DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'. Too bad.
SUMMARY: Buffy & Spike have escaped Daymon’s hold, while Xander has accepted Celie’s deal in order to get Buffy back.

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

The desert quiet wrapped around her shoulders, sheathing Buffy in its wintry embrace, and she fought to suppress the shivers that radiated through her torso. The memory of the long-sleeved blouse lying rumpled in the corner of her recent cell/bedroom made her regret her over-developed sense of style, and briefly, she wondered how her traveling companion was managing in the cold. Since they’d gone over the fence, Spike had been silent; only the crunch of his boots on the loose grit behind her confirmed his presence.

For over an hour now, the pair had been walking parallel to the dirt track leading away from the ranch, the one Spike claimed was the road that had brought them in. Even though she had no real idea where they were---other than the desert---Buffy hoped that somewhere along the trail they’d find some shred of civilization, some way of contacting Giles maybe, or a way to get back to Sunnydale. They were making good time; only once had they had to duck out of sight, when a truck laden with Daymon’s men had lumbered past. She’d watched the taillights receding against the horizon with a tightening knot in the pit of her stomach. What else in her life could possibly go kerplooie now?

“Slayer.” His voice rolled over her spine and though she felt the now-familiar tingle in her clit, Buffy kept on walking, intent on the landscape in front of her.

His lean fingers wrapped around her upper arm, jerking her to a halt, forcing her head to whip around and see his eyes glittering in the moonlight. There was no mistaking the concern she saw reflected there, and she found she didn’t even have the strength to attempt breaking free as the vampire’s gaze swept over her shivering form. “When were you going to tell me?” he growled.

“I’m f-f-fine,” Buffy argued, but the chatter in her teeth contradicted the firmness of her reply.

“For a Popsicle,” Spike countered, and began pulling her back in the direction from which they’d come. “C’mon. We passed a cave not too long ago.”

Although she resented his take-charge attitude, part of the Slayer was relieved that at least she didn’t have to continue pretending about the chill that was seeping into her bones. The unforgiving cold was sapping what little strength she had managed to regain, and in spite of his manhandling, Spike was right. They needed to find some shelter very soon.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone I said this,” she started in a small voice, “but sometimes I think we’re all screwed.”

The blond vampire didn’t reply, only glanced at her over his shoulder, loosening his grip on her arm at the same time. The moon cast long shadows over his cheeks, hiding half his face in darkness while illuminating the other in crystalline brilliance, and she was suddenly struck by the intensity of his features. For a moment, he seemed a stranger, perhaps some pagan deity resplendent in his human form as he walked among the mortals, and she felt her pulse begin to quicken. It was only when his lip curled in that mocking style that was so quintessentially Spike did the spell get broken. “Been telling that to the lot of you for years,” he said. “’Bout time you bloody believed me.”

Buffy giggled, an unbidden response that seemed to cut through the desert air, echoing against the knoll that now loomed in front of them, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to deaden the sound. Maybe it was the encroaching chill, maybe it was her increasing exhaustion. Whatever it was, for some inexplicable reason, the Slayer felt totally at ease as her unlikely partner led her into the darkened cave.

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

The trio stood outside the fence, watching the truck grind to a halt before the porch, the man in front of the house a mere outline in the moonlight. Even from where they stood, they could hear his angry voice barking orders, sending the truck’s occupants scuttling away on foot.

Not for the first time that night, Xander wondered just what in the hell he’d gotten himself into. How many times had they had a go at Buffy for going off half-cocked without back-up? And here he was, tagging along after the dog-bitch who was hunting her in the first place, pretending to play commando when he was really terrified that he was in way over his head.

So far, the only thing they’d agreed upon was Dawn. The teenager had been adamant about coming along. “She’s my sister,” she’d argued. But Xander knew, as foolish as his choice was, dragging along a thirteen-year-old would only compound the difficulty in breaking Buffy out and so he’d not fought Celie’s decision to cast a forget spell on the young girl before walking her the rest of the way home.

“It’s harmless,” the witch had stated. “She will think she returned on her own and we will not be burdened with trying to protect her from Daymon’s men.”

