DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course. And the chapter titles are courtesy of Robert Burns.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy has just told Spike that she loves him…

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

It was the silence that was most unnerving. For too long, all she could hear was the water gently lapping against the side of the tub, the occasional hiss of a candle flame as it would jump in the chill air, and Buffy found herself holding her breath, hoping that the subtraction of that aural evidence would somehow make it possible to hear his reaction to her words. Not that it seemed that one was coming any time soon. Or it could just be that time had suddenly decided to stand still just so that it could mess with her head. In the Slayer world order, that was always a possibility.

She felt him move before anything, a tiny shift in his weight as his arm lifted from the tub's rim, easing back into the water to curl around her waist, tugging her gently closer against the slick sculpture of his hips. It meant she couldn't look up and see his face, to see what kind of response saying it out loud had garnered, and decided that choosing to not be facing him at this moment in time was not her smartest idea in the world. More than anything, she needed to know what he was thinking about it, and his staying silent was not helping matters any. Her lashes lifted, the urge to pull away extreme. "Spike? You haven't fallen asleep there, have you?" she asked softly, trying for playful and hoping it didn't sound as desperate to him as it did to her. "Still with me?"

"Still here," he replied, almost immediately. The baritone seemed to fill her skull, the words, though low, jostling their way through the confusion of her own thoughts to settle comfortably somewhere around the nape of her neck.

"And?"

His fingertips played absently along the curve of her side. "Thought you didn't want me interrupting you."

Though she thought she could detect a hint of tease behind his tone, his response was not what she had expected. "I'm done. We can now go back to our regularly scheduled interruptions."

That seemed to bring Spike back to life, his other arm lowering to position itself on her hip, deftly grasping them to turn her around in his arms. She could see him then, saw the dark shine in his eyes, and braced herself against his chest, watching as a single finger came up to trace the line of her jaw. "Say it again," he murmured, his gaze caught on the sight of her mouth.

Buffy couldn't help but smile. "Greedy much?" she teased.

"Yeah," he agreed with a matching smile. "I'm a demanding bastard. Now say it again."

The fears she'd momentarily felt vanished. Not a mistake to say it. His joy at hearing the declaration was written all over his face, etched in the strength of his grip. She could relax. "Well, gee, Mr. Vampire, sir," she said in a tone of feigned respect and innocence. "It was kind of hard for me to do the one time. I'm not sure I'm up to a repeat performance. It might be…traumatic."

His finger slid to the pretend pout she affected, tugging gently at her bottom lip. "Best way to get over those pesky trauma issues is to tackle them head on, Slayer. Face your fear. Doesn't that Watcher of yours teach you anything?"

"I'm used to facing my fears with a nice, big, pointy piece of wood in my hand. That scores big points against the intimidation factor."

The gleam that suddenly danced in the azure of Spike's eyes matched the quirk of his mouth as his hand caught hers, sliding it down between their bodies, guiding it to his erection that pressed against both of their stomachs. He chuckled as her fingers curled instinctively around it, only to have the sound choke off, replaced by a low groan as she squeezed, his lashes fluttering closed once only to re-open and stare at her with darkening desire. "There," he said, voice thick. "Problem sorted. Now say it again."

She had grown used to the chill of his body under her fingers, but in the swelter of the bath, his flesh seemed to take on a new life, temporarily infused with a stolen warmth that felt dangerous beneath her touch, the flickering shadows from the candlelight etching him in golden outlines against the shimmering water. Bravado prompted Buffy's hand to slide up the length of Spike's cock, pumping it in one long, languorous sweep, watching as the muscles in his jaw twitched in his attempt to control himself. When she reached its tip, her palm brushed across the velvet head before letting him go for good, and she deliberately widened her eyes as she shook her head. "Nope, not gonna," she dared. "Too hard." With a sly grin, she rolled back around in his arms, reaching for the soap. "Besides, what happened to me washing up? If I don't do that soon here, the water will get cold."

His frustrated growl rumbled in his throat and he reached past her to take the soap from her thin fingers. "Make you a deal then," he said, his mouth suddenly right in her ear, lips snaking along the curve of her lobe as he spoke. "You keep on talkin' and I'll do the washin'." She could almost see the smile on his face. "Think that might take off enough of the burden so that you might be able give it another go?"

Buffy half-shrugged. "I don't know. Only one way to really find out."

Spike returned the soap to the side. "Hair first," he instructed. "Lie back."

Sliding her bottom along the slick porcelain, the Slayer found herself lying stretched out in the tub, gazing up at the platinum head bent over her as the vampire's fingers cradled the back of her head to lower it gently into the water, sweeping it up and over her temples, wetting it with a firm touch that eased away whatever tension remained in her neck and shoulders. Positioned like that, his face was in ebony shadows, eyes lost in a bottomless chasm, and she wondered briefly at his tenderness, how he could be such a contradiction of terms, but more importantly, how she could've been blind to it for so long. Sighing, her eyes fell closed. She didn't need sight to know how incredible this felt.

"So…where were we?" he asked, long fingers entangling in her hair.

"Looking for Chatty Buffy."

"Uh-huh. And have we found her?"

"Yep. She's asking me to ask you, why."

"Why what?" His hands vanished from her head to reappear under her arms, lifting her gently back into a sitting position between his legs.

Buffy opened her eyes. "Why you need me to say it again."

There was a long silence, during which time Spike picked up the shampoo, squeezed some into his palm, and then worked it across his hands before returning to her hair. "Never said this was about me, pet," he said, nimble fingers curling through the tresses, lathering her up as he massaged her scalp. "That's an assumption you made on your own."

"Then---," she started, beginning to twist around to look at him.

He stopped, grabbing her head to turn it back away. "Stop your squirmin'," he ordered. "Or you're goin' to get soap in your eye."

She waited until he started the lathering again. "Since when did this turn into a Buffy therapy session?" she asked.

His hands fell away, dropping to the water to rinse before easing her back into a prone position between his thighs. "It's not," he said, and his voice sounded hollow through the water, far away as he used it rinse away the soap. "I just don't want you to be afraid of the words. I happen to like 'em. And I've got a tendency to use them a lot when I'm given half the chance." Spike smiled. "Or haven't you sussed that one out yet?"

"But I'm not you, Spike," she argued. "I've never been the one to go all big into the insight, or just lay my heart out on the line for anyone to come along and see. That's not my style."

"Anymore."

She frowned, sitting up and swiveling to look at him. "Huh?"

The vampire tilted his head, eyes dark. "That's not your style…anymore."

"OK, lost me there."

Reaching up, he pushed the wet hair from her face, exposing the arch of her cheekbone to his palm. "You forget, luv. I was there for the whole first love deal with Peaches. That was a different Slayer back then. One who did wear her heart on her sleeve. 'Til it got trampled when the prat decided to play the noble card and did a runner for it."

"You weren't there when Angel…left." Her voice was low, her eyes wide, and all of a sudden, the room seemed too warm to Buffy. This was taking a far different turn than she had expected, the levity suddenly vanishing as his blue gaze probed hers.

Spike shook his head. "No," he agreed softly. "I got to see the mess he left behind. That grand scheme where his leaving was goin' to give you the chance to get on with your life backfired as hell, though. Guess he should've thought to leave behind the pieces of you that you might actually need some time in the future."

"I…was OK. Eventually."

His voice was as warm as the orange of the flickering candles. "Because you moved on? Don't forget, I was around when you tried to patch yourself up by shagging that unibrow bloke, and when that blew up in your face, I had to watch as you tried to make everything fit again by hooking up with Captain Cardboard." Sliding himself forward, he bent his legs to accommodate the nearness of their torsos, gathering her face between his hands to pull her closer. Gently, he brushed a kiss over her lips, and then inched back, dark blue gazing down into hazel. "Almost feel sorry for him," he said. "Poor sod's never seen the real Buffy." When she lifted her eyebrows in surprise, he chuckled. "I said, almost."

"I'm not…" Her voice trailed away, realizing even as she said it that it wasn't really true. It wasn't so much of being afraid of the words themselves, as it was being afraid of what admitting them meant. "How do you do that?" she asked instead.

"Do what?

"Make analyzing this…us…me…look so damn easy."

"It's not a trick, pet. It's just a matter of keepin' your eyes open to what's right in front of you."

She let her hands brush over his shoulders, her gaze slipping from his to look down at the smooth splendor of his skin. "I always thought my eyes were open," she said, her voice a low wash over his flesh. "But I never saw any of this coming." She lifted her eyes back up, swallowing down the azure of his. "I don't know if saying it's ever going to come easy to me, Spike. But, I do know that I love you, and I promise to at least always show you that, even if I have trouble sometimes getting out the words."

It was actually more than he'd been hoping for. When she'd turned the tables, making it a game, Spike had been more than happy for the whole thing to be an elaborate foreplay, using the washing as an excuse to touch her. He could feel her growing excitement under the pads of his fingers, but as soon as the conversation had returned to its more serious bend, she had stiffened, pulling away from him whether she realized it or not, and so he had decided to just follow it through. It wasn't meant to be any type of prod, not really, and so hearing her say it again, having that promise now there, a tangible lifeline for him to grasp and hold close, was a gift, and not one he was ready to just pass on by.

"Does that mean you're goin' to start listenin' to me for a change?" he quizzed, pushing her hair back to expose the wound on her shoulder, his accompanying smile a mellow tease.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "That is one horse that really is dead," she said, just as lightly. Grabbing the scrunchie from the side, she dangled it from her fingers, ducking her head as she gazed at him through her lashes. "I thought you were going to wash me. I'm only half done here."

Instead of taking it, Spike wrapped his hand around her wrist, pulling her back to him, nudging her legs so that they stretched out on top of his. "Far be it for me to leave a job half-done," he murmured, extracting the sponge from her grip to dip it down into the water.

When the mesh skated down her spine, Buffy sighed in pleasure, nuzzling down onto his chest so that he could continue the ministrations to her back. Each balmy swipe left a stripe of goosebumps down her skin, and the familiar tingling between her legs only reminded her of his arousal pressing into her abdomen. Bathtime, Buffy, she silently scolded herself. Fooling around time comes later.

Except Spike seemed to have different ideas, gliding the scrunchie over the curve of her ass to rasp across the back of her thigh before sliding in between, delicately brushing against her outer lips in a wave of sensations that made the young woman gasp in surprise, pushing herself up on his chest to look down at him with wide eyes.

"What?" he asked innocently. "Thought you wanted me to wash you. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

"That didn't feel like washing."

"Oh?" The corner of his mouth lifted as he tugged her back down onto him. "Didn't you like it?"

Buffy couldn't help but smile. "I didn't say that…"

"So what're you fussin' for?" His hand returned, this time bereft of the mesh, and slid along the curve of her buttock, downward, easing between her slippery folds to trace the inner lips in warming ice. "Unless you like this better…?"

Her response was an immediate kiss, her lips to his, sucking at the fullness as the whimper rose in her throat, asking for more with that guttural cry than she had with any of the words she had previously uttered. Arms lifted, slid around porcelain shoulders, clinging in wet as her fingers played with the tiny hairs curling at the nape of his neck.

