessarily straightening the books that still dotted its surface. “Which must be due to your influence, I’m sure. Being her mentor. I’m just not sure I could’ve done the same job if I was in your place.”

“You’re doing remarkably well,” Giles offered, but when he was met with a raised eyebrow, he ducked his head. “Considering.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Rupert, even if I am convinced you’re lying through your teeth.” The two men chuckled. “Just as well, I suppose. Provided they’re able to catch the demon tonight, and the ritual goes as planned tomorrow, everyone can go back to their lives as normal by the end of the week.”

“Funny, but before coming here, I’m not sure I would’ve considered returning to the Hellmouth as life as normal.” Giles’ smile was small, and he gave his colleague a brief nod before turning around and walking back to the room’s entrance. “See you tomorrow, then.”

The return of silence catapulted Colin’s mood back to sobriety, and he settled himself heavily into the nearest chair, his hand reaching out aimlessly to stroke the books at his side. He sincerely hoped Buffy would find and kill the demon that had been loosed onto the countryside; then, when the ritual was completed the following evening, he could begin to relax again, knowing that the worst would then be over.

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

Every breath hung in the air like a crystal fog, the chill punctuating her lungs, each inhalation an avid reminder of her own body. In spite of the cold, it was a beautiful night, with a large moon that hung low on the horizon, casting silver stripes across the heather in its icy embrace, and if it wasn’t for the all-too real weight of the knife sheathed at her side, Buffy could’ve almost imagined for a moment that she wasn’t the Slayer, or that she wasn’t currently in search of a demon that didn’t belong in her world.

Spike strolled ahead of her, his duster swirling around his legs, oblivious to the encroaching cold. She could hear his faint humming, the tune the same as the one she’d caught him in earlier, and smiled, shaking her head at the same time. “You know,” she said, “you have got to be one of the happiest vamps I have ever met.”

He stopped, looking over his shoulder with a curious glint in his eye, his lips crooked into a grin. “Think it’s a matter of perspective, pet,” he replied. “How many vamps do you actually take the time to get to know before you give them the ol’ stake treatment?”

Buffy ducked her head in embarrassment. “OK, so I could probably count those on one hand, but still…Even Angel---.”

“You are not about to compare me to the poofter,” Spike snorted. “Wanker was never about the fun, and him gettin’ that soul only made him even more depressing to be around.” His eyes narrowed. “Always wondered what you saw in him, though I s’pose that whole tall, dark, and potentially dangerous thing he cultivates really revved your little Slayer heart into overdrive. Certainly worked its number on Dru.”

“Whoa!” Before he could blink, she had closed the distance between them, her finger up and hovering over his chest, almost as if she was desperate to start poking him in anger. “Don’t even think about comparing me to Insano Girl. Outside of Angel and an unfortunate association with you, I’ve got nothing in common with her.”

It was happening again, that pounding in her ears as her heart rate accelerated, the tunneling of her vision as Spike suddenly seemed too very much there, an intoxicating blend of leather and smoke, black and blond, and Buffy swallowed as she stared up at him, her eyes flashing from the illumination of scattered moonbeams. His lips seemed to take forever to form his next words, and she felt the world around her begin to swim as he spoke.

“No, s’pose you’re right about that,” he murmured, his own gaze shadowed in ebony as it swept over the undeniable color in her cheeks. “She can’t really hold a candle to you.” His smile was slow, deliberate. “Not that she would, of course, seein’ as how that would be virtual suicide. Open flame, and all.”

The admission from the vampire was almost a caress, reaching around to the small of her back to trace invisible fingers up her spine, and Buffy’s mouth worked in gaping silence as she fought to find the words that would make sense of the emotional gamut wreaking havoc through her body. He wasn’t kidding this time. Though his smile remained, it wasn’t the usual mocking leer that twisted everything that came out of Spike’s mouth. He honestly believed what he’d just said, even if he had tried to hide it behind a joke. What exactly did that mean? And why would he go that far?

“Fire…” she breathed, unsure as to just what she could say. “…usually…you know…bad…” OK, now she wasn’t making any sense at all. Just go and slap a Rainman sticker to my forehead, she thought. Step up and see the idiot girl. Listen as she babbles on about nothing. Watch as she tries to stare away her attraction to the vampire.

Her eyes widened. No, I did not just think attraction, she struggled. Except she had. And she was. And it was making parts of her body she’d never associated with the vampire before begin to tingle in anticipation.

“Not always.” This was dangerous ground, and he knew it, but the sultry pull of the living flame before him was too beguiling for him to resist, and Spike’s hand reached up, a single finger brushing a stray lock of hair from her temple. “I’m certainly not complaining about the fire that was snuggled up against the Big Bad last night. That’s just the right sort of burn.”

“It wasn’t…snuggling…” But there was no conviction in her voice, and Buffy suddenly realized it wasn’t cold outside after all. It was, in fact, too warm, and growing steadily warmer, even as his mouth seemed to draw closer to hers.

