His hands were shaking as he held the phone up in the air, turning in a circle as if that would draw whatever signal was in the air to his mobile phone, and he did his best not to jump when he heard the door open behind him. “What’s he doing?” Colin heard the Slayer say. “Some phone rain dance or something?”

“Reception is very poor here in the Highlands,” Colin offered, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he stopped in mid-revolution. “Sometimes, moving the phone about a bit makes a difference.”

“Just do get on with it,” Giles urged impatiently. He turned to face Buffy. “Is Xander all right?”

She shrugged. “We’ll know in a couple of hours. Willow seems to think that because the gout took awhile to set in, it’ll probably take as long to go away.” She nodded toward the other Watcher. “Is he clear on what he’s going to say?” she asked. “He’s not going to go all Gomer Pyle and flub everything up, is he?”

“No, he’s not,” Colin interjected, bravely squaring his shoulders to face her, before slowly shading a deep crimson. “Not that I know who this Gomer Pyle is, but I assure you, if this is what it’s going to take to convince you of my innocence of these matters, then I will do it.” His gaze ducked. “Even if it does mean I’ll most likely lose my position within the Council when they find out.”

“Aw, buck up, Col.” Buffy’s smile was wide, if a little insincere. “It’s not like there aren’t tons of job opportunities for compulsive organizers who like to stab people in the back. Isn’t that what they call middle management, Giles?”

“Got it!” exclaimed Colin, and hurriedly, he began pressing numbers into the phone pad before he lost the signal again. There was a moment as he brought it to his ear, and then, “Quentin Travers, please. This is Colin, Colin Sadler.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I really hate how he says that,” she muttered.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Travers,” the younger Watcher said, the cheer in his voice belied by the apprehension in his eyes. “And how are---?” He never got to finish his greeting, cutting himself off as he listened intently into the phone. “Yes, yes, all on schedule. Miss Rosenberg is proving quite handy in keeping things with the ritual on…” Another break. “Well, we did have an encounter the previous evening when the Slayer came across a demon out on the mountain. Unfortunately, it got away…No, no, nothing unusual about it. Probably just one of the local nasties…” His flush was immediate, and Buffy saw his lips begin to sputter. “Oh, yes, you’re quite right. My deepest apologies. It must be Spike’s influence. I’ve spent far too much time---.” Though he cut himself off again, Colin visibly relaxed as he listened to the man on the other end of the line, actually even smiling at one point. “Yes, sir. End of the month as it’s been decided. Shall I check in with you tomorrow at the normal time?”

This was the signal that the conversation was over, and Buffy turned to go back to the castle, the chill in the air that cut through her sleeves bringing goosebumps to her arms. Once he was done, they could finish hashing this out inside. It would certainly be more comfortable. The sudden shot of Giles’ grip on her elbow stayed her movement, though, and the Slayer swiveled her head to see Colin’s hands shaking, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone.

“You’re…certain?” the Watcher said, and the anxiety in his voice caused it to crack, his eyes darting from Buffy to Giles and then back again before settling on the ground before him. “Yes…yes, unfortunate. Perhaps I should tell….No, of course not. If you say so. There’s no reason for the Slayer to know.” This last was said deliberately, and he met Buffy’s gaze with a small shake of his head before saying, “Thank you for letting me know, sir.”

“There’s no reason for the Slayer to know what?” Buffy demanded as soon as Colin had disconnected.

The Englishman sighed. “The reason Miss Rosenberg can’t speak with the witch who conducted the ritual the first time,” he said, and began trudging toward the castle’s entrance.

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

“Understand, all of my information is secondhand,” Colin said from his seat at the table. “I didn’t come to Dall Rath until after the first attempt had failed, so I only know what I’ve been told.”

“That’s still more than what we have,” Buffy replied, her mouth a grim line as she stared at him.

“And you’d rather not do this upstairs?” His gaze darted to the various people scattered around the room---Willow and Tara sitting opposite him, leaning forward as they waited to hear the story… Spike lounging in his corner chair…Giles and Buffy at the head of the table, arms folded across their chests like waiting parents.

The Slayer shook her head. “We’ll fill Anya and Xander in on the details later,” she said firmly. “I’m tired of you squirming on your little hook here. Time to reel you in.”

Colin took a deep breath. “Right. Of course. Well, you understand the power of three within the context of the ritual---.”

“Living, dead, host, we got it.” Buffy’s exasperation was beginning to show. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

“The ritual failed, you know that. Well, while they were extinguishing the flames on the dead body…” Spike’s snort of derision from the corner caused the Watcher to visibly flinch, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “…it was decided to take advantage of the witch’s protective capabilities and do some further exploration of the tunnels.”

“Why then? Wasn’t she part of the Council crew?”

Colin shook his head. “She was a local witch, very powerful I was told. And they didn’t want to employ her any longer than was necessary. I originally thought that it was merely a cost measure. Now…I’m not so sure.”

“So let me guess. Everyone went exploring and got a big ol’ surprise when Nessie poked its head from the water.” Dropping into the nearest chair as she spoke, Buffy waited for the confirmation, already weary of the tale’s predictability, her eyes colored in aggravation.

“Not…quite.” His eyes were furtive, and all of a sudden, the pencil in front of him seemed the most fascinating thing in the room as he picked it up and began twirling it around in his fingers. “They were attacked, but…not from the water. It came from…behind them. From…the dungeons.”

In the corner, Spike cocked his head. “Well, well,” he drawled. “This just got a little more interesting.”

Giles straightened. “Are you saying they were attacked by men?” he asked, incredulous.

“That’s never been…satisfactorily determined,” Colin replied. “When all was said and done, only one man remained, and his story has been…inconclusive.”

“So what you’re telling us here is that there’s another gang in town that wants to play in our playground,” Buffy said. “Only instead of trying to share, this one likes to kill everybody who gets in the way.”

The young Watcher held up his finger. “Ah. Now, I never said that. Don’t go putting words---.”

“You said it finished with just one man standing.”

“Actually, I said, one man remaining. That’s a world of difference.”

The great hall was blanketed in silence as his words sunk in, weighing the faces of the group surrounding him in sobriety, before Buffy finally spoke up, her voice steeled.

“How many attackers?”

“We’re not sure, at least, that’s what I’ve been told.” Colin dropped the pencil onto the table and let his hands fall into his lap. “The man who survived claimed a large group---six, perhaps seven---but the site evidence that was discovered after spoke to the contrary.”

“Evidence? What kind of evidence?”

He shook his head. “I was never told.”

“And so I’ll ask again.” This time, her hazel eyes were just as deadly as her tone. “How many?”

“Three. We think.”

“And Council guys? How many of them?”

“Seven. Plus the witch, so…eight.” He rushed forward, as if by doing so it would make the story less excruciating to be told. “It was all over very quickly, apparently, until it was only the witch and the other man left. The man pretended to be dead, so the intruders ignored him. They seemed very focused on the woman, and…left with her.”

“Left?” Willow’s voice was a mere squeak, her pale skin even more ashen as her throat worked in silent fury, swallowing desperately in an attempt to smooth the rasp of her mouth. Her fingers dug into Tara’s knee. “Why am I thinking they weren’t interested in a date and a movie…?”

“She was alive…when…they took her,” Colin confirmed, unable to meet the redhead’s eyes. He liked the young witch; she was one of the few in the group who didn’t give him a hard time and seemed to appreciate the hard work he put into keeping the project organized. It wrenched in his gut that she had to find out like this.

“So, that’s why we can’t talk to her,” Buffy concluded. “Because she’s missing.”

He braved himself for the next. “No,” he said quietly. “You can’t talk to her because she’s dead.” The weight of the five sets of eyes bore into his skin, and he stared at the edge of the table, concentrating on the woodgrain until it swam before him. “That’s what Mr. Travers confirmed for me,” he continued. “I hadn’t known…for certain until then, though I had suspected it for a couple days now.”

“And how…” She didn’t even need to finish the query, the pieces of the puzzle slowly slipping into place, and the Slayer shook her head. “The woman on the mountain. That was your witch.”

A single nod. “Hornbrook confirmed everything for Mr. Travers,” he explained.

“I thought you said it looked like the woman on the mountain got attacked by the same kind of demon that got Spike,” stated Tara.

“She did.” Buffy’s eyes were distant as her brain worked over the details. “Which means she either escaped from the men who attacked in the dungeons or…”

“…the attackers were actually kelpies in human form,” Giles finished.

“How is that possible?” asked Willow. “They were attacked from the dungeon direction, not the Otherworld direction.”

“I don’t know,” the older Watcher admitted, and then turned slitted eyes toward his colleague. “Why did Hornbrook show up in the first place?”

Colin cleared his throat. “Miss Summers’ description of the body gave me cause to worry, so I contacted the Council at that time.”

“You said you’d never seen the witch,” Buffy accused, sitting up in her chair.

“And I haven’t!” he argued. “I knew Miss Calvock was elderly, that’s all. I’d been instructed to be on the lookout, should she show up. Outside of organizing the ritual itself, that’s really the only direct order I was given. I wasn’t even supposed to check in with the board more than once a week. Only in the event of an emergency, they said. I have never been privy to any of the specifics. Even now, Mr. Travers didn’t say that Hornbrook was one of us. Just that my suspicions had been confirmed. And, of course, not to tell the Slayer.”

“I wish I hadn’t just let Hornbrook walk away the other day,” Buffy said. “I could’ve beat some of these answers out of him then.” Her eyes narrowed as she recalled their conversation. “You know, he never mentioned speaking to Spike when I saw him.”

“Well, he was bein’ all secretive-like,” Spike commented. “If I was playin’ cloak and dagger, I wouldn’t be sayin’ who I was meeting up with, either.” His blue eyes danced in silent merriment as they locked with the Slayer’s, their own covert relations very much in the front of his mind.

“It’s not that,” she said, breaking away from the cerulean orbs. “He told me he ran into Duncan. Maybe Duncan saw him do something or heard something out of the ordinary.” She glanced at the kitchen door. “Only one way to find out.”