Though her injury was the farthest thing from Buffy's mind at the moment, it wasn't from Spike's, and he interrupted the kiss in order to pull away. She watched in puzzlement as he lowered her wounded arm back to her side, leaving the other in its new nest behind him, leaning forward to run his lips over the healing teeth marks.

"'Til the witches can magic this away for good," he said, answering her unspoken question, "we take it easy on this arm. I'm not havin' you bleedin' like a stuck pig in my bathwater."

"Oh." She seemed disappointed in his response. "So, I guess that means we're back to the plain old regular kind of bath, huh?"

"What gives you that idea?"

"Well, you said, you know, about taking it easy---."

His mouth was on her neck, licking up its side, buried in the hollow below her ear, before she could finish the sentence. "Oh, but I can do easy, luv," Spike murmured into her skin. "You just haven't given me the chance yet."

The tingles that were charging over her skin seemed to multiply as the vamp's hand returned to her hip, cupping her ass as his mouth sucked greedily at the pulse point in her neck. Long fingers seemed to separate, dividing their attention so that his thumb and index remained clinging to her buttock while the other three resumed their careful exploration of the slickness between her thighs, Buffy's moisture mingling with the bath in a slippery coating that allowed his digits easier access to her heat.

"OK," she breathed, breath channeling into shallow pants. "So, about this---." Her voice turned into a squeak as he abandoned the pretense of holding her, his entire hand disappearing under the water so that his fingers' penetration could assume the depths he desired, sinking inside as his lips abandoned her neck for the base of her throat. Instinctively, Buffy thrust back against him, forcing him deeper, raising herself away so that her shoulders separated from him in a small splash.

Whether conscious or not, her movement resulted in a silent offering of her breasts, hardened nipples now only inches from Spike's waiting mouth, and he leaned forward, catching the left between his teeth to nip at its tip. Oh, he could do easy bloody well enough, but the desire to just tell his control to bugger off, to sink his teeth into the delectable flesh of her breast was still very much there, hanging around in the nether regions of his gut. It didn't help when she responded to his little bite with an arch of her back that only drove it deeper into his mouth, and the vampire's eyes glittered momentarily in gold. Easy, he reminded himself, battling back to calm sapphire. Easy. Even if she drives you mad.

With his free arm, Spike pulled her back against him, the delicious feel of her muscles tight against him, breasts flattened to chest as his mouth sought out hers, taking and sucking and exploring with a sultry laziness that choked the air from her lungs. His hand inside her never stopped, and he expanded his penetration to include running his nail across her clit every time he pulled out, leaving it quivering and harder and waiting for more each time it left to bury back in her depths. And it was driving both of them insane for…

More, and not enough, and oh god more, Buffy thought. And the water was wrapping both of them, allowing her to slide up and down the solid mass of his body, his power a promise that she just wanted to grab and devour to keep for herself, but she knew she couldn't, shouldn't, not right to just steal what wasn't hers, even if it was obvious to both of them that they were ready, more than ready, and it would hardly be their first time, but oh, god, he'd said he was hers, and she was certainly his…and what was the point if they didn't…

Though the water had started to cool, the heat pouring from the Slayer's flesh kept it warm, lapping over her back to begin splashing over the rim, dotting the floor in tiny droplets that both were oblivious to. It was when she pulled away, lifting her hips from his, tearing herself from that mouth, that Spike felt the first sense of loss, and stared up at her with eyes that were almost black.

"You're not hurt, are you?" he asked, voice barely a rasp as his gaze went automatically to her injury, his fingers reaching to support her.

Wordlessly, she shook her head. "I know you wouldn't hurt me," she murmured and placed her hands on either side of his face, pulling him closer to run her lips across his forehead…over his brow…down the aquiline slope of his nose.

It was the choice of her words that suddenly fueled the charges that crawled just beneath his skin. Wouldn't…she'd said wouldn't…not couldn't, not like he couldn't because of the chip, but that he wouldn't because he specifically chose not to. The fact that she saw the difference, whether consciously or unconsciously, suddenly meant more than it had hearing her announce her feelings, because it meant…she understood. She got it. It wasn't until now that Spike realized just how badly he needed her to do so.

Her mouth was back on his, gently probing as she lowered her hips back down, her swollen outer lips sliding along his erection to position himself at her entrance. Now, now, her head was screaming, and fought the urge to make it quick, to impale herself on him, driving him deep. Easy, was what he'd said, and if he could do it, so could she.

And he was there, inching his way inside, stretching against her in such a mouth-watering fullness she wondered how she'd managed so long without him. Lean fingers dug into her powerful hips, guiding and holding back as her muscles tensed, straining to complete the motion as swiftly as possible so that she could begin the ride in earnest. It was only when she felt his pubic bone press against her clit, bearing into her, sending thousands of shocks shooting into her pelvis…up her spine…radiating throughout her tissue, did Buffy begin the slide back up, savoring the strength he offered in exchange for the taste of her tongue.

Clinging to him in the water, it was as if the world had fallen down around them, leaving them in a chaotic limbo of arms, and legs, and mouths, and tongues, and it was so wet, and tight, each stroke its own fractured universe of pleasure, never to stop, even as she began to quicken the pace.

His groans of pleasure became growls in her mouth, his nails digging deeper, his thrusts becoming stronger, until Spike had no thought of anything but the moment and the woman above him. When he felt the tightening of her inner muscles around him, the suddenness shocked him to the edge, driving him to a final thrust that slammed into her hips, rocketing both of them into separate worlds as they rode out their orgasms. He broke from her kiss, burying his face in her neck, away from her wound though the scent of it only added to his excitement, and felt the Slayer do the same, murmuring incoherently against his skin as she did so.

When her breathing began to return to normal, Buffy pulled far enough away to gaze down at him, the hazel of her eyes completely overtaken by the ebony of her pupils. "I've got all my pieces back," she whispered. "Thank you."

He was mesmerized by the way the light was dancing in her damp hair and tilted his head to watch it play with the tendrils that clung to her shoulder. "Don't thank me," he said. "All I did was love you."

"Exactly. Without trying to change anything or make me feel bad about me being me. That's deserving of gratitude, I think." Buffy smiled. "Maybe it's my turn to be the one doing some washing here."

This time, he grinned. "Now that," Spike replied, "would be fun."

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

Even through the lessening rain, the hulking shape of the castle was unmistakable, and Riley breathed a sigh of relief that he'd managed to find the place without wrecking the car. Mr. Travers was going to be angry enough if he found out that he'd stolen the keys and taken it out. He wasn't even supposed to be involved in any of this.

Pale yellow gleamed from the windows, flickering to indicate candlelight, and the young man used that as a beacon to direct himself as he pulled behind the other cars. Killing the engine, he stared out through the window, his hand reaching to his side to grab the stake he'd brought with him. Gonna make this fast, he thought grimly. In, dust Spike, out before Buffy finds out. Of course, if Spike was with the others, Riley would just have to keep cover until he was alone. That shouldn't be too long. The vampire was the only smoker in the bunch; eventually, he would have to come outside to have a cigarette.

He'd try inside first, though. Maybe he'd get lucky and not have to wait in the rain to do this.

He heard the murmur of voices as soon as he stepped over the threshold, and crept down the hallway toward them. A lot of them, probably the whole gang, he thought, and stopped when he reached the door, pressing his ear silently to the crack by the hinges in an effort to discern who exactly was inside.

There was Giles…and another English guy, but not Spike, definitely too cultured…and Giles again…and Xander? Hard to tell, the voice seeming deeper through the wall…but then the man laughed, and Riley knew for sure it was Harris. The girls were a jumble, talking over each other, the occasional clink of metal against glass indicating that they were probably eating. It was suppertime, after all.

The conversation was difficult to make out, but if he concentrated, Riley could catch the occasional phrase. It took very little time to actually hear what he wanted.

Spike. Upstairs.

He didn't even wait for the rest, merely pivoted on his heel and made a beeline for the stairwell he'd seen when he came in. One flight, and he stopped, listening carefully for any signs of habitation. When he found none, he was up the next like a shot, and didn't even have to emerge from the twisting coil to hear the low rumble of Spike's laughter come drifting down the hall.

Riley's fingers tightened around the stake in his hands as he crept down the corridor. Wouldn't do to announce his presence. Even with the chip, Spike was smart enough to find ways to avoid him. Probably even hazard a headache to defend himself. Riley had to surprise him; it was his best option for success.

His hand was on the doorknob when he heard her. It was ice across his muscles, her laughter crystalline even through the wall, slicing into his skin as precisely as a scalpel. They were both in there---their bedroom, probably---and they were laughing…and was that water?

Not possible, he thought. Buffy wouldn't do this. Except she had in the past. She'd had Angel. And she was the Slayer. Who knew what kind of vampire baggage came along with that? Riley sure as hell didn't; she never let him in on any of those kind of secrets, stealing out in the middle of the night for a slay when she thought he was asleep, when given the circumstances, she should've been asleep, or at the very least, cuddling with him. Not exactly balm for the old ego knowing she needed more than what he was giving her. And then there was the whole only letting him in so far, just enough to help a little, but not enough to really know, or to have a chance to make a difference in her life.

And now there was Spike.

He swallowed down the bile that burned in the back of his throat. Just go, his common sense was yelling. As long as she's in there, Buffy will never let you near Spike, even if she's against whatever hold he has over her. But he just didn't get it. For some inexplicable reason, she had a blind spot when it came to the chipped vampire, refusing to accept how much of a threat he still was, or how detrimental to the gang it was for him to hang around them. Hadn't she learned her lesson last year when he'd tried turning them all against each other?

There it was again. Laughter. Together. Both of them.

Obviously, she hadn't.

What could be so damn funny? It had been a long time since Riley had heard such carefree sounds coming from his girlfriend; even at their happiest, she'd always seemed so serious. He'd liked that to a degree, but now, hearing her like this, he wondered yet again just how much he'd missed. And what the hell was going on in that room. And there was the water again. If he didn't know better, he would've said it sounded like…splashing.

Common sense was losing. Riley's hand returned to the doorknob, and this time, he squeezed, ready to turn it and then suddenly not wanting to. But when the distinct splash came echoing out, followed almost immediately by Buffy's shriek, he responded on instinct, twisting it and pushing the door open, his eyes darting around the room to settle on the two blonds in the bathtub, both of them naked…both heads whirling to see who had interrupted them…

And two sets of eyes widened, Buffy's muscles frozen in surprise, Riley's locked in horror and shock.

The only one to move was Spike. Rolling his eyes, he grimaced and leaned back against the porcelain, carefully pulling the Slayer who had been straddling him off and over to the side, away from the door. "And they say I've got bad manners," he drawled…

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

He was the last person she had ever expected to see. Well, not the last, because she had known she was going to have to deal with Riley once they returned to Sunnydale, but certainly the least likely to show up in her doorway in the middle of Scotland.

While she was in the tub.

Naked.

With Spike.

Crap.

Even having Giles walk in right now would’ve been preferable than having to see the hurt shock that now illuminated her boyfriend’s face. Ex-boyfriend, Buffy hastened to remind herself. Except, she hadn’t actually broken up with him yet, so technically maybe not an ex, but still, an ex in her head. And Spike’s. And what the hell was he even doing here? And who was keeping an eye on her mom and Dawn back on the Hellmouth? And…

Crap. She was still naked.