“What would you call it?”

Replying would mean speaking and the sudden lack of moisture in her mouth made that impossible, so when her tongue darted out to run over her lips in an attempt to make speech achievable, the last thing she expected was the flash of gold in Spike’s eyes, or the low growl that rumbled from his throat.

“What’s wrong, Slayer?” he murmured. “Talkin’s not so hard. Not like you don’t have the right…body parts for it.” His gaze lowered to her mouth while his thumb came up, feathering over the full bottom lip once…twice…a third impossible time before floating over the hollow of her cheek to the sharp line of her jaw. Now came the moisture, the inside of her mouth springing to life as it itched for something more than his touch, and the involuntary turn of her head into his hand made the vampire chuckle as he dropped his arm.

She wanted to step away, to move back from the proximity of deft fingers so skilled in finding those points on her body that craved attention, but found her feet unwilling to obey, fixing her to her present position in a silent cry for more. Run, she wanted to scream at herself. Get out of there as fast as you can. Vampire, remember? Been there, got the t-shirt. Plus, boyfriend back home. Not like you don’t already have a very active sex life. You don’t need this kind of problem in your life.

It was a hollow argument, and she knew it. Active, yes. Fulfilling? Not for awhile. And though sex with Riley was certainly…nice, it wasn’t…enough. She was always wanting more. Not necessarily more sex…just something…more. Yet here she was, standing in the middle of a field in Scotland, letting a vampire---Spike, of all people!---caress her in ways that felt more intimate than anything any lover had ever done to her, and Buffy couldn’t get enough of it. In fact…and she almost blushed with the truth of it. She wanted his hands on her, wanted to feel those lips crushed to hers…taste him and devour him and hold him until she had no sensation left in her body…only memories of him etched into her skin, and right or wrong be damned…

He leaned forward, and for a brief hysterical moment, Buffy thought he was going to kiss her, immobile as the possibility became more imminent, only to watch his head tilt, his tongue dart out to retrace the path his thumb had taken over her cheek just moments earlier, sending fiery shivers down her spine with each inexorable inch. His mouth ended just beside her ear. “So…you still haven’t said, luv. What do you call it?”

It was a husky whisper filled with dark promises. I call it crazy, she wanted to say, but the blood pounding through her veins silenced her doubts, swirling the world around her in crimson. He wasn’t moving, just holding himself there…his cheek touching but not…his body infuriatingly near yet impossibly too far away…and it was no longer enough, her neck twisting so that her own lips skated across his pale skin, everything slipping away until it was just her…and him…

It didn’t seem real that the distant jingle could actually be there, but as the clarion call grew more insistent, Buffy realized it wasn’t in her head and tore herself away from the vampire, chest heaving as she fought to regain her breath, darkened eyes scanning the countryside for the source of the ringing bells. It was only then that he noticed the sounds as well, and Spike silently cursed whatever distraction it was that had disrupted the moment, his gaze blazing in shades of blue and gold as he joined the Slayer in the search.

It was coming from in front of them, and, refusing to meet her partner’s face, Buffy brushed past him to follow it, hurrying to the hilltop’s crest to survey the ground below. The moonlight was stronger here, bathing the valley with hoary illumination, and she froze as she saw the outline of the animal at the hill’s base, its proud head thrown back, a midnight mane caught in what little breeze there was. “Spike…” she whispered, afraid to speak louder lest she spook the horse, and felt him join her at her side.

“Now that’s taking the bein’ there with bells on thing just a little far,” he drawled, and decided then and there that he hated whatever it was. Couldn’t have waited, he thought irritably. And if this buggers up any chance I’ve got with the Slayer ‘cause she’s now got time to think about what she’s doin’, you can guarantee I’ll be back to hunt you down.

“Too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?” she asked, still unwilling to look up at him. “We found that lady’s body not too far from here.”

It was then that he realized she was again asking him his opinion---like it mattered---and his irritation eased, his euphoria from moments earlier returning at a gentler ebb. “Well, it doesn’t look like what came after you in the dungeon,” he said, “but if the witches are right, this thing can change to look like whatever it wants to.”

“I suppose it could be a real horse,” she mused.

Spike snorted. “Wearing a bell harness in the middle of soddin’ nowhere? Not very likely, Slayer.”

The beast’s head turned then, its long nose facing the pair that stood above it, and Buffy pursed her lips as its eyes gleamed golden in the moonlight. “OK, not a real horse,” she acquiesced and slowly reached for the weapon at her side.