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

Scurrying away from the door, Duncan plunged his hands into the dishwater, desperate for an air of normalcy when she appeared in his kitchen. They couldn’t know he was listening; he couldn’t run the risk of raising suspicions about him, not until he had more answers.

Her face was creased in a wide smile when she poked her head through. “Can we talk to you for a sec?” Buffy asked.

“Of course,” Duncan replied, feigning surprise as he reached for a dishtowel. He followed her through the doorway and stopped just inside the great hall, dark eyes quickly scanning the layout.

“We had a visitor yesterday while we were out,” the Slayer said, staying at his side. “We were hoping you might be able to tell us what he said, what he did, while he was here.”

His confusion was immediate as his brows knitted together. “A visitor?” Duncan repeated. “Yesterday? Are you certain?”

Her smile began to face. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Dr. Hornbrook. He said he ran into you. Old, kinda heavy, really thick accent?”

The cook shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’ve not seen anyone outside of your group here since I arrived.” As she began to turn away, he reached out and lightly grasped her arm to stop her. The charge was immediate, and it was all Duncan could do not to register the delight he felt in the power underneath his grip. He knew Slayers were strong but this…this was unexpected. It almost took his breath away.

“He’s not…dangerous, is he?” he queried when she turned to look at him. His eyes searched hers. “Is there reason for me to be concerned?”

She didn’t extract her arm right away, just stood there looking at him. “We don’t know,” she finally admitted and smiled softly as she edged away. “If we find out, we’ll make sure to tell you.”

With a nod of agreement, Duncan turned on his heel and retreated back into the kitchen, closing the door firmly behind him. There were enough secrets being bandied about Dall Rath; he hated the fact that this was one that had taken him completely by surprise.

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

Spike’s nostrils flared as he watched Buffy return to her seat, his eyes darting from her to the closed door while images of a dismembered Duncan stretched out before him danced across his brain. The pillock had actually touched her, innocently she would most likely argue, but she hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t disentangled herself for a full minute. Harris was right when it came to the cook, and the sooner they were rid of the place, the happier Spike was going to be.

“So Hornbrook was lying, but we still don’t know why your bosses are interested in me gettin’ this harness for them,” the vampire said, garnering their attention as they shifted in their chairs to look at him. Back to business. Get her mind focused on the problem at hand. “Or why they’d be willin’ to bargain against my chip to get it.”

“I don’t know,” Colin confessed. “Until you and Buffy said so, I didn’t even know it existed.”

“But they want it.” She was standing again, back in control of the meeting as she rose to her feet, and Buffy flicked her gaze over her friends. “And we have to find out why, because if that’s the price they’re willing to pay, their reasons can’t be good.”

“That means research,” chimed in Giles. “Lots of it. We have to figure what the harness does, as well as find out why the ritual didn’t work last night.”

“But I thought we knew about the harness already,” Willow argued. “You know, the controlling the kelpies thing.”

The Watcher shook his head. “We can’t be certain of that,” he said. “Although that’s certainly a possibility, the clarion nature of this particular item doesn’t seem to match what we’ve discovered regarding kelpie mythology. I’d like to have a more definitive answer.”

“You guys can stay here and make with the books,” said Buffy. “I’m going to go out and do some more scouting around, see if I can find anything that Giles and Colin might’ve missed yesterday.” When her eyes settled on the younger Watcher again, they were cool, but not unfriendly. “So, game’s all tied up now, Col,” she said. “Only question I’ve got now is…whose team are you going to play for?”

He seemed almost startled by the query, and straightened in his chair. “I…thought I’d made that obvious,” he stammered. “I’m on your team, Miss Summers. I don’t appreciate being made a fool of.” That wasn’t the only reason, of course, but she didn’t need to know the fact that he was scared to death of her was far more compelling than any sense of revenge.

“Good.” She smiled, and for the first time since meeting her, Colin felt an ease begin to settle into his stomach. “And you’ve gotta stop with the Miss Summers crap. We’re on the same side here. It’s Buffy.”

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

So much information.

Though his head swam with the tidbits that had heretofore been denied him, the only outward sign of Duncan’s perplexity was the gleam in his dark eyes as he wiped distractedly at the soup bowls in the sink. First important fact. The spell had failed, and the group had every intention of trying the closing ritual again. The wide camber of his smile was irrepressible. He knew there was a reason he’d responded to the Americans so strongly, especially that Slayer. Practical girl. He liked that.

Second important fact. They knew about the harness. His smile faded. All right, they didn’t know specifics, but they were prepared to research for as long as necessary to find the answers they were seeking. It would only be a matter of time. He would have to keep that under consideration.

Third important fact. The Englishman’s organization didn’t trust him and had employed another party to secretly enlist the aid of the vampire. Duncan didn’t understand what the nature of this chip was they kept referring to, but obviously it held some bartering power if they thought they could control the demon with it. What was even more confusing was why Spike had given over this supposedly private information to the Slayer so easily. Slayers and vampires…not normally colleagues and yet there was a bond between these two that he wasn’t sure the others saw. It was inexplicable, and though it worked in his favor now, Duncan knew that it would bear watching; the inexplicable had a way of turning when one least expected it.

He didn’t like the fact that there was another party in the mix, especially one so eager to retrieve what clearly did not belong to him. This was his immediate problem, and like all of the others, must be addressed. What did they say his name was? Absently, he placed the bowl on the drying rack and wiped his hands on the nearby towel. It was a male, which was a shame. A female would’ve been so much easier and more pleasant with which to deal. As he slid the knife into the drawer, wracking his memory as it replayed the conversations he’d heard, it came to him.

Hornbrook. That was the name. That was all he needed.

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

Sapphire eyes glittered as they peered through his lashes at the retreating light in the window. Another soddin’ hour until sunset. Why in hell was this afternoon going by so fuckin’ slow?

Actually, he knew the answer to that, and glanced down at the paper tucked inside the book on his lap, the heavy scrawls and crossed-out words staring back at him in mockery. He’d told them it was for taking notes, in the event he ran across something in the text that was pertinent to the ritual, ignoring the frown from Rupert even as he’d snatched it from his hand. Spike didn’t care if they didn’t believe him. He was here, wasn’t he? Helping them in their bloody research when he’d much rather be out helping Buffy, the fact that it was physically impossible for him to currently do that notwithstanding. Oh, but no. And when she had chimed in to support the Watchers’ argument, Spike had known he’d lost.

“You know Gaelic,” she’d said. “That’s a huge asset right now. We need you here.”

It hadn’t been her words. It had been the silent plea in those gorgeous Slayer eyes, asking him for the help she knew he could provide. He knew he should’ve just looked away, but she’d fixed on him, and all of a sudden, everything else had seemed inconsequential, the sea of her gaze drawing him in, immersing him in green and blue, until the resolve melted away.

He’d followed her out into the hall, pretending to be furious at being left behind, even going so far as to slam the door shut behind them. Once it was just the pair of them, though, all tension evaporated from his muscles, and Spike reached up to push a strand of hair away from her cheek.

“Not that I have to tell you to be careful,” he’d started, and she’d shaken her head with a wry smile.

“You’re getting to be as bad as Giles,” Buffy’d chastised lightly. “I’m just doing some recon while we’ve got light left. You and I’ll go out tonight and do some serious searching for that kelpie then.”

“Red says there’s supposed to be something up with the moon tonight,” he’d drawled, eyes dark as they drank in the delicate arch of her face. “Maybe it won’t have to be all work.”

She had left then, tossing him a promising smile over her shoulder as she walked away, and Spike had watched until she’d disappeared before returning to the great hall. She wanted answers? He’d get them for her.

The book they’d given him to read was not only useless, but boring as hell, and after twenty minutes of flipping through its pages, Spike had realized this was not how he wanted to be spending his afternoon. Red and Rupes would probably trump him and find the answers first anyway. And it wasn’t as if the vamp was known for using his brain as it was. But maybe he could still put this time to some use after all. Grand romantic gesture, Harris had said. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. Who knew the boy had it in him?

If he’d been back in Sunnydale, it would’ve been easier. He would’ve had more options. A fancy weapon, maybe. Or some good tips about the vamp population. Or there was that specialty chocolate shop near the Bronze. She liked chocolate. He knew that.

But here in Scotland…in the middle of bleedin’ nowhere…unable to even get out of the friggin’ castle during a time of day when a shop might be open…his choices were much more limited, and the only thing that Spike could come up with was something he hadn’t considered doing in decades. That was why he’d requested the paper and pen. He’d just write the Slayer a poem.

Except he’d forgotten how hard it was sometimes to find the right words, how elusive they could remain even when the images swam before his eyes, begging to be captured in fragile light, dancing away just as he’d reach, teasing and flirting and frustrating until it took all his self-restraint not to snap the biro in his fingers in half, to feel the ink seep through his fingers as it taunted him with his own impotence. Even now, the words and phrases he had managed to catch seemed insufficient, and he began to regret beginning the exercise in the first place. Not that a poem wasn’t still a decent shot here in the Highlands…just not one written in his own hand.

When the door opened to reveal Anya, Spike was grateful for the distraction, resting the book in his lap as she stepped just inside the entrance. “Xander needs to take a bath,” she announced.

“How’s his foot?” asked Willow.

“Better. We’re past the passing out phase when he tries to walk, and moved on to the minimal shrieking,” Anya replied. “Hence, the bath.”

Tara frowned. “Does he want the bath to make his foot feel better?” she queried. “Because the magic should take care of that.”

“No, I want him to have the bath because he still smells like a sheep,” the ex-demon explained. “I just came down to ask Duncan---.”

Spike snapped his book shut, marking his page with the paper, and jumped to his feet. “I’ll do it,” he announced, and dropped the text to his seat. At the puzzled gazes of the others, he bridled. “Need to stretch the legs.”

He was out of the room like a shot, the gang returning to their reading as Anya waited, but had returned within seconds, standing just inside the kitchen door. “Where’d he go?” he asked, his face darkened in a frown.