“Is it something about me?” Spike was asking her, his blond head swiveling away from the door to gaze at her. He was completely unruffled by the interruption, annoyance seemingly the only emotion registering in those sapphire depths. “Do people just automatically lose the ability to knock if I’m in a room?”

“Shut up, Spike,” she ordered, desperation hardening her voice.

He shrugged, letting his hand reach up to brush the hair from her face, a proprietorial glance at the man in the doorway sneaking from the corner of his eye. “I’m just sayin’---.”

“She said, shut up, Spike!” The tension crackled in Riley’s tone, danger and hurt edging it to precision, his knuckles white on the doorknob that was still in his hand. The young man’s gaze swept past him to Buffy. “What’s…” He couldn’t even finish the question, the words choking in his throat. He’d spent the last few days imagining some pretty bad stuff, but none of it compared to…this.

“Riley, I’m…” Too naked, can’t do this with so few clothes on, she thought and glanced over to where the towels were stacked next to the bed. Too far. OK, plan B. “Can you shut the door please?” she asked instead.

“Yeah, in or out here, just make up your mind,” Spike offered.

“It’s…a little cold,” she rushed, trying to soften the effect of the vampire’s words. In the sudden draft that had filled the room, she folded her arms over her breasts, reminding her briefly of the wound on her shoulder. Unthinkingly, Buffy winced, a tiny line between her brows as she adjusted her limb so that the pain was lessened.

Spike’s nonchalance instantly vanished, replaced with his avid concern of earlier, and he pushed away her hand to inspect the injury. “Damn it, Buffy, are you deliberately tryin’ to get it bleedin’ again?” he demanded.

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to brush him away. “It’s just a twinge.”

“Twinge, my ass,” the vampire muttered, and leaned over the back of the tub to pick up the washcloth that had gotten knocked to the floor, oblivious that his nudity was on display to the other man in the room. “Told Rupert you’d be up here recuperatin’. You’re goin’ to make a liar of me yet, Slayer.”

Her shivering was starting to return, a combination of the incoming cold and the surprise of seeing Riley overtaking her muscles, and she swallowed hard, trying to rid her throat of the lump that had lodged itself there. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, not without major prep work from her, not before she could break it to him gently. But somehow, her mouth didn’t want to work, lost between the dread that was slowly filling her at the upcoming conversation, and the reassuring calm from the vampire behind her.

The tremors did not go unnoticed, and Spike swore under his breath. “Told you to shut the bleedin’ door!” he barked at Riley as he hopped over the side of the tub, eyes glittering in anger as he yanked the towels from the bed and returned to the Slayer’s side. “Can’t you see she’s freezin’ here?”

Riley watched in amazement, eyes fixed on the tender way Spike was wrapping her up, being careful of the wound the ex-soldier had only now noticed. Buffy was still watching him, but there was sadness there, her lower lip caught between her teeth, gaze steady and apologetic, and Riley felt his stomach drop another two feet.

“You’re hurt,” he said, and it seemed too loud in the cold room. Ducking his head, he edged inside, pushing the door closed behind him. “Did Spike---?”

“No!” Her vehemence surprised him, though if he’d taken a moment to consider it, it shouldn’t have. He lifted his gaze back up, catching the sight of Spike grabbing his jeans from the floor to slide them on as Buffy perched herself on the edge of the bed, looking lost and impossibly small within the wide folds of the terry. “I mean,” she continued, in a calmer voice, “this is local demon-related. Brought on all by myself. Spike’s just…”

“…taking care of it.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in Riley’s tone, and the softening that had started at the sight of witnessing Buffy hurt disappeared, his eyes frosty as they darted to the other man in the room. “Yeah. I can see that.”

“Somebody has to,” the vampire said. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, his dislike for the other man leaking through with every word.

“Spike,” the Slayer admonished. “Not really helping here.”

“Helping?” Riley was incredulous. “Is that what you people are calling it now?”

Her hazel eyes widened. “You…people? And what exactly do you mean by, ‘you people?’” She bristled, her initial worry about his reaction gone with his accusation, and realized asking the question was enough to open the gates for the others to come streaming forth. “And what are you even doing here? You’re supposed to be back in Sunnydale---.”

“So is Spike,” he spat out. “Of course, when I heard him on the phone the other night…” He shook his head. “I knew something wasn’t right. How could you lie to me about him? Or, have you two been sneaking around my back for a while now? Pull the wool over the dumb boyfriend. After all, they grow them stupid out there in Iowa.”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew this was how you’d react to his being here.”

“And this surprises you?” Riley took a step into the room. “You’re obviously sleeping with Spike. How else am I supposed to react?”

For the first time, Buffy noticed the stake dangling from her ex’s hand, and her mouth thinned as she looked pointedly from it to his face. “You flew all the way to Scotland just to dust him, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I came all this way to protect you from him,” he countered. “Because you sure as hell don’t seem to be concerned with remembering what exactly he’s capable of.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know him, Riley. Not really. Or me, for that matter. Because if you did, you’d know that, first of all, I don’t need you to be playing Dudley Do-Right, trying to sweep in and rescue me when I very much don’t need to be rescued.”

“Is it a spell?” he asked, the pain in his eyes peeping from behind his anger. “Is that what’s making you act all crazy?”

“Because wingin’ it across the world with a stake clutched in your sweaty little meathook is a sure sign of your sanity,” the vampire drawled.

“Stay out of this, Spike,” Buffy warned. She sighed, pulling the towel closer around her frame, trying to stave away the tremors that still reverberated throughout her torso. Pleading hazel eyes gazed up at the young man by the door. “I am so sorry, Riley,” she said softly. “You’ve got to believe me, I was going to tell you the truth about everything when we got back to Sunnydale---.”

“And what’s that? The truth, I mean.” He waited, expectantly, for her response. Please oh please, be demon-related, he thought. Something I can blame this on. Someone I can blame that’s not Buffy.

Looking up at him, the joy from the last hour in the bath with Spike finished fading away, leaving her heart thudding nervously inside her chest. She took a deep breath, anything to calm her thundering nerves. “I don’t want to do it this---.”

“Are you in love with him?”

And there it was, the gauntlet, tossed so casually out there, as if this was something Riley had done every day of his life. All three of them could see it; all three had been expecting it. Not one of them had thought it would come quite so quickly.

With Buffy’s back to him, Spike couldn’t see her face, but he could hear her body, could feel the wild pace of her pulse as it skittered through her veins. It could mean anything---certainly getting interrupted so by the man you were cheating on could produce such an effect---but it made trying to figure out what she was going to say impossible to deduce. She’d only just admitted it to him, had said repeatedly how hard it was for her to say the words, and had still to tell two of her best friends even that they were involved. Did he really think she was going to tell the truth to Finn now? The prat was armed, looking for trouble, and taking Buffy by surprise was the surest way to raise those walls she was so damn good at. No way was this going to turn out good for the vampire.

Riley could see her face, but it didn’t do any good, that blank sadness that had haunted her eyes ever since he’d stepped through the door still shielding her thoughts from him better than a brick wall. He had surprised himself by asking the question. Though it hadn’t been something he’d seriously considered, seeing her now…hearing her words…witnessing the unexpected tenderness between his girlfriend and the vampire…it really seemed like the only thing he could ask. He had to know. And he had to know now.

At least he’s not beating around the proverbial bush, Buffy thought grimly. But then again, Riley’s always been Action Man. I couldn’t really be expecting anything less. Hoped for, yes, but of course, I also hoped that this was something I wouldn’t have to be dealing with just yet. It would’ve been nice to get this Duncan business done and over with before I had to start considering how I was going to handle Riley.

“Look,” she finally said. “Let me get dressed here. Just…go downstairs and wait for me. I’ll explain---.”

“Are you in love with him?” Riley repeated. His jaw was tense. “It’s not a hard question, Buffy. Yes or no. And I’m not stepping one foot out of this room until you answer it.”

It hadn’t been a gauntlet. It had been a shoe. And he was demanding that Buffy drop its mate. And they all knew it.

She was farther away now than she had been in days, and Spike ached to reach out and grab her back. Not physically. Physically, the distance was only a few feet. But mentally…emotionally…she might as well be back on the Hellmouth. Those damn walls of hers…and all because of Finn. Part of him wanted to hate the wanker for pressing her like this, but another part---a bigger, more insecure part---was waiting in desperate anticipation to hear what she was going to say, mildly grateful for having the issue pressed. If she thought it was hard saying when it was just the two of them, how would she respond when they had an audience?

Her eyes told him before the words came out of her mouth. “I am so, so sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this,” she said softly. “I wanted it to be…”

“…easy? Grow up, Buffy. There is no easy.” Not any more, Riley thought.

The room held its breath, waiting in thickening eagerness for her to speak. It almost seemed to exhale when she finally opened her mouth.

“Yes,” Buffy admitted. “I love Spike.”

The instant the first syllable came out of her mouth, his determination fled, dragging Riley’s feet along with it. Run, run, run, his heart was chanting, before it can hurt any worse. And his body obeyed, his fingers loosening around the stake to let it clatter to the floor, pivoting on his heel to yank the door open and bolt from the room.

“Riley!” she called after him, and was on her feet, halfway to the entrance when Spike grabbed her wrist.

“Let him go,” he said. When she looked back at his face, there was no anger in his blue eyes, only an odd grateful understanding that she didn’t have time to try and figure out. “It’ll be---.”

“No, not like this,” Buffy replied through gritted teeth, and yanked her arm from his grasp, ignoring the sudden pain in her shoulder as she rushed to the wardrobe and flung open the doors, blindly grabbing her clothes from within.

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

Her skin was raised in gooseflesh as she rushed from the stairwell, racing for the great hall to fling open the doors. Cold, too cold, but not the time to worry about that. Time to find him. Time to explain. Just have to find him.

Her entrance was a surprise, causing everyone at the table to turn and look at her. “Where is he?” she demanded, eyes scanning the room, stepping inside to peer into the far corners.

“Where’s who?” asked Willow.

“Riley,” the Slayer rushed. “Where’s Riley?”

Xander frowned. “Ummm…Sunnydale?”

Buffy shook her head, her breathing growing more ragged as she realized that her friends had no idea what she was talking about. “No, he’s here. He was just in my room---.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Giles rose from his seat and came around the table, his eyes narrowed in worry.

“I need to find Riley,” she said distractedly. “If he comes back here, don’t let him go anywhere.” And with that, she turned and ran from the room.

“Did I miss a memo?” Xander asked after she’d gone. “Or did that make as little sense to you guys as it did to me?”

“Count me in on the missage,” Willow said, eyes darting worriedly from the open door to Giles. “Do you think she’s delirious?”

“I don’t know,” the Watcher replied. “Spike didn’t exhibit any side effects from the bite, and the bath should’ve warmed her sufficiently to prevent any rise in her temperature that would explain such a thing.”

“Perhaps kelpie bites have different effects on humans,” Colin suggested.

“Too bad Frank left,” Anya commented. “He’d be able to tell us.”