In a flurry of liquid movement, the kelpie bolted, its hooves pounding silently into the earth, fleeing in the opposite direction of those who watched it, and the Slayer’s instincts took over, her feet springing to life beneath her, her body whipping down the hillside as she took chase. This was better. This was work. This wasn’t thinking about kissing Spike. She could deal with this. Catch the evil horse. Kill the evil horse. Except not really a horse. And she’d been seriously considering actually kissing Spike…

Rolling his eyes, the vampire followed, his pace slower as his recent wound twinged in a reminder of its presence. Not that it was going to make a difference, he thought. This was Buffy’s kill. He was just along for the ride.

They were a trio of grace as they raced through the heather, the distance between the girl and the kelpie closing with each step. At one point, she saw it falter, veering heavily to the left, bringing it closer to her than it had been since she’d started, and she took a risk, the knife in her hand carving a deadly path through the air as she flung it at the beast, her smile triumphant as she saw it embed itself in the animal’s throat.

Its whinny pierced the air, stumbling to its knees, and Buffy put on an extra burst of speed, her delight in slowing it momentarily distracting her, diverting her from the hidden hole in the ground that grabbed at her ankle just moments later. She went flying forward, her foot trapped, and felt it wrench sideways, the sudden stab shooting up her leg forcing her to cry out, more in frustration than in actual pain, and the Slayer could only watch from her vantage point on the frozen ground as the kelpie regained its balance and continued its flight.

Though he saw the demon fleeing, Spike’s only concern was the prone form of the young woman, and he stopped as soon as he reached her side, kneeling to allow his hand to rest on her ankle. It was rooted in the small hole, and he could already feel the flesh around the joint beginning to swell, pulsing in a furious rhythm that he knew matched her heart. “This might hurt,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the limb, and gently twisted it free.

“Don’t just sit there,” Buffy barked as soon as he let her go. “Go after it.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Are you totally daft?” he shot back. “You’re hurt. I leave you here, and no tellin’ how many of Mr. Ed’s friends’ll show up and decide to have a Buffy buffet. No way am I goin’ to have to explain to Rupert how I let his Slayer get eaten in the line of duty.”

“Fine.” She struggled to her feet. “I’ll just go myself.” Her frustration fuelled her body as she stood up, but as soon as she applied her weight to her ankle, it gave underneath her, causing her to lurch sideways.

Spike caught her before she could fall to the ground again, his hand sliding around her back as he swung her up into his arms. “Riiiight, Slayer,” he said. “Only place you’re goin’ is back to the castle.”

The sudden force of meeting the wall of his chest sucked the air from her lungs, and Buffy stopped fighting, all thoughts of the pain in her foot dissipating, to be replaced by even more confusing ones, the inscrutable look in his eyes forcing her to avert her own. “You’re not really going to carry me all the way back there,” she accused as harshly as she could manage. She wanted to fold her arms across her chest in protestation, but the way he was holding her prevented it, and she found herself gripping his sleeve to keep from tumbling to the ground. “You’re going to open that bite back up again.”

“First off, I’ll be fine as long as you don’t go playing wriggly worm.” She immediately stopped moving, unwilling to be the one responsible for his continued bleeding. “And secondly, unless you’re about to tell me that you can sprout wings and fly yourself back, yeah, I am goin’ to carry you.” He grinned. “That is, unless you can think of a good reason for us to hang out here for a little longer…”

Her eyes widened as she felt his thumb begin caressing the back of her thigh, the corresponding shivers across her skin almost sending her flying from his hold. Instead, she stiffened, and deliberately turned her face away. “No,” she said firmly. “There’s absolutely no reason for us to stay out here if you’re not going to go after the kelpie.”

“Just as well.” Spike’s loping pace as he began the trek back to Dall Rath rocked her gently against him, vibrating both of their flesh to near distraction. “More in the mood for a bed anyway.”

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

None of it was any clearer by the time Spike pushed open their door, and Buffy sighed as he kicked it shut behind them. What had she been thinking out there? She had a boyfriend back in Sunnydale, a very loyal boyfriend who loved her very much, and here she was, wrapped up in thinking about the sexual stylings of another guy. No, correction. Another vampire. Who Riley happened to hate with a passion. Who Riley would dust in a heartbeat if he thought he was any kind of threat to her. Who Riley didn’t even know was here because Buffy had been too afraid to tell him. Crap.

Yet, even as he gently lowered her to the edge of the bed, she couldn’t deny the very real way her body was reacting to Spike…the way her mouth watered at the thought of his lips on hers…the butterflies that flitted from stomach to throat and back again every time she felt his cool touch on her bare skin…the unmistakable moisture between her legs at the thought of something more than a vigorous kiss from the vamp. Some of it had been there before tonight---she’d be lying if she said otherwise---but it had always been manageable, something she could cope with, to comfortably categorize before locking it away under those unexplainable things that weirded her out, better not thought of or dealt with. What, then, had changed?