“Who?”

“You call yourself Watchers?” His amazement was plain as he jerked his head back toward the kitchen. “The bloody Iron Chef. He’s not in there.”

There was a mix of head-shaking and shrugs before Giles offered, “He’s probably just slipped out while we were all occupied. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

“Does this mean Xander doesn’t get a bath?”

“I’ll get you your water,” Spike volunteered. Anything to get away from the bloody books and words for a bit.

When the vampire had left with the first round of full buckets, Willow rose from her chair and crossed to the corner, picking up the book Spike had discarded and flipping it open to see what he’d been working on. He’d been furiously writing for the past two hours and yet remained silent; she was eager to see what he might have discovered about the ritual. Maybe there was something they could use…

Almost immediately, her green eyes widened, skipping over the phrases, a flush rising to her pale cheeks. Oh my. Not something they could use. And she was really glad that she’d been semi-prepared by Buffy earlier that day in the market, because if she’d seen this without…

“Anything interesting?”

Snapping the book shut, Willow whirled to face Giles, hugging the text to her chest. “No,” she replied, her voice a squeak in the great room, and she consciously lowered it as she repeated, “No. Just…randomness, and…doodles. Lots of doodles. Fangs and…dripping knives and…blood. Lots of blood. Nothing interesting here.”

“Really?” the Watcher pressed, and moved to remove the book from her hands, only to lift his brows in surprise when she hopped back, out of his reach. “He seemed quite intent. You’re certain there’s nothing---.”

“Absolutely, one hundred percent certain,” Willow affirmed. “Wrong track. Totally.” Brushing past him, she scurried over to the table, setting the book down at her side, well within reach should someone try grabbing it again but far enough away so that if Spike came in, he wouldn’t freak out about someone reading his stuff. Her heart thumped in her chest. No way did Buffy know about any of this, or she would’ve said something in the market. Which meant that Spike himself hadn’t told her yet. Oh god. And now Willow knew. But Buffy didn’t. Not good.

Sparkage between Buffy and Spike was one thing.

Spike being in love with Buffy was something else entirely.

The point of her chin rested on the back of her hands, boring into the flesh as she stared at the book on the table in front of her. She was supposed to be reading, but her brain was refusing to cooperate, focusing not on the text before her but instead conjuring up memories of disconnected phrases that announced Spike’s feelings for Buffy louder than anything Willow had ever before witnessed from the vampire.

…gilt limbs beckoning in lambent sway…

…climbing, clambering, clawing to merit basking within the verge…

…my aurora of the night…

He didn’t know she’d seen it. When he’d returned from filling Xander’s tub, Willow had ignored the book’s presence on the table, watching out of the corner of her eye as Spike noticed its displacement, hesitating to pick it up, finally relenting as he tucked it into his hand before ambling back to his corner seat. Not one word had been said. It was just as well. She wasn’t sure she was capable of a coherent thought after reading the poem’s fragments anyway.

When Buffy had come back from her search outside, Willow’s distraction had worsened, watching the pair as they so studiously ignored the other. Once she looked for it, the signs seemed so obvious, especially from Spike, and the young witch found herself wondering how long the vampire would be able to hold off on letting Buffy know the depth of his feelings for her. He loved her, that much was certain; his every movement broadcasted it if someone took the bother to pay attention. His eyes were constantly following the blonde, not always straight-on, sometimes only out of the corner or covertly through his lashes, but always there, as if by letting her disappear from his sight she would somehow disappear altogether. It was even in his body---sitting, standing, didn’t make a difference---his muscles responding to each movement from the Slayer as if they were both dancing to some silent tune only the two of them could hear.

While there was no mistaking the veracity of Spike’s feelings, the most disconcerting aspect of watching her best friend that night lay in Willow’s growing dread that the vampire’s feelings might not necessarily be unreciprocated. Buffy had talked about a spark, but if the redhead was pressed, she would’ve called it a forest fire that surged between the pair, blazing in flames so high that it was a miracle the others didn’t see it as well. If the Slayer didn’t love Spike now, she wasn’t far off. And Willow was afraid that if she found out for herself what was going on inside her heart, Buffy was going to wig. Big time.

They were out on patrol together right now, leaving the others to continue with the research in the great hall, and the young redhead wondered if Spike was planning on giving her the poem while they were out. After dinner, Willow had watched as he’d slid it out of his book and tucked it into his pocket, unaware that anyone knew what he was doing. She’d caught the whistle under his breath as he’d sauntered past, and ever since, had been stuck on the what-ifs and ohmigods tumbling about her head.

“Are you ready to go to bed?”

Tara’s voice was a gentle murmur in her ear, and Willow smiled as she shifted the weight on her hands to look at her lover. “What gives you that idea?” she asked quietly.

“Because you haven’t turned a page in half an hour,” came the amused reply. “That’s usually a pretty good sign that no reading is actually getting done.”

Willow glanced at the two Englishmen who still sat in rapt leisure at the end of the table. “Giles?” she prompted, waiting for him to look up before speaking further. “I’m beat. Is it OK if we go up now if we promise to be up extra early?”

“Of course,” he assured. “It’s been a busy day for us all. No reason to wear ourselves down unnecessarily, since we can’t attempt the ritual again for a few days anyway.”

“Are you staying over again?” she asked as she stood. “Are we going to see you at breakfast?”

Giles glanced at Colin before speaking. “Yes,” he replied. “Though probably only for tonight. I’ll most likely resume sleeping at the B&B tomorrow.”

Closing the book she’d been reading, Tara rose to her feet, cradling the tome in her arm as she waited for Willow to join her. “I’m not too tired yet,” she explained to the Watchers. “I’ll finish this upstairs.”

The two girls strolled from the great hall, hand in hand. It wasn’t until they were almost near the stairwell that the redhead spoke up. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you,” she said quietly. “But you’ve got to promise not to say a word about it to anyone.”

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

They stood at the crest of the hill, gazing down at the deserted valley below. If it wasn’t for the constant presence of Spike at her side, Buffy would’ve said it was the dullest patrol she’d ever had in her five-plus years as a Slayer. Just like it had been that afternoon, not one thing looked out of place in the silent Highland countryside; not one creature had poked its head out to announce its presence. It was very much as if they had stepped back in time, to an era where they were the only two living things on the planet. Well, she thought ruefully, one living and one unliving, that is.

There had been few words spoken since they’d left Dall Rath, but the silence was far from uncomfortable. Instead, it was as if they didn’t need to speak, treading through the heather as their eyes scanned the earth for untoward signs of demon activity, with only the occasional comment made between them. Buffy had never known Spike to be so quiet---the vamp always seemed to have something to say---and she was dying to ask what was so obviously on his mind. But fear of shattering the still accord that had bound them as they stepped through the moonlight checked her tongue, and she found herself making only the idle remark as the hours passed.

“I’m pretty sure we’re not going to find anything,” she said, glancing up at his immobile face as he looked down into the dale. “We should probably head back so we can get a good night’s sleep and start fresh in the morning.”

“You in a hurry?” he queried softly, not meeting her eyes, instead lifting his own to stare up at the stars glimmering in the velvet carpet of the sky. “Nice night. Seems a shame to waste it.”

Watching the light reflect off his pale skin sent shivers down Buffy’s spine, and she found herself reaching up to trace the shadow of his cheekbone, fingers slightly trembling as the angles curved beneath her touch. The act took him by surprise, and Spike responded by turning into her touch, gazing with fathomless eyes at the softness of her mouth before sliding up to meet the silent wonder in her own aspect. They held like that for a long moment, each caught in the marvel of the other, before she smiled and slowly lowered her hand.

“Not like I’ve got a curfew or anything,” she joked. “I should probably take advantage of being reasonably responsibility-free while I can.”

Sliding his duster from his shoulders, Spike laid the leather out on the cold ground before settling himself down on its edge, automatically reaching up to offer her a hand in joining him. It was a curious gesture, more gallant than she would’ve expected from the vampire, but Buffy took it, storing it away in the growing file of previously unknown Spike facts that she was keeping in the back of her head. Pretty soon, she realized, she was just going to have to toss the whole thing away; with every passing day, he was destroying all her pre-conceived notions as to what to expect from his behavior. In a very much good way.

“I picked up some clothes for you today,” she said as she nestled into the curve of his shoulder, plucking at the cotton of the long-sleeved shirt he wore before smoothing it over the plane of his abdomen. “I’ve decided it’s time you experimented with color.”

“Thought I told you to get me black.”

“And one of them is black,” she countered. “It’s just the other two…aren’t.” She felt his head shake slightly, his chin brushing across the top of her head. “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t like them. I just thought, you know…we’re in this whole trying new things out phase…but you don’t have to. I’ll understand.”

She heard him sigh, and wondered why he did that, made all those little noises and did all those little quirks that made him seem so much more human than other vampires. She was sure he didn’t even realize he did it; it was as much a part of who he was as the bleach job or the black nail polish. The question of whether or not she should bring it to his attention lingered somewhere in the depths of her mind, but Buffy knew already what its answer was. No. It would probably make him self-conscious about it, and the last thing she wanted to do was make Spike uncomfortable around her, wondering if she was measuring every little thing he did or weighing every little word. Even if sometimes she was.

Though his arm curled gently around her back, there was a tension in the vampire’s muscles that had been present throughout most of the evening, his body a tightly coiled spring just waiting for the trigger to set it free. At first, Buffy had attributed it to patrol, but now, with the absence of any danger, lying here with her in the heather, it seemed misplaced, and she bit her lip, debating if she should bring it up. Not like she herself wasn’t a little wound up, but at least she understood where that was coming from. Was it possible Spike was having doubts about everything? No, she immediately thought. That’s silly. He’s the one who suggested we stay out here, and he’s the one who’d said he’d wait as long as necessary for her. He’s also the one who turned down your offer for sex last night, a little voice said in the back of her head, and she felt her pulse began to accelerate as the first niggles began to press into her confidence.

“Not too cold, are you?” His voice was low, his words almost inaudible, a shade of worry darkening his tone. “If this is too much for you, we can go back.”