Another arrival in the doorway captured the group’s attention. “Where’s Buffy?” Spike asked.

Giles’ eyes narrowed at the vampire’s appearance. His normally slicked back hair was a mass of damp curls, and the black tee that constituted his normal wardrobe clung to his chest in several wet patches. A quick glance downward showed his pale feet bare against the stone. “She just ran out,” he replied tersely, his gaze returning the vamp’s face. “You assured me she’d be resting. What in blazes happened up there?”

“Had us a little visitor,” Spike replied, turning back toward the hall.

The Watcher’s arm shot out, grabbing the vampire’s bicep and stopping his exit. “Riley’s actually here?” he asked.

“She mentioned that, did she?” He nodded. “Wanker showed up without an invite and got himself an eyeful for his trouble. Tore out of there like a bat out of hell with the Slayer right on his heels.”

“Who is this Riley?” Colin asked, leaning into the group at the table.

“Buffy’s boyfriend,” Xander offered.

The younger Watcher immediately stiffened at the reply, eyes jerking to the doorway where the other Englishmen stood. No wonder the Slayer had been in such a blather. Someone, or someones rather, had obviously been caught out.

“Well, at least we know she’s not hallucinating now,” Willow said with a smile that was meant to ease the tension within the room. “But how, and why, no, scratch that. Just how. How did he get here?”

“He drove.” The adrenalin had run its course in her system, leaving Buffy slightly deflated as she appeared at Spike’s side in the doorway. “Just like he just now drove away.”

“So, you didn’t catch him then?” the vampire asked softly. Not that he’d really wanted her to, but her distress regarding the whole matter was not something she needed right now. And his being a prick about the whole thing would only make it worse.

“No.” Her voice was low, dejected. “I got out there just in time to wave goodbye to his taillights.” She shook her head. “This was so not the way I pictured this happening.”

“What? You expected him to throw you a coming out party?” Giles was amazed at his charge’s naivete, shaking his head in reproval. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but if you expect to behave in this manner, you really should be prepared to accept the consequences.”

“Lay off, Rupert---.”

“No, he’s right.” Her hazel eyes were shiny, exhaustion shading them darker as she looked up at him. “I should’ve been upfront with Riley from the start. At the very least, I should’ve said something to him when we talked the other night. Maybe that would’ve stopped him from racking up those frequent flyer miles.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, until slowly, Xander raised his hand. “Not to sound like the village idiot here,” he said, “but what’s going on? So Riley showed up. What’s the big deal? Just one more muscle to help us with this whole black stallion mess.”

Nothing like getting thrown into the deep end, Buffy thought as she gazed at her friends at the table. First Giles, then Riley, and now Xander. Plus, can’t forget the “I love you” volleys with Spike. I don’t really do anything half-assed, now do I?

Taking a deep breath, the Slayer edged herself closer to the vampire at her side, relieved when his hand automatically came up to settle in the small of her back. It was a tiny gesture, probably unnoticed by the others, hidden as it was by their bodies, but for her, it was the pillar she needed to continue. “It’s a big deal,” she said slowly, and deliberately reached behind her to take the vampire’s hand in hers, interlocking their fingers as she let their arms fall to her side, “because Riley walked in on me and Spike.” She glanced up at him, catching the steady blue and holding it tight as she continued. “We’ve been kind of…involved with each other for awhile now.”

“What?” Xander’s voice rang clear in the great hall, his eyes wide. After a moment, he frowned, looking around at the others in the room. “OK, see, now I was expecting that to be a resounding chorus of many whats, not a resounding chorus of one what.”

Anya leaned over and affectionately patted her boyfriend’s hand. “That’s because the rest of us all know, sweetie,” she said.

“Wait,” came from a frowning Buffy. “You know?” Her gaze swept to the two witches. “How does Anya know?”

“Don’t worry, I guessed it,” the ex-demon replied.

“Yeah,” chimed Willow. “No offense, but Spike was getting to the point where even Anya could teach him a few things about subtlety.”

Xander’s head turned toward Colin. “What about you?” he asked. “How come you’re not joining the surprise brigade here?”

“Well…” The younger Watcher squirmed, uncomfortable under all the gazes that now settled on him, his face blushing as he did his best not to physically sink into his seat. “Their behavior was rather blatant. And when Spike reacted so strangely when the spell failed the first time---.”

“You’ve known since then?” Buffy’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t even know then.”

“That’s my job,” Colin defended with a bright fluster. “And when I tried discussing it with Rupert---.”

The Slayer whirled to face her Watcher. “You said this was all a surprise to you,” she accused.

“And it was. Just…not as surprising as it could’ve been had Colin not been so insistent with his suppositions.”

“And now Riley knows.” She shook her head, shrugging in resignation. “I’m so glad I tried keeping this all a secret.”

“So…you and Spike…” Xander’s voice trailed off, watching his best friend intently from the table.

Buffy nodded. “Me and Spike.”

At her side, the vampire’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting as he regarded the young man in curiosity. “How come your head’s not exploding, Harris?” he queried. “Would’ve expected at least a mild wobbler to come from you, maybe even one of those ever-so-dangerous fingers in my face, tellin’ me to stay away from your Slayer.”

The silence was deafening as they waited for his response. “Not that I’m thrilled about being left out of the loop again,” Xander finally said, “because I’m most definitely on the side of not on that issue. And can’t say I’d be dying to be in Riley’s shoes right about now. But I’m not completely blind.” He rolled his eyes at his friends’ exaggerated looks of surprise from around the room. “OK, ha ha, yes, I didn’t see it when apparently they were doing it right under all our noses. On the other hand, I have seen the way Spike’s been acting lately. Like…not an evil thing. Capable of acting like someone who might actually give a damn or two about something other than himself. And if that’s because of him being with Buffy, then…great. Which is not a word I would’ve ever thought I’d be using in association with my best friend having another vampire boyfriend.”

“And here I had my heart set on a good old-fashioned tellin’ off.” Spike shook his head. “You disappoint me, Harris.”

“Get used to it, Spike,” said Xander good-naturedly. “Besides, the finger-pointing thing should probably come courtesy of someone who’s not dating an ex-demon himself, don’t you think?”

Willow’s eyes were wide in surprise. “Wow, Xander, that’s really…insightful of you,” she commented.

He grinned. “I’ve been known to be graced with the occasional revelation,” he said. “Even if it does kind of hurt the old noggin there.” His gaze returned to the blonds in the doorway. “So, I’m…kind of OK with this. I think. Plus, bonus for me, I get to go to being the big guy in the group again, because gotta say, standing next to Riley can be just a little intimidating.”

“Hey! Big Bad here! I can be plenty intimidatin’!”

“Because you’ll…what? Hit me with your best snark?” Xander shook his head. “Sorry, Spike. You lost me on the intimidating thing the first time you had to borrow my Bermudas.”

“That was your bloody dryer’s fault!”

“If you’d learned how to do the laundry instead of playing at Minnie the Moocher while you were living with me, you would never have shrunk them in the first place.”

“Told you then, and I’m tellin’ you again, I wasn’t your soddin’ housekeeper. Don’t do laundry, don’t do ironin’, and certainly wasn’t goin’ to organize those bloody---.”

As the genial argument continued around her, Buffy bit back the smile that rose to her lips. What the hell had she been worried about with Xander? From the sounds of the friendly banter falling around her ears, everything was going to be just fine.

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

He was reading at the small desk against the wall when the knock came at the door. “Come in!” Travers called out, and turned in his seat to see Ibbie poke her head in.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” she said, “but there’s a…gentleman downstairs who says he’s here to see you.”

Quentin frowned. “I’m not expecting anyone tonight.”

“I know, and normally I wouldn’t bother, but he’s…” She frowned. “…he’s a trifle worse for wear. And quite insistent.”

Sighing, Travers rose to his feet, removing his glasses to set them on the desk. “My apologies for the trouble,” he said as he followed her from the room and downstairs.

She led him to the front sitting room and hung back, glancing between him and the open door. “The surgery will be closed,” Ibbie explained. “But I’m sure I could find someone who would---.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he cut off with a smile, and stepped into the room. The sight of the portly man standing next to the fireplace immediately reverted his face to a frown, the multiple bruises that colored the arrival’s grizzled cheeks almost unnoticeable next to the blood-stained coat that hugged his rotund frame. “Or perhaps it will…” he murmured.

There was a moment of silence until he realized she was still standing behind him. “Thank you,” Travers said, stepping to the doorway and guiding the door closed. “We won’t be long.”

Once they were alone, Quentin immediately strode to the other man’s side, peering into his face to examine his wounds more carefully. “What happened to you, Hornbrook?” he asked. “You made no mention of this when we spoke earlier.”

“The Slayer happened to me,” Hornbrook replied. “The Slayer and that damn vampire…”

Though his feet were bare against the stone floor, Spike was oblivious to the cold, standing inside the door and surveying the water that was spilled around, the damp towel dropped haphazardly into a heap on the bed. Goin’ to need new sheets, he noted wryly. Won’t do for Buffy to have to put up with wet ones.

First things first, though. Had to empty the bath.

He’d come up here for a purpose, though not the one he’d shared with the Slayer. The near non-existent surprise of their announcement had been followed by a quick clearing of the table, with the girls shuttling Buffy into the kitchen and the two Watchers burying themselves back into their books. That had left Spike with Harris, and though the younger man had made it more than obvious he had few problems with the new arrangements, there was still a note of sticky discomfort in the air, quieting both of them until the vampire had made the excuse of cleaning the bedroom and took his leave, right after telling the Slayer where he was going. It was a valid reason to come up, but truth be told, not the only one. For some reason, Spike was convinced that the others needed some alone time, space to talk about him without his lurking that would only make them curb their words.

The one thing he was hoping it would do was give Buffy a chance to help get her head sorted about the whole mess. Though he certainly didn’t have a problem with how their arrangement came out---hell, it was Finn’s own fault---he knew Buffy did, and maybe talking it over with her girlfriends was what she needed to come to grips with it. At least, that’s what he hoped.

His back was to the door when the rap came, and the vampire glanced over his shoulder to see Xander hovering in the entrance, a thermos dangling from his finger. “Yeah?” Spike asked, reaching into the water to pull out the washcloth that had settled to the bottom of the tub.

“Can I come in?” He was shifting nervously from foot to foot, playing with the flask in his hand, and looking not at all like he actually wanted to enter.

The vampire frowned, immediately stiffening. “Something wrong?” he asked, wringing the cloth over the tub.

“No, nothing wrong, just…” Xander held up the thermos. “…thought you might be a little hungry.”

“Oh.” Spike shrugged. “Just set it on the side. I’ll get to it after I take care of this.” He began to turn away, then hesitated before shooting a brusque, “Thanks, mate,” back to the doorway.

It took him only a minute to realize that Harris hadn’t moved and he stopped his organization of the toiletries to face the other man head on. “What is it?” he demanded. “’Cause if you’re just bored and lookin’ for a show---.”

“Do you need some help with that?”

The offer took him by surprise, and Spike glanced back at the still-full tub before reverting his attention to his guest. “Something tells me you’ve got more on the brain than bein’ blood delivery boy or playin’ at housemaid,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “So spill it, Harris.”