As she watched him pick up the first aid kit that sat on the nightstand, Buffy knew the answer to that, even if she wasn’t ready to fully believe it. The thing that had changed was her. How she saw him. He wasn’t just a body anymore. He wasn’t just a vampire anymore. He wasn’t even just an annoying pest she had to worry about on the fringe of her Slayer existence. Spike was a person, with moods---albeit strangely uplifting and unpredictable moods---and feelings, and oddly disjointed jokes that somehow still made her laugh, and a sense of concern for her that was even more confusing than her own reaction to him. And that was why she’d let her guard down.

He stood before her, the ace bandage dangling from his fingers. “Normally, I’d say no talkin’ from the Slayer was a good thing,” he joked, crouching down to lightly grasp her swollen foot. “Mainly because I always seem to be on the wrong end of that tongue in ways that usually end in some part of me bleedin’.” His azure gaze darted up to look at her drawn face, his strong hands sliding off her boot. “But after what happened out there…” He let the thought trail off, deftly baring her toes to the cold, silently challenging the young woman to finish his sentence as he began to wind the bandage around her ankle.

You can do this, she thought. Be nonchalant. “It was nothing,” she said as lightly as she could manage. “No big.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No big?” Spike repeated. “Sorry, pet, but it felt bloody huge to me.”

“Don’t know why.” Buffy shrugged, keeping her eyes down, locked on the work he was doing in wrapping her injury. “These things just happen sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Look at me.” There was a command in his voice that she wanted desperately to ignore but couldn’t, dragging her hazel gaze up to meet his. The muscles in his jaw were tense, belying the softness of his brow. “Say that again,” he said softly. “Only this time, you look me in the eye when you do it.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she repeated, but even as the words tumbled from her mouth, she knew they weren’t true, even as he did, and found herself swallowing as Spike leaned forward, her now-bandaged foot sliding from his grasp.

“Even if you’re not itchin’ to come clean with it,” he murmured, “I’ve got nothin’ to lose anymore, ‘specially since I think I made myself pretty clear out there before we got so rudely interrupted.” His hands balled into fists and he placed them on either side of her legs, using them to support his weight as he leaned in, his tongue darting out to trace the outer curve of the lobe before his mouth settled just millimeters away. “It meant the world to me, luv,” he murmured, and heard the sharp intake of her breath. Not the words he wanted to say, but as much as he thought she could handle right now. Anything more and she’d be bolting from the room, or worse, reaching for her weapon. As it was, he still wasn’t sure she wouldn’t.

An eternity seemed to pass as both remained motionless, each of them lost in the confusing amalgam of their emotions, before Buffy finally turned her head away from Spike, inching herself back onto the mattress so that there could finally be some space between them, breaking the spell his words had woven. The vampire’s eyes briefly closed as he stood, and he squared his shoulders as he stepped away from the bed.

“Right,” he said, his tone brisk. “So we’ve still got a deal then, Slayer? Think I’m past the point of being Old Faithful, so no reason we can’t go back to our original arrangement.” He didn’t even look at her as he walked toward the screened corner. Not going to give her the satisfaction, he thought. Not going to let her think she won this round. “I’m just goin’ to---.”

“Spike…”

The soft brush of her voice caused him to hesitate, and Spike glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Though he was sure she probably wished otherwise, the flickering light from the candles they’d left burning etched the plea across her features in shades of gold, and he marveled yet again on just how beautiful she really was.

“What?” he asked, hoping for righteous indignation but settling for the curious sigh.

She didn’t know what to say. She only knew that she hadn’t wanted him to go so cold on her, to turn his back like nothing had happened…even if she had been the first to pull away. Damn. “You…don’t have to sleep on top of the blankets,” she finally said. “If you don’t want to, that is.”

His blue eyes narrowed as he studied her. Never in a million lifetimes would he ever completely suss her out, Spike decided. Hell, he wasn’t sure she could suss herself out. But…it was something. It was all he needed. For now.

“Thanks,” he murmured, and turned to retreat behind the screen, wondering how in hell he was ever going to go to sleep now…

They had both been wrong. Even as Spike was sliding himself under the blanket, his back to Buffy, he'd firmly believed that there was no way he was going to get to sleep, not with her so close, not after confessing what he had to her, and certainly not after what had almost happened out on the mountain. The radiant heat of her body beneath the comforter was enough to sear the inside of his eyelids as he closed them against the flickering light, but it did nothing to block out the images of the Slayer staring back at him as he'd leaned in to taste the salt of her cheek. The wide hazel eyes almost completely overwhelmed by black…the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened…the quiver of her bottom lip as his mouth had danced over her skin…Though his arousal was immediate, deafening within the confines of his flesh, the quiet metronome of her even exhalations behind him soon defied his body's intentions, and lulled him to sleep.

It was even swifter for Buffy. Exhaustion mingled with pain, with a dash of confused hormones for flavor, and she was out of it before Spike had even emerged from washing up behind the screen, her lashes dark against her pale cheeks. She didn't consciously feel his weight settle behind her as he climbed into bed, or sense the slight tilting of her torso as it leaned toward him, her shoulder resting lightly against his, the curve of her hip nestling into him in spite of the denim and cotton that separated them. The only movement of her body was the minute undulations over her eyes as they darted around behind their shutters.