“No,” Buffy replied, and snaked her hand across his chest to snuggle it under his arm, giving him a little squeeze as she did so. “Unless you do.”

“No,” he repeated, and tightened his own grip around her.

They were engulfed in silence, and though there was nothing strained or uncomfortable about it, after several minutes, Buffy began to wonder just what was going on, why he’d suggested they linger on the mountain when they could just as easily be cuddling like this in the warmth of their tiny bed. She was about to open her mouth to make that suggestion when she felt his muscles tense beneath her cheek, as if steeling himself to speak.

“’She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies,’” Spike murmured, each word dripping in honey as he stared up into the void above them. “’And all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes.’”

She sat up, hazel eyes wide in delighted surprise. “Okaaaay…” she said, and felt her mouth curl into an unexpected smile. “What was what? Is that poetry?”

He stole a glance at her before returning his gaze above him. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice suddenly rough. So much for romantic gestures, he thought, furious with his own failing. Work up to this all bloody night, and as soon as the words come out of my mouth, she bolts. “Don’t look so shocked, Slayer. Not like I just pulled a knife on you or something. Just…got caught in the mood, is all.” Lay still, he reminded himself. Don’t get up and run or she’s goin’ to know for sure that this bugs the hell out of you.

She saw his fingers begin clawing into the heather at his side, the muscles twitch in his jaw as he clenched in some unseen determination. “I didn’t know you knew poetry,” Buffy said, deliberately softening her tone. “It…caught me off-guard.”

“Why? Because it means I like to read?” Spike’s lashes were dark against his cheeks as he closed his eyes, desperate to block out the assumed scorn he envisioned on her face. “Eternity lasts a bloody long time, pet. Can’t spend all of it fighting and killing.” Should’ve just kept my mouth shut, he raged. Gone back to the room and forgotten about the whole thing. Even better I didn’t try dragging out the rubbish I wrote. She’d be laughing until next Tuesday, then.

“You know,” and her voice was a husky caress across his skin, “I once pretended to know all about Emily Dickinson just to get this guy in high school to notice me. Our date ended up at a funeral home.”

He opened his eyes, unable any longer to fight the desire to see her face, and met the appreciative awe shadowed in her smile. It wasn’t disgust or disdain, and it wasn’t anger, and so maybe her first response had been one of shock, but hadn’t he spent the last three years cultivating the Big Bad image for her and her friends? What else could he have expected?

Spike’s muscles relaxed, teeth parting from the grind in which he’d been holding them. “Dickinson’s not too bad,” he admitted, adding with a wry smile, “For an American.”

Buffy’s brows lifted, and she folded her arms across her chest in mock-defense. “And I suppose you could come up with better?” she dared.

He shrugged. “Just like what I like,” he said noncommittally, rolling onto his side to face her. “You want American? I can do that.” His eyes glittered in the moonlight as he recited, his voice dripping down her spine.

“And I would be the moon

spoken over your beckoning flesh

breaking against reservations

beaching thought

my hands at your high tide

over and under inside you

and the passing of hungers attended, forgotten.”

An innocent bystander wouldn’t have known where one ended and the other began. Legs wrapped around legs…arms curled around waists…hands clinging lightly to stretches of skin, both porcelain and gold…It wasn’t a matter of only having such a narrow space to sleep in. It was a matter of needing to hold on…him to her…her to him…because nothing else in the world existed. Not to them. Not at that moment in time. Or the next. Or even the next after that.

Words hadn’t been necessary when they’d returned to their room. They’d changed their clothes---no reason for screens anymore---each watching the other in mute admiration before Buffy took his hand and pulled him onto the bed, nestling her curves into the lines of his body even as she ran her lips across his cheek to meet his mouth, sucking at its fullness before releasing him with a heavy sigh.

“G’night,” she’d murmured, closing her eyes as she nuzzled his neck. He almost didn’t catch the next as her mouth was buried in his skin. “And thank you…”

No, Spike thought, inhaling her fresh clean scent, smiling softly as his own lids fluttered shut. Thank you…

And they both drifted off to sleep.

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

“Y’know,” she said, “the more I think about it, the more I’m thinking maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Tara grabbed Willow’s arm as she moved to brush past her, pushing her gently back toward the closed door before them. “It’s a good idea. Relax.”

The redhead stared at the heavy wood, her arms locked at her sides. “What if Buffy answers the door?” she asked, her voice almost a squeak.

“Then we say we’re just here to get them for breakfast.” She slipped a reassuring arm around her girlfriend’s waist. “It’s OK. He won’t bite.”

The sound that came out of Willow’s throat was a cross somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Fat lot you know,” she said. “You’ve never been one of Spike’s almost-entrees.” She took a deep breath and pursed her lips. “Better to just get this over with,” she muttered, and lifting her hand, rapped quietly at the door.

When the door opened, it was just a crack, revealing a scowling, rumpled Spike, and the witch’s eyes widened at the sight of the blond vampire. Oh my, she thought. More Spike semi-undress-ness. This was just getting way too familiar, even if it was…oh my.

No shirt again for Spike. This time, his articulated chest gleamed from the flickering candlelight behind him, each muscle whittled in precision, stretching down his taut abdomen to disappear in chiseled lines inside the black sweats Buffy had bought for him yesterday in the market.

“He sleeps in his jeans,” she’d said then. “These have got to be more comfortable.”

Looking at him now, seeing the way the thick cotton hung low on his hips, the ties in the elasticated waistband that seemed to only draw attention to the very unmistakable bulge between his legs, Willow wondered just for whom the Slayer had really bought the sweats. He may be comfy, but she was willing to bet that Buffy was enjoying them almost as much, if only for the show his hips were now providing.

“What bloody time is it?” Spike growled, blinking as his long fingers ran through his already-mussed hair.

“Is Buffy up?” Willow asked brightly, trying to sneak a look over his shoulder to see where exactly her friend was sleeping. OK, so she had admitted to the pair of them sharing the bed, but for some reason, probably something akin to being compelled to rubberneck when passing an accident, the redhead just had to see it for herself.

The vamp followed her example, glancing back before closing the door further, using his body to block out the vista of the room behind him. “No, not yet,” he replied, his voice hardening. “We didn’t get in until after three. She’s gettin’ some well-deserved shuteye.” His blue gaze flicked between the pair. “Tell Rupes she’ll grab some food later. Right now she needs to sleep.”

As he started to close the door, Willow’s hand shot out to catch it, stopping the movement. “Actually,” she said, lowering her tone, “we were kinda hoping that we could maybe…um, you know…talk to…you.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, the muscles tightening across his cheeks as he regarded the two witches. “Why?” he asked hesitantly. “Something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Willow was quick to say. “We just…want to…chat.”

The query left his face, replaced with a calm annoyance. “Then it can wait,” he replied, and started shutting the door yet again.

“No!” shot Tara, biting her lip at her own boldness. “Something is wrong.” When her girlfriend’s head whipped around to stare wide-eyed at her, her shoulders lifted in an almost invisible shrug before she added, “With Buffy.”

That forced him to hesitate, the frown returning to the vamp’s face, while he stole a glance back at the sleeping Slayer. “Hang on,” he said abruptly and shut the door in their faces before they could stop him.

“What are you doing?” Willow hissed. “Now he’s going to be cranky. This is going to go a lot smoother if we have a crank-less Spike.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get him all cranked,” Tara said. “But he wasn’t going to come out. Don’t you want to get this over with?”

“Yes, but---.”

The re-emergence of the vampire through the door slapped wide, phony smiles on both girls’ faces, and they stepped backward, allowing him room to slip into the hallway, watching as he finished pulling the t-shirt over his head and shutting the door.

“OK, what is it?” Spike asked, turning to face them. “Did the Watchers find something?”

Willow blushed. “All right, um…you know, that’s really a funny story. See, Tara was kind of…um…not telling you the truth.”

He folded his arms across his chest, lowering his head to stare at them through hooded eyes. “’Bout what?”

“There’s actually…nothing wrong…” Her words trailed away as Spike snorted and rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned to go back into the bedroom.

“Find a different game to play, ladies,” he said without looking around. “I’m goin’ back to sleep.”

His hand was on the doorknob when she blurted it out. “I read the poem.” The muscles so evident through his shirt went rigid, and she felt her flush deepen as the blond head slowly turned to stare back at them. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, and rushed forward. “And Buffy told me about the sleeping arrangements. That’s, kind of, what I wanted to…talk…” Her resolve faded as Spike, head still tilted, swiveled back around to face them, his blue eyes glittering as they locked on the redhead.

“Not nice to snoop,” he drawled, his voice dangerously low.

“It wasn’t snooping,” Willow defended. “I thought they were ritual notes. I wasn’t expecting…that.”

“So what’s this all about then?” Though his face remained calm, Spike’s insides were seething, anger and humiliation and frustration boiling into a gloopy mess under his skin. “Shouldn’t Rupes be here if you’re goin’ to tell me to leave Buffy alone?”

“That’s not why I’m---why we’re---here.” Willow grabbed Tara’s arm and dragged her forward so that they stood side by side in front of the vampire. Somehow, holding her girlfriend made her feel stronger, and she squared her shoulders, lifting her chin as she posed the next question. “When exactly do you plan on telling Buffy that you’re in love with her?”

He should’ve seen it coming. Red had always been the brightest bulb in the box, probably why he’d always liked her, and seeing as how she’d already admitted to reading the poem, Spike should’ve known that the young witch had found him out. Still…hearing the words actually said out loud, in a voice that didn’t belong to him, hit the vampire with a sledge in his gut. “Didn’t know I had to a schedule to stick to,” he finally said. “Or is that just a nice way of tellin’ me not to do it…?”

“No, no schedule, no nice,” Willow assured. “Just…curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Red.”

“I’m not a cat.”

His eyes narrowed. “How come you’re not here tellin’ me how you’ll rip my heart out if I even look at the Slayer the wrong way?” he quizzed. “And how come Buffy’s talkin’ to you about our sleeping arrangements?”