This pulled Xander inside the door, grabbing the knob and shutting it closed behind him. He squared his shoulders as he looked over at the blond. “I was hoping we could talk. You know, mano et vampo. About Buffy. Well, about you and Buffy.”

Spike snorted. “Ahhh, here it comes. Figured your little act downstairs was too good to be true.”

“Hey, that was all about me being Mr. Sincerity down there,” came the retort. “And I’m beginning to think that maybe I should’ve slipped something into your little bloodshake there with the kind of welcome I’m getting.” He tossed him the thermos, stuffing his hands into his pockets once they were empty.

The vampire caught it with a clean jerk, his blue eyes narrowing as he regarded the other man. “You’re serious,” he said slowly. “You just want to…talk.”

“Well, yeah. It’s not like it would be the first time it happened, you know. Which is kind of what I wanted to talk about.”

“This isn’t the sort of chat that’s goin’ to end in some sick group hug, is it?” His lip curled in distaste.

“Only if you ask really nicely. Or annoy me to no end. Frankly, I see the latter as being more likely.”

Tossing the thermos onto the bed, Spike turned back to the full bath and picked up the empty buckets at its side. “If we’re goin’ to do this, you’re goin’ to work at the same time. Help me with the bailing here.”

Xander crossed to the tub and took one of the buckets from the vampire’s hand. “When I was being the gout man,” he started, “and you were telling me about this girl you were in love with…that was all about Buffy, wasn’t it?”

No point in hedging now. Everything was already out in the open. “Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me it was her because…?”

Spike’s scarred brow lifted. “Hello? Am I the only one who remembers the long, pointy stick? Wasn’t too interested in losin’ an eyeball there. Not that your aim was good enough for that anyway. With my luck, you would’ve just poked something that should by all rights be doin’ the pokin’.”

Xander stopped in his tracks, holding up a warning finger to the vampire in front of him. “OK, still coming to grips with the whole my best friend’s dating a vampire thing, so any references that conjure up images of Buffy getting…poked by you? I would greatly appreciate it if you could somehow find a way to keep those to yourself for now.”

Spike rolled his eyes, shaking his head in annoyance. “I’m just sayin’, don’t think you’d’ve been very receptive to hearin’ the truth about my feelings for Buffy back then.” He stepped out into the hallway. “Now stop your lollygaggin’ and get to hauling.”

Trotting after him, Xander frowned as the vampire stopped before one of the windows, pulling down the pane of glass to let in a fresh blast of wind from outside. “What’re you doing?” he asked.

“You feel like lugging all this downstairs when there’s a perfectly good window here, be my guest.” Hoisting the bucket to his shoulder, Spike poured the water through the opening, heedless to the wide-eyed surprise of the young man behind him.

“That’s the front of the castle. Someone could be standing down there!”

Cocking his head to listen, Spike waited a moment before shaking his blond curls. “No unholy screams so I’m callin’ it safe.” He brushed past Xander to go back into the room. “’Sides, don’t think anyone’s goin’ to notice with the way it’s pissin’ rain out there.”

The vampire had filled a second load from the tub by the time Xander came back into the room. “I take it that my advice was all about you luring Buffy to the dark side of the force then,” the brunette commented.

“It would’ve been if I’d actually followed up on it---.”

“Wait a minute.” Xander stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance, his brown eyes wide. “I impart to you my greatest words of wisdom regarding the fairer sex, and you just blow me off? Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do.”

“I didn’t…” Spike grimaced at the younger’s choice of words. “…blow you off. Just didn’t work out that way, is all.”

“So you tried the grand romantic gesture then?”

“Didn’t need to,” he said, brushing his way past. “Buffy came around on her own.”

“But you were planning to.” Without bothering to refill his own pail, Xander hurried after the vampire, hanging on his heels even when the other man stopped to turn and face him.

“Not that it matters now, but yeah, I’d given it some thought.” His head tilted, brow wrinkling. “What’s the bug up your skirt, Harris?”

“Nothing. I was just…wondering if I was in any small way…responsible for you and Buffy…”

The worry that clouded the dark-haired man’s face would’ve been comical if Spike didn’t know how serious he was about it. So, yeah, he didn’t go off the deep end regarding the truth about their relationship, but that sure as hell didn’t mean he wanted to think he was the one who brought it all about. Any other time, the vampire would’ve just let him simmer in his own juices, and though the sarcastic comeback popped instantly to his lips, he bit it back, all of a sudden remembering the casual reference to him as one of Xander’s “friends” earlier in the great hall. And somehow…it didn’t seem like a friendly thing to do. Damn. He must be going soft.

“It wasn’t you,” he assured. “This thing between me and Buffy…it’s been stewing a long time. Before Scotland even, I think. Which is one reason why Soldier Boy took it the way he did. But it’s got nothin’ to do with you or what you said, so don’t fuss yourself about it.” OK, semi-truths there. Though his feelings for Buffy had been around for a while, Spike wasn’t entirely sure about the Slayer’s, but phrasing it this way took the bulk of the burden from the young man’s shoulders.

Xander’s relief was a loud exhalation. “OK. Because you know, I was just wondering and all.” He headed back into the bedroom, speaking as he walked. “So what were you going to do?”

“None of your business.”

“Aw, c’mon. You can tell me. Not like you actually did it. And it was my idea in the first place.”

“I don’t care. I’m not tellin’.”

“It can’t be so bad,” Xander pressed. “What was it? Stand outside her window blasting the Sex Pistols? Sweep her off her feet and into your crypt?” His face brightened. “Oh! Or maybe you were going to write her an epic love poem.” He laughed. “That would really…” As the muscles in Spike’s jaw twitched, his nostrils flaring, the young man’s voice trailed off even as his eyes widened in amused delight. “Holy gee willikers, Batman, you were going to write her a poem!”

The volume of his voice had risen in his glee, and the vampire marched back into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, blue eyes flashing. “Chip or no chip, you say one word to Buffy about that, your little demon girlfriend’s goin’ to be investing a lot of her hard-earned dosh in battery-operated substitutes, if you get my meanin’.”

Xander held up his hands in defense. “Hey, did I say I was going to blab? It’s just…” His lips quirked, unable to hold back the smile. “…funny.”

“It’s not funny,” Spike growled, storming back to the tub’s side and viciously refilling his bucket. “It’s a soddin’ nightmare.”

“What? Did she laugh at it?”

“She never saw it.” He glared at him in warning. “And she’s not goin’ to.”

“Why not? It can’t be that bad. And Buffy’s a sucker for poetry. There was this one guy in high school---.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Already heard the Dickinson story, Harris. Just drop the whole subject, all right? The poem was a piece of rubbish, and no way am I goin’ to let Buffy know about it, not while I’ve got a drop of self-respect left in these bones.”

When the vampire left the room again, Xander tilted his head, watching the black-covered back thoughtfully. “Maybe it just needs some polishing. You know, buff it up for the ol’ Buffster,” he offered when Spike returned.

“Aren’t you s’posed to be helpin’ me here?” the vampire complained as he passed by to drain another pail of water from the tub. “Because this looks remarkably like you’re not.”

“I’m just saying---.”

“Don’t.”

“But---.”

“No buts.”

“If you want---.”

“And I don’t, so stop pushin’ me. You’re not seein’ it, and that’s final.”

“No such thing as final---.”

“Keep it up, Harris, and bathwater won’t be the only thing goin’ out that bloody window.”

Their bickering continued, floating down the hallway and into the stairwell, the tattoo of the rain getting broken by the semi-regular splashes of water hitting the ground below. With the easy gibes that passed between them, the casual onlooker would’ve wondered why two such friends were even arguing about the matter, its resolution barreling forward to the vampire’s inevitable collusion.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that Xander refused to give in. This one was just too good to pass up.

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

Steam rose from the mug cupped in her hands, and gently, Willow blew across the top, cooling it with her breath before handing it over to Buffy. “It’s still hot,” she warned.

Sniffing at the contents, the Slayer grimaced. “And it still smells like the bottom of the refrigerator when Dawn forgets it’s her turn to clean it out,” she commented, holding the mug as far away from her as possible.

“That’s the hing,” said Tara. “It has a kind of distinctive odor.”

“It could be worse,” Anya offered. “You could have to be wearing it.” The other girls just looked at her questioningly, prompting her to explain. “Hing’s a popular remedy for indigestion,” she said. “Mix it with a spoonful of curd and smear it on your tummy. Works wonders.”

“So what you’re telling me is that the Pepto Bismol of the magic world is going to make this little lovebite of Duncan’s go away?” Buffy asked disbelievingly. “You’re kidding, right?”

“It doesn’t make it go away,” Willow corrected. “It just kind of…cauterizes the wound from the inside to prevent it from opening again. Plus, it’s supposed to have a numbing effect so that you can’t feel any more pain from it. But it still looks for all intents and purposes that it’s there.”

“The numbing comes from the hing spice,” the ex-vengeance demon said. “You should feel what it does when you get it in your belly button.”

Buffy bit back a smile. “Can I drink it hot, or do I have to wait for it to cool? Because at the moment, I’m thinking hot might be better. That way, it’ll burn off all my taste buds so that I can’t tell what I’m really drinking here.”

“It’s your call. Heat doesn’t affect its healing properties.”

The kitchen was silent as the Slayer sipped at the concoction, holding her breath as she did so in hopes that not smelling it would help its taste. It didn’t. Her face contorted as the liquid slid down her throat, and Buffy stuck out her tongue, hoping the cool air would somehow alleviate the lingering pungence in her mouth, an incoherent, “Ughhh,” ripping from her lungs.

Willow laughed. “I’m going to guess that’s not a face Spike has seen very often,” she said lightly. “Because not really a falling-in-love-with kind of face.”

“I’m so glad my discomfort amuses you,” the Slayer complained. It was only then that she realized what exactly the redhead had said. “Since when did joking about me and Spike become public domain?” she asked.

“Since you decided to throw Riley out with the bathwater,” Anya said. Three sets of wide eyes accompanied dropped jaws as the trio of girls gaped at her boldness, and she bristled. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t think it’s just a little bit humorous Riley finding Buffy and Spike like he did. Personally, I think it’s hysterical. I mean, can you imagine the look on his face?” She waited expectantly for some support from the others, but finding none, she shrugged, her wide smile only fading slightly. “I just think it would’ve been priceless to have been a fly on that wall.”

“Can we just…not talk about Riley right now?” Buffy asked softly. It was hard enough remembering the hurt in his eyes, the pain and anger that had flashed in those hazel depths when she’d admitted her feelings about Spike. Part of her had been tempted to lie, to try and cover the whole thing up, to deny it was anything but a physical thing. But it wouldn’t have made anything easier. Because then she would have two hurt men on her hands, one of whom she loved, the other whom she cared for, and the young woman wasn’t sure even she was strong enough to have to deal with that. Not even a Slayer had that kind of strength.

“Let’s talk about something a little more angst-lite,” she said, forcing a smile. “Like kelpies and rituals that kill your boyfriends.” She took another sip from the mug. “Where did Frank take off to this time this time?”