And so they slept…

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

As she finished the last of her stretches, Buffy felt the sizzle within her legs as the muscles warmed, ready for the next challenge the teacher at the front of the room would present. She was surrounded by half a dozen other girls, none of whom she recognized, while on the opposite wall, the same number of men mingled, waiting as she did for their next instruction. Everyone was dressed similarly---the women in tights and leotards, the men in tight trousers and matching t-shirts---and she knew without knowing why where she was. A dance studio.

"I know you hate doing them," the teacher was saying. "But these technical exercises are the foundation for becoming a graceful, accomplished dancer. Think of them like practicing your scales. Boring and repetitive, but essential." Her gaze swept over the group, and she smiled. "Dancing is about the magic of the moment, and while knowing the basic steps gives you the tools to create the magic, they are not the magic themselves. Which brings us to why most of you are here, of course."

Buffy could feel the anticipation begin to course through her system, unconsciously bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in her excitement. The teacher was right; this was why she was here. And for some reason, it felt like it was going to be the best time of her life.

"Contrary to what you may believe," the teacher said, beginning to walk down the middle of the room between the two groups, "this is much more than any one dancer's virtuosity. No matter how good you may be individually, the most important thing you can learn is how to dance with a partner, because otherwise, what's the point? Why bother coming here at all? Just stay locked away in your little room at home and practice your exercises until you've got them cold. But, if you do that, you'll never be a real dancer."

As she reached the wall, the teacher turned to face them again. "I'd like to start with a demonstration first." She turned her gaze toward the women. "Buffy, could you come here, please?"

The blonde blushed as she stepped through the girls and crossed the room under their jealous stares, finishing at the instructor's side. They all thought she was the teacher's pet, and it was discomforting, even if it was mostly true.

"Now, she's going to need a partner---."

"I'll do it."

Buffy smiled as she saw Riley eagerly step forward, wondering why she hadn't noticed him earlier, only to have it dim as she caught the teacher shaking her head out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh, Mr. Finn, I am sorry, you really are more than…able, but I'd rather Buffy had a partner that, well...matched her capabilities. You do understand, don't you?"

"Oh…sure," Riley mumbled, his shoulders slumping in good-natured disappointment as he returned to his place in the line.

The instructor turned to the young girl at her side. "Why don't you pick someone, Buffy?" she asked. "You've seen them dance. Who do you think would be able to match you?"

Hazel eyes swept over the remaining men, coolly assessing one before flitting to the next. It was the last, though, standing slightly apart from the others, arms folded across his chest, that captured her, causing invisible butterflies to begin to beat their wings against her spine.

"Spike," she said softly, and watched as the corner of his mouth lifted, the twinkle in his eye unmistakable.

"Excellent choice," the teacher murmured, just loud enough for Buffy to hear, as the blond sauntered to join them at the wall. Louder, she told the pair, "Take your positions, please." She turned to face the rest of the class. "Watch and learn, people."

Everything else seemed to fall away as Spike stopped in front of her, his eyes uncharacteristically dark as they met with hers. His black uniform left little to the imagination, outlining every muscle in his arms, his chest, hugging his slim hips in ebony fire as he held up his left hand. "You sure you're ready for this, pet?" he asked, and it was as if someone had soaked each word in molten lava…dark, daring, and most definitely dangerous.

"Sure," Buffy breathed, and took his hand in hers, keeping her shoulders straight as his right slid around to fold over her shoulder blade. The Latin music seemed to start from nowhere, the percussive beats tattooing through him, into her, counting out their start as the couple locked gazes, waiting…anticipating…and then moving in startling syncopation, their feet gliding in unison across the tiled floor.

It was as if they'd done it a thousand times. For each step he would take, she would counter, allowing him to guide her through the revolutions, his grip firm but light, matching his feline grace with her own elegant lines until even the remaining women were sighing from the beauty of the display before them. Buffy felt her muscles sing, an exhilarating aria that begged to be a duet, and found herself deliberately executing moves that would brush her body against his…the curve of her calf around his tight thigh as he pulled her against him for a winged dip…the press of her palm against his chest as she danced around him, her breasts lightly brushing across his back as she circled, returning to her stance within his arms. Following the rhythm was instinctual…intoxicating…and so very, very right.

The music ended with his arm around her back, holding her firmly in place as she stared up at him. She could feel the beads of sweat dripping from her jaw, down her neck, and watched as his eyes finally slid from hers to follow their paths downward. When his head lowered, the shock of his tongue lapping at the tangy salt forced the air from her lungs, and Buffy's fingers curled tighter around his.

"Everyone else partner up," the teacher called out. "We're going to do this again." She walked over to the young couple who had just been the center of attention. "If you two would rather sit this one out," she told them, "that's all right. That was more…intense than I expected."