“Can I take the second question first?”

He shrugged. “Take whatever you want. Wasn’t really expecting you to answer me anyway.”

Inwardly, she flinched. Darn it. She stepped right into that one. “Buffy only told me because I asked her to,” she explained. “Because I saw…you…in the bed, and then there was the whole Gone-with-the-Wind, sweeping her into your arms thing after the ritual, and then when she wanted to buy flowers in town and they were roses no less, I just couldn’t take it anymore and I asked her what was going on, and that’s when she told me about the smoochies between you two.”

When he’d first heard about Buffy’s confession to her friend, Spike’s anger had jumped, wondering why she had bothered to leave out that little nugget of information when they were out patrolling the previous night. Knowing someone else was in the know about them was definitely good information to have, especially since it seemed to lead to surprise confrontations when he was only half-awake to defend himself. But now, hearing that she was actually sharing more, that she’d admitted to more than a convenient sleeping arrangement…

His head tilted, his face softening as he took a step toward the witches. “What exactly did she say?” he asked, the curious surprise lending him the air of a besotted teenager.

The sudden shift took Willow by surprise, and her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. “Just that…you two had…cuddled and…stuff. And talked. She definitely mentioned talking. Oh, and the spark thing.” She laughed. “Kinda hard to forget that one when someone starts tossing out words like ‘serious voltage.’” The pleased smile that creased his face wiped her own from her face, and the young witch realized that maybe that last was probably a girlfriend detail that should’ve just stayed between girlfriends. Double darn. Change the subject, change the subject.

“So, you’re really in love with her then?” she asked, and watched as the blue eyes fixed on some memory only visible to him, that mouth that was so often twisted in contempt for the Scoobies softening.

“Yeah, looks like,” he let slip, and then, as if realizing for the first time who he was talking to, Spike straightened. “But that doesn’t go anywhere but here,” he warned, trying for menacing but somehow falling short, the hidden plea in his words all too obvious to the two witches.

She shook her head. “Whatever you say,” Willow replied. “But…if you’re interested in secrecy and everything, you might want to consider, maybe, not doing the puppy dog thing when she’s around. That tends to be a dead giveaway and Buffy’s probably going to start catching on to that.”

“Oh. Right.” He took the advice in stride, nodding along as if what she said made the most sense in the world.

“Oh, and the poem?” she added. “Nice touch, but a little on the intense side. Buffy might freak if she sees it. Plus, she doesn’t really get poetry most of the time, although there was this one time, in high school, where she got all into Emily Dickinson---.”

Spike smiled, remembering the Slayer’s words. “Yeah, heard about that one,” he said. He tilted his head, gazing at her quizzically. “Why’re you helping me here? Not that it’s not appreciated, but Buffy seemed to be of the opinion me and her startin’ something up wouldn’t exactly be putting me at the top of your guest lists for dinner.”

She’d been asking herself the same question, because this little confrontation wasn’t happening at all like she’d scripted it in her head. “Are you going to hurt her?” Willow asked.

He seemed shocked by the question. “No, wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And there’s no secret plan to try and turn her, or something like that?”

“As tempting as that sounds…no. I like her fine just the way she is.”

“And this isn’t all some insidious plot just to mess with her head, or try and destroy the world again, or some other sinister act of vamp evil?”

This time he laughed out loud. “Uh, no.”

Willow shrugged. “So why shouldn’t I…?” Her voice trailed off as the door behind him opened, and Buffy squinted into the morning light.

“What’s going on out here?” the Slayer asked, waking quickly as she saw her friends facing off with Spike. When he turned toward her, stepping forward to join her in the entrance, her hazel eyes widened, darting between the three, and she quickly edged herself against the doorframe, as far away from the vampire as she could manage, trying desperately to look nonchalant.

“It’s OK, Buffy,” Willow said. “I told Tara.”

“Oh.” The blonde visibly relaxed, and immediately stepped within the circle of Spike’s personal space, her thin hand reaching down to hook a single finger around his thumb. “That’s good then.”

“Red came up to make sure we didn’t sleep through breakfast,” Spike said, effortlessly covering the content of their conversation with that single lie. “I was just tellin’ them to bugger off so that you could rest some more.”

Buffy turned to her friend. “I don’t suppose you know what’s on Colin’s schedule today, do you?” she asked.

“Research. For all of us. Oh, and he and Giles need to go into town for something. They didn’t say what.”

The Slayer grimaced. “Look, Will, I hate to ask this, but would you mind running interference for me and Spike? I’m really not that hungry and right now I just want to go back to sleep. Not that sitting and staring at smelly old books for the rest of the day wouldn’t do that for me, but I kind of prefer my bed.”

“If Rupes gives you hell for it, just remind him we’re on the graveyard shift here,” Spike offered. “He wants us at peak performance, he’s gotta let us sleep once in a while.”

“Sure. No prob…lem…” The word disappeared into silence as Willow watched the pair disappear into the bedroom, closing the door behind them without even a glance back.

“What just happened here?” Tara queried softly. “I thought we had a grand plan.”

“I don’t know,” the redhead admitted, her gaze thoughtful. “Somehow, I almost think…that was the grand plan.”

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

At Buffy’s request, he’d gone downstairs first. They had actually woken up at almost the same time, stretching against the muscles of the other, neither speaking as they sat up to face what remained of the day. There really wasn’t any need to. The measure of their rest said everything they could’ve. Or would’ve.

So, he was sprawled in his corner chair, a book propped up against his knee, doing his best not to be bored out of his mind, when she came bouncing in, her face creased into a smile even before she’d crossed the threshold of the great hall.

“Good morning!” Buffy chirped. “How’s the research coming?”

“It’s good afternoon,” Xander replied, “and it sucks.”

She stopped, looking around the group. “Where’s Giles?” she asked. “And Colin?”

“Not back from town yet,” answered Willow.

“And you really haven’t found anything useful yet?”

“Nope,” came from Anya. “Watcher resources are severely lacking.” She picked up books scattered across the table as she spoke, only to drop them almost immediately with a heavy thud. “This one talks about the Loch Ness monster. This one says kelpies are a myth. This one claims we’re actually in the Otherworld now and everything else is just a dream. And this one, well, this one is in a language I don’t recognize. I have no idea what this one says.”

Sitting down in one of the vacant chairs, Buffy’s eyes scanned the texts thoughtfully. “Maybe our answers aren’t in the books,” she mused. “I mean, this thing’s local, right? Maybe there’s some legend special to this area. Has anybody talked to Duncan yet? He said he was big on the whole lore thing, didn’t he?”

The guilty looks that passed around the tables spoke volumes, and Spike had to refrain from chuckling out loud. Sometimes, the Scoobies could be really thick. Leave it to Buffy to state the obvious.

“I’ll…go get him,” Willow said, and rising from her chair, disappeared into the kitchen.

“How’s the gout, Xan?” the Slayer asked as they waited.

“Gone. Thank god. And I vote next time someone has to get a funny disease, it’s Spike.”

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” the vamp snorted. “After all the pokin’ I had to put up with. Least you could do is pretend to be thankful.”

The bickering was cut off before it could begin when the kitchen door swung open again, and a bemused Duncan followed Willow back into the great hall. His gaze immediately fell upon the Slayer, and he smiled as he steered himself to the chair next to her. “You really should’ve said something sooner about what you’re studying,” he said as he settled himself. “I was serious in my original offer. I’m more than willing to help in any way you need.”

As Buffy ducked her head in embarrassment, Spike’s eyes narrowed as he caught the lean of the cook’s body, angled just enough so that his knee was pressed into hers. She wasn’t even aware of it, or, if she was, she didn’t seem to mind, and the good mood that had been warming the vampire’s system slowly began to fade.

“Well, we didn’t want to look foolish,” Buffy said lightly. “Plus, we’re a little used to being the authority on these kinds of things. It’s kind of our specialty.”

Duncan laughed. “A group of beautiful girls being experts on monsters?” he kidded, his gaze sweeping over the other females at the table. “Now that I find difficult to believe.”

“Not just girls in the bunch, mate,” Spike said, rising to his feet and crossing to the end of the table. He glanced over at Xander, and saw that the young man was looking just as flustered as the vamp was feeling, although, as his eyes darted between the girls, he realized that each and every one of them was focused on Duncan as if he were the only other person in the room. What was it about this guy? Spike wondered. He just didn’t get it.

It was as if he hadn’t even spoken out loud. “So what do you know about kelpies?” Buffy asked, focused on the man at her side. “Other than, you know, big horses luring you to a watery death.”

Duncan laughed. “Horses are only one of their forms,” he explained. “And luring is relative. Have you read how to control them?”

“A harness, right?”

The cook’s pleased surprise at her knowledge was accompanied by a quirk of his lips that immediately set off warnings in Spike’s head. Too good to be true, he thought, glancing quickly at the others. The wanker’s got this down to a science.

“It’s quite sad, actually,” Duncan was saying. “To think that these beasts probably wandered into our world, unsuspectingly, only to find man trying to tether them in order to do their work. It’s really no wonder they grow feral in certain cases.” He smiled. “But that’s my personal bias shining through, I suppose. I’ve never been a grand proponent of tethering creatures so that it prevents them from living as nature intended. Cruel and unusual punishment, I rather think.”

Spike caught the slight tinge in Buffy’s cheek as her eyes jumped to the vampire before hastily returning to the man at her side. Well, that one hit a little too close to home, he thought dryly. So the bloke’s got one redeeming feature after all.

That momentary acceptance was shot out of the water when Duncan reached forward and lightly grasped the Slayer’s hand, turning it over to expose her palm. “Think of it this way,” the cook said as he stretched his hand out underneath hers, just barely supporting it. “You’re a strong and free-spirited creature, just going through your life, when suddenly---.” And before anyone could blink, the Slayer’s hand was trapped within Duncan’s. “---you’re caught, unable to move, unable to do for yourself.” He began moving his hand, forcing her arm to follow in each direction as he lifted, dropped, and then lifted again. “Obligated to do what you’re told, when you’re told, with absolutely no say in the matter.” His release of her hand was just as quick as its capture, and he smiled, his dark eyes dancing. “It’s really no surprise that they sometimes get a little…annoyed with men.”