“Once he got all bandaged up, Colin took him back down to the Otherworld tunnels,” Willow explained. “Frank said the stream has a healing effect on guardians and it would speed everything up so that he could help us with Duncan tomorrow.”

“Did he take the harness with him?”

“Well, considering you’re the only one who knows where it actually is,” said Anya, “the answer to that would be no.”

Buffy frowned. “Crap. I guess I should’ve said something before I went upstairs.”

“Colin told him you would t-t-take it to him tomorrow.”

“Not that he was very happy about that little arrangement, let me tell you.” Anya was on a roll. “Trying to reason with him that you were too hurt to be bothered with it right then was like trying to convince Xander that marshmallow fluff is not a basic food group. Very stubborn.”

“Did he tell you what the harness does before he left?” Her hazel eyes swept the small group, waiting for a response, but was met with only furtive glances and guilty smiles. The Slayer groaned. “Please tell me he at least filled you in on the whole Duncan thing before returning to the Kelpie Lagoon there. Give me that.”

“Yep. Three guardians, blah blah, lost the harness, blah blah, can change into anything they want, blah blah, and Duncan’s a kelpie?” The last was the only bit of Anya’s list that registered any emotion, her voice peaking in shock.

At Buffy’s nod over her cup, Willow shook her head. “What gets me is that Xander and Spike suspected him from the beginning. At least, that’s what Xander claimed when Frank gave us a demo and shapeshifted into Spike right in front of us. Why didn’t they say anything?”

“Would you have believed them?” the Slayer quizzed. “According to Spike, we were all acting pretty wacky. If I hadn’t seen all Duncan’s dead bodies buried out in the Kelpie Cave with my own eyes, I’m not sure I would. But murdering demon plus stolen mysterious artifact pretty much equals bad guy in just about anyone’s book, I think.”

“Oh!” The redhead’s face brightened. “We did get some answers regarding the closing spell, though. Giles and Colin were right about the physical requirements of it. Turns out that once the three are imbued with the magical spirits, they have to transfer the urn to the other side of the entrance where apparently there’s this trial they have to pass. That’s how the entrance gets closed.”

“And what’s the trial?”

“Ummm, we’re still working on that part.”

“And if the entrance gets closed while we’re all on the other side of it, how do we get back?”

“The magical spirits. They act as a kind of hall pass while they’re still in you. Once the trial is over, you bring the urn back to the stone triangle and voila! The spell is over.”

“Is that when Spike does his combustion trick?” The darting of her best friend’s eyes was all the answer Buffy needed, and she set down the mug on the counter so hard, some of its contents sloshed over the side. “We’ve got to fix this!” she demanded. “I did not go through all this All My Children-esque melodrama tonight just to lose Spike to a stupid magic fire. Can’t we just put a protection spell on him or something that will shield him from the effects of the closing ritual?”

Willow shook her head. “We don’t know how it would affect it,” she said. “For all we know, it could just transfer the fire to you or Xander.”

“And I am not having a crispy-fried boyfriend,” Anya said. “I’ve gone down that road before. You just end up with ashy bedsheets.”

“We’ve still got twenty-four hours until we can do the spell,” Tara said. “We’ll figure something out.”

“And if we don’t, we can just wait to do the spell until the next lunar opening we get,” her girlfriend added. “Gotta love those lunar openings.”

Though she nodded in agreement, Buffy kept silent, picking up her cup to finish draining off the healing potion. Dread was filling her torso, worry that they wouldn’t figure out what to do in time coursing through her arteries. Too much had happened; there was no way she was going to lose Spike over something as ridiculous this now, not when she’d only just found him. And found herself in the process.

“How’s the shoulder feeling?” Willow asked as Buffy set down her now empty mug.

Testing the joint, the Slayer winced before settling it gently back into place. “Still hurts,” she said. “Is this supposed to have worked this fast?”

The redhead blushed. “Actually, no. I was just hoping a change of topic might make it less tense-y in here.”

“I know what would make me less tense-y.” Buffy’s face was grim. “Pummeling a certain kelpie to a pulp before tossing him off to Spike to finish. That would definitely rate high on the relax-o-meter.”

“Or you could have sex with Spike,” offered Anya. “That always works for me.” At the Slayer’s raised eyebrow, the ex-demon rolled her eyes. “With Xander, of course. Not Spike. Although, I do have to say, not that I’m envious or anything, good job on that one. I’ll bet anything Spike’s much more compatible than Riley when it comes to orgasm potential.”

“Anya!”

“Oh please. Like the rest of you weren’t thinking exactly the same thing.”

“Um, no. Because, hello, gay now.”

“And that’s why you were hanging all over Duncan, right?” Anya smiled. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that one, missy.” She turned back to the Slayer. “I’m just saying, a century of experience, vampire stamina, that body. You’ve definitely upgraded your model, Buffy.”

In spite of the other girl’s bluntness, Buffy found herself smiling in agreement, the memory of Spike’s hands on her in the bath washing her in fire. She still felt like thrashing Duncan, but somehow, she had a feeling that Anya’s suggestion was going to work just as well.

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

He hated this form. As he stood by the fire, the tumbler of whiskey in his hands, the kelpie who had been Duncan stared at Travers, wishing yet again that this Hornbrook had been young or at the very least, fit. It hurt to breathe, and the bulky body he was forced to carry was uncomfortable, slow in reflexes and awkward to maneuver. He was going to be glad when he didn’t have to keep this shape anymore.

Quentin was regarding him in a mixture of worry and disbelief, the heavy lines etched into his brow as he frowned at his colleague. “My apologies for not believing you,” he said. “But I just find it inconceivable that Buffy Summers would inflict this kind of damage on another human. Especially someone who is a member of my Council.”

“Believe it. It was that vampire’s fault. She’s in love with him, and when he decided he was going to keep the harness for himself, he convinced her to try and get rid of me.” He hadn’t expected this loyalty Travers was exhibiting for his Slayer. When Duncan had conceived the plan in the cave, he had assumed Hornbrook’s word would be enough and yet, here he was, arguing over the finer points of his story, because Quentin refused to acknowledge that Buffy was capable of an attack of such viciousness toward a human. The fact that this part---the part where she was the reason behind his injuries---was actually true, just made it all the worse. Too bad he couldn’t admit to being a demon. Then, the bastard Travers would have to believe him.

“And she now has the harness.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re convinced she and Spike are---.”

“In love.”

They hadn’t heard the door open, but both men looked around to see a soaking wet Riley Finn standing in the entrance, his face grim. “What was that, Mr. Finn?” queried Travers.

“Buffy and Spike are in love, sir,” the young man repeated. “I’ll vouch for that.” His voice was flat, his eyes dull, but the tension that locked his arms behind his back, almost as if he were standing before a superior officer, rippled through his tall body in dangerous waves.

Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “And you would know this because…?”

“Because she told me.”

This was his chance, and Duncan pounced on it. “I’m telling you, sir, it’s that Spike’s fault. He has some kind of control over her. She’ll do anything he says.”

He hadn’t wanted to believe, but there was too much evidence staring him back in the face. Hornbrook’s injuries were serious, and the man was a valued member of his board, loyal to a fault and excellent at his job. While Quentin knew little of Finn, it seemed odd that the young man would travel so far if it wasn’t a serious matter; certainly finding out the woman you love was under the thrall of a powerful vampire would qualify as such.

And yet that meant Buffy Summers had turned traitor. Which couldn’t be. Slayers simply just didn’t…and then he remembered Faith, and his mouth thinned.

Slayers sometimes did.

Which meant he had to take action.

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

Even if she hadn't seen the smoke wafting in a diaphanous cloud down the hall, Buffy would've known Spike stood in the entrance as soon as she stepped from the great hall. It wasn't just Slayer senses, either. That would be too easy of an answer. No, she knew as she walked slowly down the corridor that the stampede charging across her skin was a direct result of whatever bond was growing between her and the vampire, that knowing where he was or how he was feeling without even needing to physically see him was a side effect of opening the door inside her to let him enter. It wasn't that admitting she loved him---to herself, to her friends, and most importantly, to him---had allowed her the freedom to relax, even if it had.

It was that, for the first time in what felt like forever, Buffy Summers felt whole.

She slowed her pace even further as she approached, hazel eyes sweeping over his bent form as he stared out into the raining night. He was in profile to her, his bleached hair a mass of tumbled curls, the strays at the nape of his neck begging for her fingers to reach out and twist them around her knuckles, while his face was an exercise of shadows, the golden candlelight from the wall sconces warming his normal pallor even as it disappeared amongst the angular lines of his face. His hands were on the jamb, supporting his weight as he leaned forward, his cigarette dangling almost forgotten between his fingers, and she dwelled briefly on the strength of those forearms, how they'd felt wrapped pressing into her as he'd taken the time to bathe her just…oh god, was it only an hour ago?

"How did sorority hour go?" Spike asked, his head turning so that he could watch her near, blue eyes swallowed into black. "The girls convince you you've cocked everything up, or have I passed inspection?"

"Well, let's just say that if I ever need to pass over the title of president of the Spike fan club, Anya will be more than happy to take it from me." She stopped behind him and circled her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back, all the while inhaling deeply. Even the effects of the bath could do nothing to take away that smell that was so uniquely him; that curious blend would forever be enough to waken her senses in thrills. "What's the point of going outside for a cigarette if all your smoke ends up in the hallway?" she asked lightly.

He smiled, flicking the butt out into the rain, watching as the red tip arced into the night before disappearing in a tiny fleck of crimson. "It's not my fault," Spike said. "It's the wind's. Anyone's got a problem with it, they can just take it up with Mother Nature and give her an earful. I'm out of it." With his hands now free, he turned in her embrace, leaning against the jamb as he pulled her gently back against him, burying his nose in her hair as his fingers curled protectively around her waist. Out in the open now, he thought. No need for pretense. Never lettin' her go again.

With her back to him, Buffy couldn't see his face and twisted slightly to gaze up at him. She could tell that his mind was miles away, his eyes thoughtful even as they gleamed beneath heavy lids. There was a softness in his mouth, that half-smile playing with its luscious corner, that spoke of musings not of the bloody or violent kind. Her own face softened. "You know, I can see Spike, and I can feel Spike," she said quietly, a slight tinge of tease in her words, "but Spike's not really here right now, is he?"

He took a moment to respond, rolling the words around in his head before allowing them to slip out to her ears. "I'm sorry." His subdued tone echoed in the touch of his hand to the side of her face, palm against her jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over her bottom lip. He was fighting the urge to lean in and kiss her, to catch the fullness of her mouth between his teeth, and devour her on the spot, but Spike knew that if he didn't get this out now, he wasn't sure he ever would.

"For what?"

"For…the way…" No name-calling; be respectful, for her sake. "…Finn found out. About us."

"Oh." The reminder of Riley wiped the smile from Buffy's face, and she found herself leaning into Spike's hand, cradling her cheek against it as her breath softly fanned across his skin.

It was such a small movement on her part; to anyone else, it might have been completely dismissed. To Spike, however, it meant more, a monument of telling and trust screaming at him through his palm as he watched the pain flicker behind the luminous hazel. The Slayer was not one for seeking succor; so strong and so independent, she had rare need for it. But he knew this was her way of acquiescing to her current call for consolation. And he would give her whatever she wanted in order to satisfy it.