Spike straightened, pulling back from his partner's torso as he gazed down at her. "Well, pet?" he queried softly. "Do you want to stop?"

There was no doubt, no hesitation. "No," Buffy replied, and stepped back into the circle of his arms…

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

The moan escaped her throat as she rolled over in her sleep, the blankets shifting slightly as Buffy pressed herself against Spike's back. Both still slept, her accelerating breathing the only sound within the dimly lit room, but the flickering behind her eyelids had stopped, as if within the world of her dream, her gaze was fixed on the one thing directly in front of her.

For several minutes, the only movement within the room came from the wax slowly dripping down the candles, scorching wet sliding down the hard pale columns in agonizing lethargy. Then…a soft sigh from the bed, followed almost immediately by Buffy's arm stealing around the curve of her roommate's chest, her breasts flattening against his shoulder blades as she pulled him ever closer. The inarticulate moans coming from her throat were almost continuous now, and she lifted her leg to drape it over his thigh, her slim foot sliding down over his knee in a raspy caress before entwining around his calf.

They held this position, each locked away in the realm of slumber, as even more time drifted away, every passing moment leading them closer to dawn. When the spell was eventually broken, it was Buffy who shattered it, burrowing her face into Spike's shoulder as her grip tightened, her lips quietly parting to kiss the pale join of his neck…

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

He had been dreaming, of that he was sure, but its elements escaped him, scattering like dust as a heat yanked him back to consciousness, sudden and wet in its intensity as his mind sharpened to his surroundings. It took only a moment for him to realize that Buffy had adopted a position similar to that first morning in Dall Rath, her hand moving infinitesimally across his bare chest while her leg powered his lower half to hers. It was almost expected, considering the narrow confines of the bed, and Spike's recently acquired knowledge of how well the Slayer slept when in contact with another body. In fact, if he'd woken up and found out that she hadn't turned around in her sleep, he probably would've been disappointed. No, it wasn't the singe of feeling her flesh pressed against his, even through the cotton of her t-shirt, that had woken him up.

It was the unmistakable feel of her mouth on his neck. Kissing him. His eyes shot open. Correction. Sucking him.

Must be a helluva dream, Spike thought, realizing for the first time since waking that his own arousal was pulling his jeans uncomfortably across his hips. And as much I'd love to play centerstage to it, I'm not so daft to think that it's me she really wants. The memory of her murmuring Soldier Boy's name that first morning still rankled---the last thing he ever wanted to be was second-best---and so he reached up, ready to extract himself from her embrace, his hand closing over the fine lines of hers.

When she curled her fingers into his, interlacing them in some weird reverse handhold, the vampire froze, tilting his head enough to look down at the outlines of their arms. If he didn't know better, he'd've sworn she didn't want him to go…but that was ridiculous. She was dreaming. About Finn. It was Finn she was holding onto, not him.

The movement of his head was enough to break the seal of her mouth on Spike's neck, and Buffy automatically snuggled deeper into him, her lips skating across the arc of his shoulder in an absent caress. As her breath fanned in alternating blasts across his skin, he felt her mouth open, heard her preparing to speak.

"Spiiike…" she sighed, almost groaning, the slightest bit of a whine coloring it as she held him tighter. "Wanna…dance…"

His brows shot up, and it would've been followed by his body leaping from the bed if the Slayer's embrace hadn't been a vise around his lean form. She'd said his name. His name. Not Finn's. Bloody bird was dreaming about him.

Carefully untangling his hand from hers, Spike began turning his body into her, feeling her instinctively shift to allow him clearance, only to return to cover him as soon as his back hit the mattress. It was the first time he could see her face, and though part of him fervently wished that she was awake---OK, make that most of him---he wasn't surprised to see the closed eyelids as she buried her face in the hollow of his neck, her mouth returning to its feather exploration over his skin.

Lowering his shoulder let him slip his arm beneath her body, reaching around to gently cup the curve of her buttock, and the vampire closed his eyes, momentarily debating the wisdom of getting caught up in her dream. He supposed he really should do the right thing and wake her. She wasn't aware of what she was doing, and though he could smell the scent of her arousal, had heard her murmur his name, was at this very moment being peppered with tiny Slayer kisses…

Sod it. He was bloody well going to enjoy this while it lasted.

The small hand that had been pressed to his chest now slid down his side, nails raking slightly as her fingers tucked themselves beneath the waistband of his jeans. The added thickness caused them to tighten even further, and Spike gritted his teeth at the strain of the denim against his bare cock, the rough seams that normally afforded such pleasure when he got hard, now cutting into the velvet skin with a harsh grate. With no thoughts but to alleviate the pressure, the vamp had reached down with his free hand, popping the button and easing down the zipper in audible liberation.