It took her a moment to respond, sitting transfixed by his words. “I never…thought of it…that way,” she said softly.

“Me neither,” Willow echoed.

When Tara and Anya followed in with their own admiration for the new “perspective,” Xander and Spike’s eyes met, both sets asking the exact same question. What the hell just happened here?

“What about…special harnesses?” Buffy asked. “Is there anything like that in the legends?”

“Like what?”

“Like gold, ringing-type harnesses.”

He seemed to ponder the suggestion for a moment, and then shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar,” he said. “Are you sure it has something to do with the kelpie mythology?”

She nodded. “We---.”

The ringing of her phone in the center of the table interrupted Buffy, and with an apologetic smile to Duncan, she leaned over to pick it up. “Hello?” she said. “Hi, Giles. We were just talking about kelpies. Aren’t you proud of us?” Pause, followed by a quick glance over at the windows, her smile fading as her eyebrows came together. “Really? Well, actually, he’s right here.” She pulled the phone from her ear and handed it toward the cook. “Giles would like to talk to you.”

He looked surprised, but took the phone anyway. “Is there a problem, Mr. Giles?” Almost immediately, his eyes followed the same path Buffy’s had taken to the window, rising slowly to his feet. “Oh. Well, of course. I’ll just tell your friends.”

“What is it?” the Slayer asked, taking back the now-dead phone. Spike almost hissed out loud when he saw the slight caress of Duncan’s finger along the back of her hand.

“Apparently, there’s a rather large storm headed this way,” the cook explained. “Mr. Giles thinks it’s best if I were to head back to town as soon as possible. Otherwise, he thinks I might end up getting caught here overnight.”

“Oh, well, we don’t want that happening,” Xander said, just a little too loudly, his smile just a tad too wide. At the dirty looks shot to him by the females around the table, he bristled. “What? I’m just saying, the inn is pretty full here. Where would he sleep?” He held up a warning finger to Anya as her mouth opened to speak. “And you are not about to say, our room.”

“No, Mr. Giles is right. My Aunt Fiona will be up all night with worry if I don’t go home,” Duncan joked, and began skirting the room as he headed for the main door. “There’s a stew on the stove for your tea. It just needs a good stir every now and again before you’re ready to eat. And if you’d like, you can just leave the dishes until morning. I’ll take care of them then.” He flashed them a smile as he reached the entrance. “I have to admit, I do enjoy a brisk walk in an impending storm. It really makes you feel alive, don’t you think?” He nodded in farewell. “See you in the morning.”

Spike’s eyes were furious as they bore into the door shutting behind the dark cook. There had been definite touching, and holding of hands, and…more touching. Not that the vampire had any rights to be laying a claim…His nostrils flared. Hell, why not? Maybe they weren’t a couple out in the open like he wanted, but that didn’t make what they had any less real. Why couldn’t he lay a claim? His gaze flickered to Harris, who was watching Spike’s reaction with that infuriating I-told-you-so look that for once, he didn’t find annoying. When the younger man gave him a slight nod, Spike smiled, his lips hard, and began strolling to the door.

“Goin’ out for a smoke,” he said to no one in particular. “Be back in a few.”

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

He caught up to him just inside the front door. “Interesting speech,” Spike drawled as he pulled out his cigarettes. Sticking one between his lips, he offered the pack to Duncan, who shook his head in refusal as he buttoned up his coat.

“Aren’t you cold?” the cook asked, glancing from the vampire’s bare arms to the overcast skies outside.

Spike took a deep drag on the cigarette before exhaling slowly into the other man’s face. “Always,” he replied. He flicked his ash onto the floor. “You goin’ to share how you do it?”

“Do what?”

“The thing with the birds.” His lips curled into a vicious smile. “Not that I’m lookin’ for tips, mind you. Just wanna know what the trick is.”

The two men regarded each other for a long moment before Duncan responded. “Just talk to them,” he said. “Nothing special. You should really give it a try.” It was his turn to smile. “Buffy certainly seems to respond to it.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, and he felt the growl rise in the back of his throat. “You’d be smart to stay away from her.” There was no mistaking the dangerous rumble in his voice, or the flash of gold behind his eyes.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“Consider it good advice for stayin’ healthy.”

“Perhaps you should consider it for yourself.” Duncan’s smile never left, but his dark eyes hardened. “She’s really not your…kind, is she? A bit out of your league, I’d imagine.” He didn’t wait for a response, merely turned on his heel and walked through the front door. After only a few steps, though, he hesitated, catching his pace as he half-turned to look back at the blond inside the entrance. “And don’t threaten me again,” he warned. “You really don’t want to cross me.”

Spike sneered, blowing a stream of smoke. “Or what? You’ll ladle me to death?”

“Only if it’s long, wooden, and pointed,” Duncan replied evenly, the smile now gone. Turning on his heel, he began walking leisurely down the drive, his voice floating back to the castle as clearly as if he was standing right on the threshold. “Have a good night with your Slayer, Spike…”

"You should probably start back," Giles said as he squinted into the darkening sky. "That road to the castle might be rather treacherous once the storm starts."

Colin's scowl was uncharacteristically bleak, adding years to his otherwise youthful countenance, and he shoved the scrap paper into his pocket. "I just don't understand why we can't find him," he said. "It's not as if he's attempted to hide his tracks very well. He didn't even bother changing his name at that other B&B."

"It's likely he assumed we'd take him at face value," the older man said. "And supposedly, you're still on the Council's side regarding this issue, remember?" His gaze appraised his colleague coolly. "Travers would be correct in believing you would discourage me or the others from discovering Hornbrook's true identity."

"That still doesn't explain why it's looked like he's dropped off the face of the planet," Colin muttered. "You don't think he's returned to London, do you?"

Giles shook his head. "Doubtful. He's expecting to be conducting this deal with Spike."

"Another detail that boils my blood," the younger Watcher groused. "Why would the Council agree to such a transaction? Letting Spike back out into the populace without benefit of the chip is tantamount to murder."

"I don't know." His voice was thoughtful, his gaze pensive. "That's the one aspect of this I'm having trouble digesting."

"If I were Quentin Travers, I would've tried to figure out a way to get the harness from Spike without actually having to remove his chip," Colin said as he began walking down the path to the car. "That would be the smart thing to do." He was almost to the curb when his colleague's voice stopped him.

"What was that again?" When the younger man repeated his statement, Giles' brow immediately furrowed into a frown, his hands plunging even deeper into his coat pockets as his brain so obviously worked over behind his face. "Wait," he finally said, pivoting on his heel to head back into the B&B.

"Why? What's going on?"

Giles paused at the doorway, half-turning to look back at Colin. "I'm getting my things," he explained. "I'm coming back to Dall Rath with you."

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

She saw him before he saw her. Standing in the doorway…one hand on the jamb as he leaned forward staring at whatever through its opening…the sinew of his arms raised in bas relief even as he held himself away from the fading afternoon light. The coiled grace of his shoulders tugged at the knot in her stomach, and Buffy found herself stopping, freezing, holding her breath as she just watched him, the questions that had been flittering through her head like thousands of featherweight moths finally settling, as if someone had just extinguished the light that attracted them.

The flutterings had started out on the mountain, when she'd seen him begin stalking away after her faux pas with Riley on the phone. Her body had screamed at her then, ordering her to stop Spike, to make him understand that she didn't mean it, and she'd obeyed without question, with the very obvious reward of having him listen to her. And believe. That was the important part. That was always the important part.

It had snowballed after that, walking back to the castle hand-in-hand like a pair of shy teenagers. That didn't happen to her, not in Buffy's Slayer world, or at least, it hadn't happened in a very long time, and when she'd crossed the threshold of Dall Rath, brushing past Spike as he held the door open for her, she had realized just how much she'd missed it. The honest ease. No holding back. Buffy being Buffy. And the walls, they came a-tumbling down…

She'd been so close to it in their room. They had walked in, and when she'd seen the bed, the first thing that had crossed her mind was how it would feel having him pressing her down into the mattress, bare limb to bare limb, his mouth to hers. Even remembering it now made her skin tingle. And so she'd stripped, consciously avoiding the screen, letting him watch as she'd pulled the t-shirt over her head, hearing his slight hiss as she slid her legs into the cotton of her sweats. That was when she'd wished she'd brought something a little sexier to sleep in, but who would've guessed she'd be trying to seduce Spike? Not her, that was for sure. Yet, there she was, desperately wishing he would take the initiative and stop her, to cross the room and catch her hands and bury her in those kisses that seemed to never stop.

But he hadn't.

It wasn't until later that she remembered how he'd said it was her choice now.

And then the sleep…It still boggled her that she slept so completely when held in his arms. No waking up restless and needing to patrol, to do something---anything---just to get out of bed. No bad dreams with weird questions she never seemed able to puzzle out. No bad anything. Just utter rest. Peace.

Trying to gather them in the great hall had been pointless. There was work to do, and whatever thoughts that were going through her head that weren't kelpie-related had to wait, regardless of how delicious Spike looked sprawled in his chair, his leg thrown over its arm, the glint in the azure depths of his eyes. But…how had she gone so long not really seeing him? Not seeing the ease he slid into her circle…For some reason, Xander's light-hearted jab at the vamp had seemed more jokey than antagonistic. Or not noticing the simple beauty of his face…How it could strike her even when he was doing absolutely nothing. But now she was---seeing him---even if she had to somehow concentrate on the research.

Only during those few minutes when Duncan had been speaking were the moths temporarily netted, but as soon as the cook had left the room, they were once again released, driving her to find some excuse to follow after the vampire, to seek him out as he went after his nicotine fix.

And now they were gone. Because now she knew. She didn't know how, but frankly, she didn't care.

She was pretty much in love with Spike.