He’d waited until they were in the desert before asking about who this Daymon was she kept referring to. “My employer,” she explained. “He is the one who has your friend.” She’d only shrugged when Xander had asked about his purpose for the Slayer. “It is not my place to question,” she’d said.

“And where does Spike figure into all this?”

She’d darkened at the vampire’s name. “He was for me,” she said. “But Daymon refused my audience so that I could explain. So now, I must take him for myself.” Her eyes narrowed. “I find it curious that you would be friends with such a monster. Why does the Slayer allow him to fight her battles?”

“Whoa there, back up. First of all, not friends. No way, no sir, no how. And secondly, the Slayer does no such thing. She does very well on her own, thank you very much.”

“He was tending her when they were captured.”

“He was protecting her from you and Marmaduke back there.”

Celie was silent, lost in thought. “Perhaps she chooses him as an ally because he loves her,” she finally commented.

Xander exploded into laughter. “Loves her? Boy, do you have it wrong! Spike’s all Big Bad, well, ex-Big Bad, he’s more like chip-boy these days. But he and Buffy are enemies from way back. There’s no chance in hell he’s anywhere near being in love with her.”

“To be enemies, one requires passion…commitment. It would be simple to transpose those feeling into something more…romantic.”

“You don’t know Spike and Buffy,” Xander said, shaking his head. “The last thing in either of their heads is romance.”

The witch had no response to this and merely looked at him with those unfathomable eyes. The rest of their trek had passed in silence, and it was only when they’d reached the perimeter of the ranch did she address him again. “You are not still troubled from the teleport, are you?”

Xander was glad it was dark enough so that she couldn’t see him blush from embarrassment. “No, I’m fine now,” he said, inwardly hoping that she wasn’t about to do it again. After dropping Dawn off, she’d whisked them away from Sunnydale using the same spell she’d escaped from the alley with, and the young construction worker had spent the first five minutes in the desert vomiting in the dust. “You’re not…planning on doing it again, are you?”

Before she could reply, the Hound growled, his head bent low to the earth. Xander watched as Celie reached out, stroked the beast, murmured in its ear. She paused, seemingly to wait for a response, then stiffened, her black eyes narrowing as she looked over at the ranch. By now, the men had disappeared around the back of the house, their low voices becoming indistinguishable in the desert’s midnight hum, and young Harris began bouncing on his toes as his nervous energy began to take the better of him.

The dark witch straightened and turned her ebony eyes to her confederate. “We must re-evaluate our plans,” she said, her voice suddenly ice-cold.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone.”

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

The wall of the cave was rough against her back, its jagged edges imprinting her skin with tiny pockmarks, and Buffy was grateful for the added layer of protection that Spike’s shirt gave her. Before they’d even reached the cave’s mouth, he’d stripped it off his back and pressed it into her hands without a word. She knew that he didn’t feel the cold the way she did and so didn’t really need the buffer the clothing provided, but something about the unsolicited gesture seemed rooted in genuine worry. She’d thanked him, a small smile letting him know she meant it, and then realized that it was the first real sign of gratitude she’d shown him since her abduction.

Now, hugging her knees close to her chest, Buffy watched the vampire prowl around the edges of the cave, his boots kicking at an occasional pile of sand, his fingers sporadically reaching out to explore unseen crevices in the stone. There was very little light within the cavern; the only illumination came from the bits of moonlight that trickled in from the entrance. Still, for some reason, her Slayer senses had kicked into overdrive, adjusting her eyes to the darkness, attuning her hearing to the nocturnal music that surrounded them.

For the moment, Spike was the center of her concentration. Without his shirt on, his chest gleamed in the stolen moonlight, sculpting his muscles in lines of porcelain, drawing her gaze down his abdomen, before disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. His scent filled her nostrils, causing her mouth to water in some unknown anticipation, and her arms tightened around her legs, forcing the fabric of his shirt even closer to her face without making it too obvious that she was deliberately inhaling its aroma. The realization that her panties were soaking wet didn’t even register alarm; instead, Buffy couldn’t help but wonder that if she could smell the vamp so strongly, there was no way in hell he wasn’t aware of her.