The relief was instantaneous and he sighed in pleasure as the chilly air met the moist head of his erection, his arm falling back to his side. This was better. He just had to remember to do himself up before the Slayer woke---.

It seemed to be the only invitation she'd needed, the sudden freedom to move allowing Buffy's hand to roam free across his pelvis. As he turned his head to brush his lips across the top of her hair, Spike felt her smooth arm dance across the tip of his cock as she pulled her arm toward her, and growled as his arousal jumped, his own muscles twitching in kind. His grip tightened on her ass, his lips lowering to her temple, tasting the savory zest of her skin before continuing downward. Just one kiss. Couldn't hurt. She wasn't even awake. And somehow, he didn't think sleeping Buffy would mind…

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

The music had changed, slowing until they were barely moving, the other dancers in the class disappearing until it was just her and Spike, alone on the floor, no longer truly dancing as much as swaying in rhythm. He had tried stopping at one point, pulling away as the second song had stopped, but Buffy had grabbed him back, melding her hips to his as she gave up the pretense and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Wanna dance," she'd whispered, and began exploring the clean line of his collarbone with her tongue, oblivious to the cotton that separated her from the satin of his skin. He'd hardened almost immediately against her, and her body had responded in kind, the tingling in her clit beating in time to the almost non-existent music that still swirled faintly around them. Her arms had lowered then, gliding down his back before slipping between them, fingers inching even further to outline his cock through his trousers.

Spike had jerked then, his eyes blazing, then lowered his head to hers, lips meeting hers in the lightest of contacts, parting them with a firmness that belied their gentility, exploring her depths with a ravenous need that demanded he savor every second…

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

She moaned into the kiss, and Spike tightened his hold, forgetting that the Slayer still slept, lost in the disbelief that clouded his inner eye as his mouth grew more insistent, tasting and devouring and lingering much longer than he'd originally intended but oh, just one more moment wouldn't hurt…

He knew the instant she woke up. Before her eyes opened to see his face just inches from her. Before the slither of her hand stopped mid-caress. Even before she froze within their kiss. Spike could tell Buffy was awake the moment her heartrate began to accelerate. He knew the music of her pulse better than his own body.

She was lost between the vividness of her dream and the reality of his azure gaze staring back at her, and realized almost immediately what she had been---still was---doing. Kissing…and touching…and stroking…and, oh god, where was her hand?...and he had felt so good…tasted…like nothing else she'd ever…and was that his hand on her…but she wouldn't…she'd resolved, damn it…this was Spike…mortal enemy…and he felt of silk beneath her skin…

As her mouth pulled away, the lack of contact with his was almost painful, and Buffy's breath began to come in short, sharp bursts, her mind racing as she tried to grasp onto some kind of plan…anything to make this…stop?...no…and she was still holding his erection within the circle of her fingers, the wetness of its tip instantly recognizable…

"Buffy…" Spike murmured, a husky rumble that ached with want.

The sound of his voice startled her, reflexively constricting her grip, and heard him groan in response.

"For God's sake," he growled, and she saw the glint of gold within the depths of his eyes, "either kiss me or kill me, but make up your bloody mind, 'cause this holding pattern just isn't cutting it anymore."

And there it was, the choice---her choice---the one she'd been avoiding since the possibility had initially arisen. Waiting these few days hadn't made it any easier; he was still a vampire and she was still the Slayer, with a life back in Sunnydale that didn't include him, not really. And, yes, she wanted him, no point in lying to herself about it, not when every silent protestation was met with a spark of electricity that caused her skin to vibrate in tune with the memory of velvet lips and mouth-watering leather. But it wouldn't work…couldn't work…they didn't have anything in…

But that was wrong, and she knew it before it even finished, brushing it away with an imaginary hand to face the truth that stood just behind. It was easy. The choice had already been made, irrevocably, incomprehensibly, and---she had a funny feeling---inevitably.

She didn't close her eyes as she brushed her lips across his, holding his gaze locked with hers so that he would understand she knew what she was committing herself to. Ever so slightly, Spike's eyes narrowed, the line between the heavy brows deepening, questioning as she pulled back, searching for something---doubt? distrust?---before letting his face soften, the corner of his mouth beginning to lift in a hopeful smile.

"Buff---."

She drowned him out with the force of her lips back on his, demanding a response this time, continuing the caress that had greeted her upon waking, while matching it with a very determined slide of her hand down the length of his arousal. This was what she wanted, had known it even if she hadn't been able to admit it to herself before now, and held the question of his earlier declarations for after. There would be time enough for talking later, she thought, and slowly pumped her arm back up, her thumb brushing tantalizingly across the head.

That was all it took for the vampire. With a growl, he let his other arm encircle her, pulling her across his bare chest, trying his best not to allow the sudden spasming in his pelvis to distract him from the glory of her willing mouth on his. No longer a dream. Real. And glorious. And her.