I wonder what he would say if he knew, Buffy thought. Would he laugh? Tell her she was crazy, that he was only in it for the sex? But he wasn't, at least…she didn't think so. Not that she was ever that good at reading guys in the first place, but everything Spike did seemed to say the opposite, that he wanted more than just the physical, that he was happy with the friendship part of it just as much. Why else would he have said no to her other night when she'd offered him her body? The only fly in the ointment was that he'd never actually come close to saying anything remotely like "I love you" back at her. Just that enigmatic "world to me" stuff that night of their almost-kiss. Was it worth it to ask? She didn't know. But she did know she couldn't. That just wasn't in Buffy's nature.

"He's gone already."

She was startled from her reverie by Spike's words, jolting herself back to the moment as she watched him turn to face her. "What's that?" she asked, taking a step closer to the vampire.

"Superchef," he clarified. "You've just missed him."

"Oh." A tiny line appeared between her brows as she edged herself even closer. Something was wrong. She could see it in the flecks of gold that kept flashing across his eyes, and realized for the first time the deep grooves in the wood where he'd been gripping the jamb. "What is it?" she asked.

He sucked at his teeth, lips pursed as he regarded her, then seemed to make up his mind. "What's the magic?" he demanded, straightening and stepping away from the open door. "What the hell is so bleedin' interestin' about Duncan Davison that's got you and Red and the other two so goddamn Pollyanna about?"

She immediately bristled. "What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about holding hands, and going gaga because he manages to string more than two words together, and that 'oh I never thought of it that way' rubbish." Spike dropped his cigarette, grinding its red tip to dust beneath his boot. "You know he knows you're the Slayer, right? And somehow, he's managed to suss out I'm a vampire. But is that gettin' your hackles up? Noooo. 'Cause Little Miss Buffy is too busy sittin' on her soddin' tuffet to notice the big black spider about to start crawling its way down her back."

It was turning into one of his rants, but why, she had no idea. Something had obviously happened in the few minutes since he'd left the great hall, and it had obviously happened with Duncan. When she automatically stepped forward to the doorway, craning her neck to try and catch a glimpse the cook's retreating back, Spike snorted, whirling on his heel to head for the stairwell.

"Un-fuckin-believable," he muttered.

"Spike! Wait!"

He stopped at the sound of her voice, but didn't turn, hands balled into fists at his side, not even flinching when Buffy marched up to him to whirl him around.

"What the hell just happened here?" Her voice was strident, clamoring down the stone walls, and for a fleeting second, the Slayer wondered if the gang would be able to hear her all the way back to the great hall. Didn't matter, she decided quickly. Gotta get this fixed first.

And there it was again, that same look that had chilled her last night on the mountain. The impotent anger trying so desperately to hide the hurt underneath. Cutting through both of them. He was jealous. Of Duncan? Riley, she understood, but this…this made no sense. She didn't even know the cook very well. Why would Spike be reacting this way?

"Is this the way it's goin' to be?" he asked. She didn't know which was worse---when he was yelling, or when he went quiet like this, his voice sounding like it had been chipped from ice. "Play the hot and cold act. Turn me on and then turn me away, while you go skippin' off to chat up the next bloke. Turn into a simpering little bint just because he lays on whatever charm he seems to have, all the while forgettin' that the one who's been standing right by you the entire time is watchin'. Then go lookin' for him when he leaves the room." He snorted. "You've got stones, I'll give you that."

"I came looking for you, you idiot." Twin spots of color sprouted high in her cheeks as her voice rose in volume. "You're the one who brought up Duncan."

"And you were the one holdin' hands with him."

"No, he was holding my hand, not vice versa."

"You didn't seem to be stoppin' him."

"Because it happened for all of five seconds!" Exasperated, she turned away, only to whip back around to shove him back against the wall, pressing herself against his length, as she stared up at him, hazel burning. "In case you haven't noticed, I've been turning my world upside down to accommodate you, and this, and…us. OK, so I haven't exactly put a full-page ad in Variety announcing how I feel, but I told Willow. That counts for something. And hello? Do we not remember me giving Riley the brush-off last night? For you. Because I didn't want you to walk away. I'd've buried the stupid phone if you'd asked me to. You, Spike. That's who I want. Not Riley. And certainly not some English cook who I've barely spoken five words to ever since we got here." Her breath was coming in short spurts, her heart beating as if to escape her chest. "You."

"Hey, what's going on here?"

The sound of Xander's voice caused Buffy to leap away from the vampire as if burned, and her head whipped around to see him standing in the hall, the other girls rushing up behind him. An apologetic shake of Willow's head told the Slayer only that they hadn't been able to stop him, and she exhaled loudly, even as she glanced at Spike out of the corner of her eye.

"Nothing," she bit out. "Someone's just being a stubborn pain in my ass, as usual."

"Slayer's just pissed 'cause I had a few words with Duncan that weren't of the love and adoration variety," Spike said, sliding into the half-truth with an effortless ease. "Guess she doesn't like the fact that I'm not a card-carrying member of his fan club." His look at her was pointed. "Even if he is trouble."

Xander visibly relaxed. "Oh, well, if that's all," he said. To him, the explanation made perfect sense.

It didn't to the others. "How can Duncan be trouble?" asked Willow with a frown.

"You can't be trouble and cook as good as he does," piped in Anya.

"You can if you know you're catering to a Slayer and vampire," he replied. "Somehow, he's sussed it out about me and Buffy. That can't be good."

"But how could he know?"

Spike shrugged. "Probably overheard someone talking. Castle walls often have big ears."

"M-m-maybe he works with Hornbrook and the Council." Everyone turned to look at Tara. "He'd know about Buffy and Spike then, wouldn't he?"

"Could be." Buffy was calmer now, the shift back into work-mode enough to calm the frenzy in her skin that dealing with Spike's jealousy had churned. Not that she was anywhere near being done talking to him about it, not by a long shot. But he was right about Duncan's knowing not being good. Maybe it would be possible to kill two birds with one stone.

"Just to be safe," she continued, "I'm going to give this place a thorough sweep. See if I can find anything out of the ordinary. For a Scottish ruined castle, I mean." She turned to face Spike, her jaw tight. "You feel like seeing if we can find any trouble?"

His gaze was measured, taking his time to respond. "Sure, pet," he finally drawled. "You know me. Always up for a spot of violence before my evenin' tea."

"Do you want us to help?" offered Xander.

Buffy shook her head. "You guys go back to book detail. We can't be giving up on the research just yet. Spike and I'll be fine on our own." She watched as the gang returned to the great hall, waiting until she heard the door close in the distance before turning to face the vampire at her side. "Let's saddle up."

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

"So, there a reason we're starting here?"

Buffy glanced back at Spike, his face hidden in shadow as they made their way down the tunnel to the underground cavern. "Lots of them," she said. "Which one are you interested in hearing?"

He shrugged. "Surprise me."

"OK, the official Giles answer is that this is what Hornbrook wanted from you, this going into the tunnels. Plus, this is the only place in the castle we've actually had any trouble. So it makes Watcher sense."

"And unofficially?"

Stepping into the cavern, Buffy's eyes swept over the calm surface of the water as she waited for him to join her. When he had, she turned her flashlight and shone it directly into his face. "Privacy."

His eyes betrayed nothing. "For what?"

"To finish what we started upstairs."

"And that is…?"

She stamped her foot in frustration. "Are you deliberately trying to piss me off here?" she demanded. "Because that's the vibe I'm getting and I don't understand why."

This time, there was no mistaking the slight quirk of his lips. "So that's where little sis picked it up," he said, eyes skipping from her feet to her face. "Always wondered 'bout that."

Her gaze widened. "Now you're teasing me?" She watched as he sauntered past, heading along the side of the stream, and the unmistakable sound of his humming filtered back to her. "And that's it?"

"You said your piece upstairs, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah…" Buffy rushed to catch up, aiming the light ahead of them but looking up at him as she spoke. "But you didn't seem like you were listening."

"I've got ears, pet. Last time I checked, they seemed to be workin' just fine."

"Sometimes, I seriously wonder about that."

He stopped, finally turning to look at her. "Look, did you mean what you said? You're not yanking my chain here just to give yourself some kicks?"

"Of course I'm not. Pretty elaborate for just messing around with you, don't you think?"

"Then I'm right as rain now."

"But…you were…about Duncan…" Though she wasn't dismissing it, the sudden flip-flop in his attitude was confusing, and Buffy couldn't help but feel that she'd missed a step somewhere.

His head dropped, his gaze darkening as Spike looked at her through his lashes. "Yeah, about the cook," he said softly, and began advancing toward her, edging her back into the wall. "See, the thing of it is," and his hand came up, one finger tracing the line of her jaw as he spoke, "blighter made me want to rip his heart out and shove it down his throat when I saw him touching you like he did. All…up close and personal-like."

The cold wall pressed into her back, but Buffy couldn't feel the chill, her body warming from the inside out as he stood before her, her heart accelerating at the anticipation promised by that lone digit running along her skin. "It was just…a show," she breathed. "Hand holding to make his point. Nothing big."

"Not just that," he murmured. "It was the whole knee business…" As if to demonstrate, Spike's own joint inched forward, nudging its way between her legs, somehow caressing her inner thigh through the layers of cotton that separated them. "And then that stroking thing…" His other hand came up, capturing hers just as Duncan had caught it earlier, and the finger that had been sliding across her chin disappeared to re-alight on the vein that ran down the back of her hand, following it down onto her wrist before circling around to her palm.

"I don't…remember that…" And she didn't. Of course, if someone had asked her her name at the moment, she probably wouldn't have remembered that either, the sensations now rippling down her arm effectively erasing all rational thought from her head.

"Just made me want to let him know you're taken," Spike said. He seemed to be waiting for her to contradict him, testing the waters with his choice of words, his eyes taunting her as he held her pinned against the wall. When she didn't, when instead she pressed herself back into him, the corner of his mouth lifted, and his head came down so that his lips could brush up her neck. "Yeah," he repeated, his mouth against her ear. "Right as rain."