"Whatever you need…tonight…just tell me." He kept his voice low and even, though his insides were crawling to hold her even tighter. "You need space? You got it. Just say the word and I'm sleepin' on---."

"I need you." Buffy's head turned back to look up into his face. "We made our bed tonight by going public, so now you're going to have to lie in it. With me. Preferably naked."

Spike smiled, but his gaze flickered to her shoulder. "You're the one who's got to be careful now, luv," he said. "You don't need me hoggin' the bed when you should be gettin' your rest."

"I like the way you hog," she teased, and began tracing a path along his skin where his shirt rode up from his jeans. "And besides, I've been magicked up. Will and Tara gave me something for it so I don't have to worry about it hurting or bleeding anymore."

For once, Spike found himself grateful for the Slayer's friends. Talking with Harris had led to discussion of Buffy's relationship with Riley, and the unexpected confession from the young man that Finn suspected her dissatisfaction with the way things were between them before she'd even left Sunnydale had lightened the guilt he'd felt regarding how torn up she'd gotten by his sudden appearance. Not that he cared one way or the other how Soldier Boy found out. In fact, truth be told, he'd rather enjoyed the pained look on the other man's face at catching them the way he did. But still. This wasn't about him. This was about Buffy. And it sounded like her girlfriends had done their job in helping to ease some of her feelings about it. Gotta remember to pick them up a little thank you gift when we get back, he thought. Maybe nick something from the magic shop for them.

"So…are we going to stand here all night in the cold, or are you going to come upstairs with me and let me warm my feet up?" Buffy asked coyly, slipping away from his embrace, her fingers knotted in the hem of his shirt so that he was forced to come along with her. "I'm beginning to think I should be wearing double socks around this place."

"Nothin' wrong with socks," Spike said as they started up the narrow stairwell. Their fingertips curled against the other's, the tiniest of hooks connecting them lest one should slip. "Socks can be sexy." When she glanced back at him, waiting for his inevitable qualification, he chuckled. "Long as that's all you're wearing," he clarified.

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

The ringing from the table surprised them both. For a moment, Giles and Colin just looked at each other, matching frowns on their faces, before the younger Watcher rose to his feet and walked over to the table, picking up the phone that rested there. After a cursory glance at its display, he pressed the talk button and held it to his ear. "Hello?"

Giles saw his shoulders stiffen almost immediately, his head snapping back as if to attention, and crossed to stand by the other's side. Something was not good about this particular phone call, and he didn't want to miss a single word of it.

"Y-y-yes, sir," Colin was saying. "Not that I don't understand, but do you really think…Well, really, it's so much a matter of…Is that necessary? Because I can assure you, I have everything under con..." Whoever was on the other end wasn't allowing the young Englishman to finish any of his sentences, in spite of a concerted effort on Colin's part, and his color rose with each passing attempt. "I c-c-can explain. Surely, such lengths aren't…Yes. Yes, sir. No, I understand. And I'll inform Rup---Mr. Giles---so that we are both prepared…Good night, sir."

The lines were deep in Giles' forehead as he watched Colin turn off the phone and return it to the table. "Why did that not sound like good news?" he queried.

"Because it was Mr. Travers." The Watcher's eyes were bleak as he looked up at his colleague. "And he's here in Scotland."

His chest suddenly constricted, and Giles automatically reached up to remove his glasses, wiping them absently as he gazed intently at the other man. "What did he have to say?"

"Too much. And none of it good." A deflated Colin collapsed into a nearby chair, sighing heavily. "He wishes to see us first thing in the morning in town. He wants to discuss Buffy and Spike."

"Buffy and…Spike?"

"He knows. Don't ask me how or why because he didn't specify, but somehow Mr. Travers is aware of what has developed between them."

Giles sat in the opposite chair, returning his glasses to his nose as he peered at the younger man. "But that's not possible," he argued. "They've only just confirmed their relationship for us this evening. How could…" His voice trailed off, the possibilities tumbling in his head, but one kept fighting its way to the forefront, one that was leaving a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Riley. He was the only explanation. It was too much of a coincidence not to be him.

"There's more." Colin lifted his head to stare at Rupert. "He also knows that Buffy has the harness."

"What?" This time, Giles exploded, confusion brightening his eyes to a livid blue. How much exactly had Buffy told Riley when he'd been upstairs? It made no sense for the young man to be informed of the recent developments regarding the artifact, and yet there seemed no other possible way for Travers to have retained his information and acted so quickly on it. Furtively, he glanced around the room, leaning forward as he lowered his voice. "You don't think they've had us under surveillance the entire time we've been here, do you?" he quizzed.

Colin shook his head. "I don't know. I was never informed of that, but then again, I wasn't informed of a lot of things regarding this project, so there's really no telling. All I know is that Mr. Travers wants both of us there in the morning. With Buffy."

"What about Spike?"

"We're to leave him here. For some reason, he…fears for our safety."

"That's ridiculous."

"I'm just relaying what Mr. Travers said." Again, Colin sighed heavily. "I've a feeling none of this bodes very well for the satisfactory completion of our project."

And silently, Giles agreed.

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

When he hesitated in the doorway, Buffy looked back at him in surprise, the tiniest of lines between her brows. "It's your room, too," she teased. "Not like you need an invitation."

"I know that, luv," he said, and let his blue eyes slip past her, sweeping across the now tidy room, taking in the domesticated orderliness, from the his and her shoes lined up carefully next to the bed, to the arrangement of his mousse beside her shampoo, to the absence of the phony pallet on the floor. "It's just…everything's changed now. For good. You know that, right?"

"I think I figured that out somewhere around the time Riley got the full monty from you when you reached for the washcloth," she teased quietly, biting back the giggle that automatically rose to her lips. The look on her ex-boyfriend's face had been comical, to say the least, and…Mentally, she chided herself. Not funny. Serious business there. Not fair to be laughing at…And unbidden, the smile returned.

"And…you're sure you're fine with that?" He still wasn't moving, watching her intensely, waiting for her to crack even the tiniest. Because in Spike's experience, that's what always happened. He got what he wanted only to have fate step in and twist the knife by ripping it away from him. "Rupes is hardly chuffed to bits about us, and your mates…"

"…will get over any problems they have with it, if there are any problems," she finished. "Not that I think there are. For some reason, I almost think Xander was relieved to find out the truth."

"You know, he actually called me his friend tonight?"

This surprised her, and Buffy lifted her brows. "And I missed it?" she asked. "Was he drunk?"

"That's just it." Letting go of her hand, Spike ran a long hand through his hair, pulling at the curls in frustration. "I didn't get into this looking for friends, Slayer. Hell, to be honest, I never thought I'd get half as far as we've gone. And now…"

"…and now, Big Bad Spike is feeling scared," she teased, grabbing his hand again and pulling him over the threshold.

"Not scared," he argued.

"Looks like scared to me." Stepping up to him, Buffy reached around his torso to nudge the door closed, pressing her breasts into his chest at the same time, feeling her nipples harden at the contact with the black cotton of his shirt. Deliberately, she lifted her head, nuzzling it into the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply. "Smells like scared." Her mouth opened, the tip of her tongue a fine point along the outer curve of his ear. "Do you taste scared, too, I wonder?" she whispered.

The nearness of her was intoxicating, the barest touch of her tongue enough to dispel any rational thought in the wake of her promise, but Spike knew she was just playing with him, that she didn't really see what a muddle he thought all this was, and was trying to distract him with her body and her own needs. Not that his needs weren't as great; the hardness of his arousal scraping along the inside of his jeans was testimony to that. But he wanted her to get what he was saying before he was willing to allow this to go any further.

Taking her firmly by the waist, Spike eased her away from him, feeling the absence of her body against his like a cold slap across the face. "When I say everything's changed," he said, "I mean it. With you, me, your Watcher, your little friends---."

"Our little friends," Buffy corrected.

"Which is exactly my point! You're tellin' me, you don't think it's bang out of order for me, your former mortal enemy, creature of the night and all that rot, to be hangin' out with a group of do-gooding ex-Happy Meals, listenin' to them dish about whatever nasty's in town and bein' expected to throw in my two cents when they ask for it?"

Her words were measured. "Wasn't it you who didn't understand why I wanted to wait and break the news of us to the gang?" she asked quietly. "And you were right. They're more than OK with this. They like you, Spike. You gave them a chance to see past all the crap, and now you're surprised they're actually smart enough to see what I do?"

"It's not that---."

"It is that." Buffy felt the flush of the discussion warming her cheeks as she looked up into his face. "Look, it doesn't really matter why. There's no call for wigging out on me here. I'm glad of the changes, and I think, deep down, you are, too. And you're just too used to trying to be all big and bad that you don't want to admit it. But it's OK. My feelings aren't going to change because you happen to like hanging out with Xander---."

"I never bloody said that!"

This time, she couldn't help but laugh at the frustration twisting his face. "You know, you're cute when you're in denial," she said, and stood on her tiptoes to brush the softest of kisses across his mouth. "And if thinking that makes it easier, then I say go for it. Even if we both know it's a load of crap. Will you be wanting that white hat now, or later?" She laughed again as his lips pursed, ready to bite back with some sarcastic remark, and silenced him with another kiss, deeper this time, working over the tension in his mouth by pulling and sucking at his bottom lip.

Strong hands slid up her arms, pulling her closer, a hungry growl rumbling from his throat. She was laughing at him and it was infuriating, but no way could he resist a direct assault on his senses, not when her arousal emanated from her pores in palpable clouds. Just had to show her…

With more force than he felt, Spike broke from the kiss and stared down at her, watching as she so nonchalantly flipped her hair from her shoulder, exposing the edges of her injury to his inspection. "Not a white hat," he rumbled. "Demon, remember?"

She knew the game, saw the discomfort lurking behind the sapphire, too proud to say what was really going through his head. As Buffy's smile faded, it was replaced with a mischievous gleam in her eye. This was easy to give; no reason for him to need to ask for it. Too much had been stripped from him already tonight, and she wasn't about to add to the pile by not playing along.

"But demons are supposed to be scary," she taunted, stepping back and away from him, gazing up at him through her lashes. "And you're…not."

He responded with a flash of gold in the blue and a quirk of his lips . "No?" Spike asked softly, and mirrored her step with his own, head lowered, the animal grace of his body wound in a tight coil that threatened to break free at any given moment. "You sure about that?"

"Sure," she murmured, and deliberately ran her tongue over her bottom lip, moistening it so that it glistened in the candlelight.

The effect made his mouth water, driving him ever forward, one lazy step at a time. "How long before the witches' little hocus pocus takes effect?" Spike murmured, transfixed by the tiny flutter of her skin at the base of her neck, her pulse drumming from the inside in an increasing tempo that threatened to break through the nebulous barrier.

"About ten minutes ago," Buffy replied. "I am officially in a painfree zone at the moment." Her smile returned. "Anya was right. My arm's got this kind of tingly numbness shooting up it right now. Like when your foot's gone asleep and you stamp on it to wake it up. Very pins and needle-y."