“Spike, you’re making me dizzy. Come sit down.” Inching her bottom over, Buffy resisted the urge to pat the ground next to her. Desperate much, Slayer? she asked herself silently.

The vampire stopped where he was, his head tilting as he looked at her through the corner of his azure eyes. “You should be sleeping, luv. It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Well, isn’t that a lesson in understatement,” she responded, rolling her eyes. “Let’s see, I got stalked by a demon hound---.”

“Hey! I got mangled by that demon hound.”

“---got snatched by Mr. Personality---“

“---caught on fire from the bleedin’ sun---“

“---almost died from magical fever---“

“---got shot by a wanker who doesn’t know when to knock---

“---and risked needing a transfusion to save your ass.” She said this last with a hint of a smile, which she had to consciously refrain from widening as Spike crossed the cave and sat down next to her. “Too bad Slayers don’t get workman’s comp.”

Absently, he picked at the remaining black polish on his nails. “You’ve got a rough gig, bein’ all Chosen and everything,” he commented. “Now, much as I enjoy a spot of violence now and again, if I was on your career path, I’d consider chucking it all for somethin’ with a better benefits package. Maybe start a band or somethin’,” he joked.

Buffy couldn’t help but laugh. “You’d starve, Spike,” she said. “I’ve heard you sing.”

“Don’t need to sing,” he smirked. “Just have to look goooood.” He drawled the last word, and left his lips slightly pursed, mocking his own Billy Idol impression.

As they both chuckled at his silliness, Buffy couldn’t help the sense of surprise that crept into her head. This can’t be the same Spike, she thought, Big Bad doesn’t crack jokes at his own expense, or offer the shirt off his back to a Slayer, or even care that that same girl might be a little cold. But he did…and he was…and suddenly, that seemed to make all the difference.

Tentatively, Buffy shifted her weight so that she was leaning ever-so-slightly against the vampire’s shoulder, at the same time stretching out her legs so that their length pressed against his. One hand lowered, came to rest on his jean-clad thigh, and she found herself revelling in the stony strength under her palm. She glanced up at his face, ready to thank him yet again, only to be stopped by the patch of crimson coloring the bandage on his shoulder. Her reaction was swift. “Damn it, Spike, you’ve gone and opened it up again!” Twisting around to face the vampire, the Slayer reached out to check his wound.

His iron-grip shot up to grab her wrist, staying the motion. “It’s fine,” he said. “It’s not fresh. That happened while we were out happy trailin’.” Spike paused, his blue eyes riveted on her face. “Fussin’ over Big Bad’s goin’ to give him the wrong ideas,” he added, his voice a mere murmur.

The moment froze as Slayer and vampire regarded each other. “No,” Buffy finally whispered. “They’re the right ideas.” Her admission shattered the resolve she’d been so desperate to control, and the young woman leaned forward, pressing her slightly parted lips against his. The kiss was gentle, questioning, catching her breath in her throat in spite of its brevity, and when she pulled away, all Buffy could hear was the pounding of her own heart in her ears.

Although his face was immobile, Spike’s darkened eyes scanned hers, searching for some shred of doubt. “No spell this time, Slayer,” he said.

“Don’t need one.”

This time, there was no hesitation. Their lips met…parted…tasted, as Spike’s tongue swept through her mouth, his soft exploration a marked contrast to their earlier interrupted romp. Under her breath, Buffy moaned, pressing herself even closer to his bare chest, while her arms slipped around his neck, guiding him closer. As her fingers intertwined in the vamp’s hair, his kiss slid across her cheek, tasting the salt of her skin, absorbing her heat, until his mouth hovered over her ear. She was surprised by the sensation of his warm breath on her neck, but the surprise was quickly replaced by delight as he caught her earlobe between his teeth, nibbling at the tender flesh.

“Spike…” she murmured, shifting her weight so that she was sitting on his lap, his hard cock pressing into her ass. As she moved, she caught a whiff of the musk between her legs and felt the vampire’s groan against her neck as the same scent assailed him. His nibbling intensified, trailing across her collarbone, and he pushed the cotton shirt aside to expose the delicate musculature of her shoulder.