The splashing in the stream behind them jerked them from their reverie, and Spike stepped away and back, allowing Buffy to see the creature as it leapt from the water to stand on the bank. She automatically shifted her concentration, her body priming as she reached for the sheathed dagger at her side, feeling her partner ready himself even as she propped her light up against the nearby stone.

"Looks like trouble decided to show up after all," she said lightly, steeling herself at its sight. Black, and just as big as she remembered, its silky coat glistened from the beads of water that clung to it, its enormous human-like hands curled into dangerous claws.

"You trespass…" it said, baring its needle-like teeth as it spoke.

"Got a bone to pick with you, mate," Spike said. "Least, I assume it's you. Unless you've got a cousin or sister in there with you."

"I follow my duty," it replied, slowly advancing. "You are not welcome here."

She saw it lunge before he did, its head lowered as its long arms reached out to grab at whichever of the pair was closest. With a quick shove, she pushed the vampire out of the way, leaping into the air to somersault over the demon's head, landing with a soft thud on the ground behind it. A quick glance at the water reminded her to be careful, but as she prepared to attack it from behind, she saw Spike scramble out of the way of the approaching threat.

"Not goin' to fall for that one twice," she heard him mutter, his eyes shifting to gold even as the ridges appeared in his brow. With a snarl, he tackled the demon, sending both of them to the earth in a tangle of ebony, and Buffy rushed forward, weapon ready, skirting the rocks as Spike sank his fangs into the monster's arm.

A loud roar filled the cavern, echoing hollowly against the walls, and the demon tore itself free, the blood dripping from its limb. The momentary distraction was all Buffy needed. Just keep away from the mouth, she thought as she jumped forward, dagger ready, feeling it slice through flesh and muscle to sink into its chest. She pulled it out with a sickening squelch, and as the demon staggered, she whirled, foot already positioned into a vicious kick that sent it crashing into the wall.

She was on it in a flash, the dagger now discarded, fists pummeling it first left, then right, breaking the teeth into crystal shards that cut into the knuckles of her hands. It struggled between her legs, but remained powerless under the eave of her strength, its thrashing growing gradually weaker as the blood seeped into the dirt beneath it. When she felt the rumblings begin vibrating through it, it sent corresponding tremors through her own limbs, and Buffy hesitated, her weight shifting slightly back as she watched it with growing concern.

It was changing. The ebony of its coat was lightening, shading to a fleshy pink, even as it seemed to shrink onto itself…into itself. The teeth that had seemed so dangerous were all of a sudden human, huge gaping holes where she had beaten them loose, and the demon's face melted into a young man's, with huge dark eyes that blinked up at her in pain.

"Please…" it---he---whispered. "Don't…kill me."

Spike saw the change come over her, saw the glaze shine over her eyes as the monster spoke, and his brow furrowed into a heavy frown as she sat back, her hands opening and falling defenseless to her sides. "Slayer," he said, his voice low in warning. "Stop playin' around and just kill the bloody thing."

"What are you?" she asked the demon, ignoring her partner's words.

"A guardian," it replied, and within the space of a second, had thrown her off.

"Buffy!" Spike shouted, watching as she landed in a graceless heap over ten feet away. Though his brain wanted to run to her side, make sure she was all right, instinct dictated otherwise, whirling him forward to grab the demon, hands squeezing around its head, wrenching it sideways in a furious pique. With a sickening crunch, its neck snapped, and he let it drop lifelessly to the floor, not even waiting to check on its condition before rushing to Buffy.

"You all right?" Spike asked, crouching to turn her hands over, his fingertips hovering over the abrasions speckling her knuckles.

"Yeah," she replied, and her gaze flickered over his shoulder at the heap by the water. "Is it dead?"

He didn't even bother looking back. "Goin' to say yeah," he said. "Important thing is, it didn't get a bite out of either of us this time."

The cool touch of his hands on hers should've calmed the heat that was suffusing her body now, that oh-so-familiar fire that always started to burn after a good fight, the one that she'd only learned to recognize for herself after hearing Faith's rather ineloquent observations. But it didn't. Instead, it only stoked the furnace, enflaming her cheeks as she watched his bowed head, her fingers itching to reach out and tangle in the platinum curls.

"Spike…" she murmured.

He could feel the heat coming off her in waves, the adrenaline rushing through her veins combining with her heartbeat to create a deafening concert that lifted his gaze, tunneled the world around him so that he saw only her. That's the way it always was. Just her. Just Buffy. His Buffy.

There was to be no more waiting. Both moved at the same time, mouths opening…coming together…tasting, and searching, and needing…two sets of arms encircling behind powerful backs to strengthen the contact. It was at once too much and not enough---more, Buffy thought greedily, please---alternating shuddering waves of fire with walls of ice across her flesh, hardening her nipples as she pulled him to her, until the whimper of want that escaped her throat was unavoidable.

They could've been anywhere…on top of the Hellmouth...in the back seat of a '58 Buick…curled up beside each other on the softest of feather beds. Neither cared. The only thing that mattered was that each had just thrown away the last of the bricks that made up the wall between them, crashing through the dust and mortar in a flush of heat and need that billowed in scarlet waves, entwining themselves around the other in a flurry of limbs and half-shed clothing until they lay on the earth, bare skin to bare skin, clinging and kissing as if it was the last time…or the first…

His lips danced down her neck, tongue trailing to the uppermost curve of her breast, lapping at the sweaty tang that flavored her skin. Buffy gasped, the breath locking in her lungs, and curled her nails through his hair, back arching as Spike closed around the nearest nipple, sucking it hard against the roof of his mouth before abandoning it for its mate. More more more, her head chanted, and considered saying it out loud when his lips returned, swallowing her down into another kiss as his nimble fingers slid downward, grasping her hips to slide her directly underneath him.

"Last chance, luv," he murmured, the length of his arousal resting amid her coarse curls. "This can still stop. Just say the word."

Slowly, Buffy shook her head. "Don't like stop," she whispered, gazing up into the vampire's eyes. "I like…please."

It was the only invitation he needed. Raising his hips, Spike's knee coaxed her own apart, sliding himself downward just enough so that the tip of his cock settled at her entrance, before inching its way inside, stretching and filling, drowning him in warmth that sent shudders down his spine. He felt her muscles squeeze around him, drawing him deeper, and heard her breathing grow ragged, each breath a little shorter, each breath a little shallower.

When she felt their pelvises meet, she moaned, her eyes sliding shut as her head tilted to the side, waiting for his tongue to meet the contours of her neck, hungry for him to start sliding himself in and out, her muscles already tensing in anticipation. But the moment seemed to hang forever, and she felt instead his hand reach up to cup her cheek, guiding her back to face him directly.

"Luv, look at me."

Her lids obeyed, opening to gaze up at the aquiline features, the faintest of lines between his brows. "What is it?" she asked, her voice ragged..

His thumb traced her cheekbone as he seemed to contemplate his next words. "Don't turn away," he finally murmured. "I need you to look at me while we do this. I need you to see me." If she could say the word, so could he. "Please."

"I didn't…mean…" And she understood, without him having to say, and felt the guilt wash over her, mingling with the desire, as she realized what she'd inadvertently done to him by turning her head, such a simple response with such complex ramifications. It drove her forward, lifting her head to brush her lips over his mouth, while her legs curled around the power of his, crushing him to her as she began the rhythm for him.

A surprised growl rumbled from Spike's throat, but it took him only a moment to follow her lead, thrusting in and out, feeling her tight sheath clutch and squeeze with every stroke, milking the pleasure from his cock in hundreds of electric charges.

As she promised, she didn't look away, instead locking gazes, green to blue, sucking at his mouth in hungry kisses that demanded more and more with every pulse, while tiny nails raked at the flesh on his back, driving him deeper, summoning the demon within even as it called to the man. Growls interspersed with moans, some from her, some from him, until they became interchangeable…indistinguishable… one, guiding them to a pitch-fever crescendo that both had envisioned but neither truly expected.

Hers came first, a surge that pulled her from the swell of the moment and slammed her against the wall, shaking and spinning and shimmering and screaming, until the world swam before her eyes, forcing her to clutch the man above her in desperate hopes of not drowning, holding him even as the orgasm rocketed through his own flesh, his back bending impossibly as he gave one last thrust that threatened to split her in two, holding himself there for what seemed eternity before shuddering to a collapse onto her sweat-slick chest.

His mouth immediately sought her out, needing to taste, needing to feel, while his hands came up to sink into the golden tresses as he cupped her face. "God, Buffy," he murmured between kisses. "Love you so much…"

She wasn't even sure he realized what he'd said, but hearing it spoken out loud, knowing that she hadn't been wrong, sent tremors across her skin. He loved her. He'd said it. Should she say it back? Would he think it was just the heat of the moment? Or that she felt like she had to? So many questions, and how come she didn't know any of the answers? Spike always seemed to know, even if he did sometimes jump to the wrong conclusion, and…oh god, he said he loved her…

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

The winds were already in full force, whipping around him as he dragged the body across the heather. Get it to the others; that was the only thought in Duncan's head, his eyes almost glowing as he pulled it along. The storm was invigorating, but it didn't help his control, the itch to change suddenly overpowering, knowing he couldn't, not just yet. Not safe. There would be time enough for that later.

It was almost hidden, the cave, and Duncan marveled that the Slayer had yet to find it on her many sojourns out onto the mountain. Maybe she's not as smart as I think she is, he thought, pulling the corpse to the safety of the cavern. Maybe it's just the vampire I have to worry about, after all.

The others were buried under the loose dirt, able to be dug up if necessary, but now, his attention was focused on the portly body before him. Ripping open Hornbrook's shirt, Duncan ignored the deep wounds he'd inflicted the previous day, the blood where it had congealed across the mottled skin looking black in the confines of the dark. Laying his hand over the man's chest, his fingers spread, digging into the flesh. Time to give up your secrets, old man, he thought, and closed his eyes against the images that began to flitter into his head…