"Oh." They were stopped now, the bed to their side, and though their bodies didn't touch, each felt wrapped in the other, the growing unevenness of her breath matched by the erratic racing of nerve endings over the vampire's skin. Lifting his hands, Spike's fingers began toying with the front of her blouse, slowly undoing the buttons as they played. "Does that mean you can't feel…anything?"

"Don't know," she breathed, or tried to, because all of a sudden, her lungs seemed not to be working, tightening at the first touch of his skin against hers. "Maybe we should test it."

The fabric fell from her shoulders, and though there was a distinct bite to the air, Buffy felt nothing but the searing of his fingertip as it traced a path around the curve of her breast, up to the scarlet marks of the wound on her shoulder, dancing over the crusted surfaces before trickling down her bicep.

"Feel that?" His voice was husky, thick with desire, his attention riveted to the honey sheath of her skin, glowing brightly in the candlelight. He didn't know how it was possible, but each time, seeing her like this felt like the first, like he'd somehow walked in on Diana bathing with her fellow huntresses and been stunned into silence by her perfection. So warm, so alive…

"Yes…" It was barely a whisper, her mouth too dry, her skin too hot, but it was all he needed to continue.

"What about this?" he asked, and lowered his head to skate his tongue around the bitemarks, the scent of her blood dizzying.

Buffy's fingers tangled in his hair, holding his mouth to her shoulder. "Yes," she repeated.

He fought back against her strength, pulling himself away to gaze down at her. As she watched, the ridges appeared in his brow, his eyes suddenly amber flames staring at her in hunger, canines elongating to razor points. The softness of his mouth remained the same, however, and Spike reached behind his head to take one of her hands, bringing it to his face and forcing her to feel the changes with her own touch. "See?" he said, his voice almost inaudible. "Still a demon, luv." It was the last bastion; he only hoped she wouldn't ignore this final call to arms.

Her response was slow, a feather caress across his cheek…a deliberate lifting of her mouth to press gently against his…the careful exploration of her tongue around the needle of his fangs. There was a moment of hesitation, and then Buffy allowed her tongue to slip, catching, the tiniest of cuts suddenly filling both of their mouths with her blood.

It was the last thing he'd expected, and as the elixir burned down his throat, Spike tightened his resolve, ignoring the demon's scream for more, refraining from just sweeping her up into his arms in favor of allowing his hand to slide around to the small of her back, pressing their pelvises together so that his hard cock ground against her hip. Desire mingled with a bursting hunger, but through it ran an uncharacteristic gratitude, relief and disbelief coursing in and out of him as he broke from the kiss to slide his mouth across her cheek. She knew. Like she always knew. And she accepted it, which made all the rest of it just disappear.

"Love you, Buffy," he murmured into her neck, returning to his human visage as his fingers came up to tangle in the golden tresses of her hair. "Always."

"Show me," came the muffled response, her mouth buried against his own neck, small teeth nipping along its length as her tongue traced the veins there.

Fingers interlaced as they broke apart. "This'll be a first for us," Spike said. "So far, we've managed to do this anywhere but in this bed."

Her answering smile was slow, but wide. "Think it'll prove as sturdy as the snooker table?" she asked slyly, hooking her finger into the waistband of his jeans.

"The only thing sturdier than that snooker table is me," Spike joked, allowing himself to be pulled closer to her.

"Bet I could do some damage to you."

"Like to see you try, Slayer."

Hazel eyes glittered, catching the orange from the dancing flames to flash eerily golden before him. "Maybe next time." She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it from his jeans as she slid her hands underneath to mold around the muscles of his back. "I think I like you whole for now."

Their heads moved in unison, bowing and reaching into the kiss, hands clutching at the other in a desperate search for strength. The pressure was light at first, questing as lips skated over lips, parting only when Spike's tongue darted out to search the wet chasm of her mouth. Ice melted into warmth, sucking at her breath, swallowing it down to leave her gasping, and it was only when she felt the burning in her lungs did Buffy break away, hazel now gone in a pool of black as she stared up at him.

Though she claimed there was no danger, he didn't want to hurt her, and held himself back as he wrapped his arms around her to ease her back onto the mattress. Lying there, she was outlined in gold, sculptured curves beckoning him to touch, and Spike's eyes gleamed in anticipation. Beautiful. And his. She'd said so.

"Are you just going to stand there and look at me all night?" Buffy asked, the slightest of laughs in her voice. When he stood so, there was no mistaking the wonder in his gaze, as if she was some exquisite treasure he didn't believe he'd found, and she would've sworn she was almost glowing from the way it made her feel. Like she was breathtaking. If he'd had any breath to take.

"You're not cold?" When the Slayer shook her head, Spike pulled his tee over his head, baring the pale skin of his chest, and leaned forward, one fist supporting his weight on either side of her body. His mouth was watering, already savoring the texture of her hardened nipple against his tongue, and he dipped down, flicking the tip of the nearest in a gesture so light it made Buffy arch her back. Spike chuckled. "Greedy little wench, aren't you?"

She curled her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. "More," she demanded.

His lips returned, sucking at her breast as his hand began tracing a line down the curve of her torso, increasing the pressure as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her trousers to disappear in the heat. Buffy's moan was followed by her own hands joining his, undoing the fastenings and shedding the rest of her clothes in a movement that forced more of her soft flesh into his mouth.

Tugging at his shoulders, the Slayer pulled him away from his repast, forcing him to stretch out alongside her. "Your turn," she said with a smile.

Spike felt her hands light on his chest before trailing downward, and reached in for another kiss, this time deeper, exploring her mouth as lithe fingers popped the button, slid down the zipper, pushed the denim roughly over his hips even as her palms stroked the hard lines of his pelvis in a direct path for his ass. She held him as she had earlier in the bath, clinging in both need and fear, and he moved his lips across her cheek to settle just below her ear.

"Not goin' anywhere, luv," he whispered. "You're pretty much stuck with me from here on out."

Her laughter was hot against his neck. "Is that what we're calling it these days?" Before he could respond, she had pulled him on top, raising her feet to hook her toes through the denim and finish extracting them from his legs.

His cock twitched against the sudden exposure to her flesh, the scent of her arousal pricking his nostrils even as it made him salivate all the more. "You're killin' me here, Summers," he joked, and tried to lift himself away. "Can't put me so close to temptation. Not before---."

"If you're talking about foreplay," Buffy said, tugging him back against her, "I'm more than happy to take a raincheck." Her fingers tremored as she lifted them to his face, touching his brow with a gentle caress. "I told you downstairs. Tonight, I need you. All of you. Just…love me, Spike…please?"

How she did it, he had no idea, but the world slipped away with her words, all reasoning vanishing so that all was left was him, and her, and the bed, and her luscious mouth, so inviting…and close…

It took almost no movement for him to lower his head to hers, to delve into the kiss deeper than any of its predecessors, and only a little more to lift his hips, feeling his erection slide along her slippery folds, tiny hard heels digging into the small of his back as she spread her legs and invited him in. Suffocating in fire, that's what he was, unable to feel anything but wet and heat…her mouth…the tight channel now sheathing his cock…plunging into both as if to drown…knowing that he probably would if she wasn't there to draw him back.

There was no halfway with their lovemaking. Each stroke was deliberate, deep, her clit grinding against his pubic bone with every thrust, each time a mini explosion that went shooting up her torso, only to be forced to wait in excruciating agony for the next contact. Their bodies moved in a rhythm that prescribed either years of practice or a second of fate, and Buffy knew as she felt the muscles of his broad back flex beneath her hands that it had been inevitable, this coming together, meeting the one who equaled her without eclipsing, who knew when to be there and when to not, who…knew her.

As their tempo increased, she held him against her, feeling her nipples pressing against his, her heart pounding in a staccato cadence to deafen both of them. "Spike…" she whispered, forcing herself to tear away from his mouth to gaze up at the darkening sapphire.

"Ssshhh," he murmured, and lifted a hand to lay his fingertips across her swollen lips, caressing them in a feather movement that would've made her giggle if she could've found the air to breathe. He never stopped thrusting, replacing his fingers with his mouth, sucking and kissing as he quickened, driving harder and deeper as the sweat began to sheen against her skin, easing the friction between their chests as they rode it out.

She screamed into his mouth when she came, forcing her air down his throat just as he buried his cock inside her, his own orgasm jettisoning his hips into hers, an exchange neither understood the significance of, even as the world seemed to solidify back into stone around them. With his eyes closed, Spike seemed to be lost in everything Buffy---the slick glide of her skin against his, the musky scents of their sex mingling with the tang of her sweat, the taste of her tongue as their kiss eased into a sweltering caress. He could even hear her pulse racing, slowing as she drifted down from the crescendo of her climax, settling into that familiar even rhythm that was distinctively hers.

"Spike…" she tried again.

"You don't have to…" As much as he wanted to hear her say it again, he didn't want her to feel it necessary, to turn the words into some automated post-coital response that would eventually lose their meaning. Because he never wanted her to forget just what that little phrase really meant for him. And he'd risk everything to ensure she didn't.

"Let me..."

There was no color left in his eyes as he gazed down at her, two black pools drinking in the flush of her cheek, the glow of her skin in the candlelight. Gently, he stroked the damp hair away from her forehead, and marveled yet again how he'd managed to fall into such good fortune for a change. "Always love you, pet," he murmured.

Buffy smiled. "Am I ever going to be able to be the one to say it first?" she asked lightly.

"Told you I liked the words," he teased with a responding grin.

She laughed, all the tension from the night gone, and pulled him against her, kissing his jaw as she murmured, "I do love you, Spike."

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

The exhaustion was catching up to him, but most of it was in his head and not his body, each thought an ache as he tried to shut them away, focusing instead on the push-ups he was forcing his muscles through. He'd started them as a distraction against the images that refused to leave his inner eye, and though his body was now starting to catch up with the tiredness of his head, it wasn't enough, pictures of Buffy and Spike still lingering like salt on an open wound.

When the knock came to his door, Riley was almost grateful for the diversion, hopping to his feet with an athletic grace and stepping the few feet to the door. His eyebrows lifted in surprise at the visitor standing in the hall. "Mr. Hornbrook," he said. "I thought you'd gone to bed for the night."

Duncan/Hornbrook shuffled in his place. "Mr. Travers has made his arrangements for the morning," he said, his voice gruff. "As he was tired, I volunteered to come and fill you in on the details."

"Oh." Riley frowned. "I was under the impression he wanted me to stay out of Council business. That I wasn't to interfere."

"Well, it appears he's changed his mind, seeing as you've already decided to take that step on your own by seeing the Slayer this evening." He cleared his throat. "He wants to attempt to break the vampire's hold over the Slayer. He thought perhaps you would want to be a part of that." Inwardly, Duncan held his breath. He only knew bits and pieces of the story, and though he knew little of the young American himself, he was gambling that the obvious pain he'd encountered by going out to Dall Rath---a confession he'd made to Travers when the older man had pressed---would be enough to incite his approval of this plan. Duncan's plan. Because Travers talked too much. And right now, Duncan needed someone who wanted action.

It took him only a moment to decide. "Whatever he wants," Riley said grimly. "Just tell me what to do…"