He came all too quickly, the combination of the kissing and the heat of her flesh burning into him and the slick sliding of her hand along his cock eddying to a climax that bucked his body beneath hers, ripping his mouth away as the veins in his neck bulged.

Beside him, she lay rigid, watching as the convulsions slowly relaxed his body, his blond head turning to see her smiling wryly into his blue eyes. "Either I'm really good," she said, "or all those stories about vampire stamina are just myth."

With a crooked grin, Spike used his body to slide her back onto the mattress, propping himself up on either side of her so that he could look down at her swollen mouth. "Not a myth," he murmured, leaning to nip at the point of her chin, then going higher, his lips hovering while he nudged the tip of his nose gently against hers. "Goooood."

Buffy surprised herself by giggling, a light, airy sound that floated in the air above them, dancing on satisfied wings. All of a sudden, she seemed too aware of her own skin, shimmering in waves of fire as Spike's mouth began its own study of her neck, his hand sliding down her stomach to tuck inside the waistband of her sweats. "What're you doing?" she breathed with widened eyes, squealing as his lean fingers lightly pulled at the coarse curls it found. Part of her wanted to slap his hand away, to tell him to play nice, but a bigger part---much bigger---was eagerly anticipating his wintry touch between her thighs, and she parted them, allowing the vampire easier access to her wetness.

Spike chuckled. "I figure turnabout is fair play," he replied.

She gasped as his hand parted the outer lips, outlining the inner even as his thumb flicked across her clit. Out of nowhere, he seemed to have sprouted extra fingers…the one that continued to circle the hard nub of her arousal…the ones that managed to separate her folds to allow the rest to expertly penetrate her slick channel…all as his mouth and tongue returned to nibble and lick and worship at the sinew of her shoulder.

Restraint was not his strong suit, especially since the reality of Buffy's body tremoring beneath his touch far outstripped any dreams he'd ever had about her. However, as he sucked at the delicate flesh of her neck, he deliberately bridled his own returning arousal to concentrate his efforts on pleasing her. He'd had his; now it was her turn.

"Spike…" she whimpered, letting her hands come up to tangle in his hair. "God…please…"

He didn't actually need the encouragement, but hearing her ask, knowing she wanted him, lit the vampire from within, and he redoubled his touch, sliding his hand in and out of her even as he felt her muscles clench to keep him inside.

It was building, and she could feel it, and though his mouth felt wonderful on her neck, she wanted to taste him further…And so she tugged at his shoulder, sliding herself just far enough away so that she could press her lips to his, all the while riding the crest of his pumping…until it washed over her, arching her back even as she cried out into his mouth, her hands clutching at him in desperation, his one free arm cradling her to him as if afraid to let go.

As her orgasm ebbed, Buffy sank back into the mattress, hazel eyes staring solemnly at the blond lingering above her. It almost didn't feel real, yet the weight of his body pressing into hers spoke otherwise, as did the soft aspect of his gaze as it flicked over the contours of her face. Her breath caught as he extracted his arm from behind her, his hand brushing the hair away from her forehead, a single finger wiping at the faint sweat that gleamed along her brow.

"So beautiful…" Spike murmured, and brushed his lips over her temple before rolling himself over onto his back, pulling her with him so that she lay across his bare chest.

Nestled in the crook his shoulder, Buffy tugged absently at the blankets that had slipped to the side, grateful when Spike grabbed the hems to help her return them over their bodies, and smiled contentedly as her eyelids began to droop. "What do we do now?" she asked quietly, her voice almost completely lost within the contour of his skin.

There was more than one way to answer that question, and he suspected she wished for some metaphorical response, something that would satisfy her expected confusion regarding their…unconventional relationship. But, as he felt her chest slowly rise and then fall with the returning vestiges of exhaustion, he softly smiled, rubbing his cheek against the top of her hair as his embrace tightened around her. "Sleep, luv," he murmured. There would be time enough for talking later.

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

The moon was almost gone now, leaving the mountain in near darkness as he stared down at the creature on the ground. Its breathing was audibly labored, the blood running freely from its wound, and the man sighed.

"It didn't have to be this way, my friend," he said, and knelt down, one hand reaching out to grasp the dagger that was still embedded in the kelpie's neck. With one vicious twist, the blade sliced through the flesh, permanently silencing the beast's efforts, sliding from the bleeding wound to gleam dully in the moonlight. A cursory glance at the weapon confirmed what he already knew; it was from the weapons cache, which could only mean that the Slayer had done this. Why she hadn't finished the job herself, though, he had absolutely no idea.

Tossing the knife aside, his lips lifted into a small smile as what little moonlight remained jumped to the strand of bells that hung from the demon's inert neck. The greed burbled in the man's throat as his hand reached to grasp it, breaking the clasp with a firm yank so that it came free to dangle with a clarion call to the emptiness surrounding him. It would've been better without the unnecessary death, but he would take it any way he could. It was most definitely worth it…