“Too many clothes,” he growled.

Buffy chuckled. “You’re the one who gave it to me.”

Straightening, Spike held her by the shoulders at arm’s length, his sapphire eyes looking her up and down. “Then maybe I should take it back,” he drawled. His hands dropped to the top button, opening it excruciatingly slow, before dragging his way to the second…then the third…

When an impatient Slayer reached up to hasten the shirt’s removal, he swatted her away. “No help from the peanut gallery. Been waitin’ for this for a long time, luv. It’s goin’ to get done right.” As the fabric fell from the Slayer’s frame, Spike frowned. “Hmmm,” he said. “Forgot about that one.”

Buffy glanced down at her tank and grinned. “My turn,” she replied, grabbing its hem. In one liquid motion, the top was over the young woman’s head and tossed aside, exposing her hardened nipples to the chill night air. “Too bad we don’t have that sponge now,” she teased.

“I’ve got better,” Spike said, and slid his hands up her sides, around her back, behind her shoulders, tilting her backwards until she lay prone on the packed dirt floor. Placing his fists on either side of her, the vampire hovered over the golden beauty, drinking in the curve of her waist, before lowering his mouth to her breast.

Buffy gasped as Spike’s tongue licked around the dusty pink aureole, sending goosebumps dancing across her skin, and she had to fight the urge to just flip him over, straddle his cock, and impale herself on his hardness. Instead, her fingers dug into the earth, rooting herself, holding her breath as he caught her nipple between his teeth, gently pinning it while his tongue flicked its tip. Electricity shot through her torso, connecting breast to clit, and Buffy arched her back, silently begging him for more.

He could smell the juices running down her thighs. More than anything, he wanted to tear the trousers from her hips, plunge himself deep inside her, drown himself in her embrace, but Spike was determined to make this last as long as possible. As his mouth etched a path along the Slayer’s navel, his lean fingers slipped under the waistband of her pants, undoing the button, sliding down the zipper. She bucked as his hand grazed over the wiry curls, and he couldn’t help the smile that twisted his lips. If she liked that…

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip, as he pushed her clothes down over her hips, his mouth never leaving her skin. Every inch of her felt on fire, nerve endings all akimbo, and her legs seemed to have a mind of their own as they spread, exposing her dripping pussy to the elements, one knee arcing around Spike’s platinum curls, pulling him even closer. There was a moment when he froze, mere inches from her body, and she began to wonder if maybe something was wrong, if maybe she’d done something or not done something, or if maybe he was having second thoughts. All that was expunged, however, when she felt a small, intense, very directed breeze between her legs, followed almost instantaneously by his thumb gliding down her slit, lubricating itself with her juices along the way, before settling along the crack of her ass.

Her breath caught. A tornado of color eddied around her head as she waited, then felt the first pressure of his tongue curling around her clit, matched only by his free hand reaching up to pinch her nipple. There was no helping the groans that escaped her now; her body was a living flame under his expert touch, and the only thing she could do was go along for the ride. Her fingers tangled in his hair, guiding him closer…deeper…daring him to delve even further.

For a brief moment, Spike wondered how exactly Mr. Whitebread Finn had managed being Buffy’s lover for as long as he had. Her Slayer strength was riveting the vampire in place, and he could feel her internal muscles squeezing around his fingers as he guided them in…out…and back in again. There was no way Finn could’ve survived this, Spike thought. Buffy would’ve snapped him in two if she’d used even half the power she was using now.

He trapped her clit between his teeth and was rewarded with her tightening her hold on him, clenching his fingers with the walls of her pussy, as shudders of pleasure wracked her body.

There was no cave for Buffy. Spike’s tongue and teeth…his fucking her soaking slit…even his thumb as it caressed her ass…this was her world, building to a crescendo of color and lights, erasing all thought other than here…and now…

The orgasm tore at her body, ripping the scream from her throat, and she thrashed on the floor of the cave. Even with her eyes shut, she could feel the world tilt dangerously around her, threatening to buckle and envelop her should she choose to stare it down, so she clawed into the dirt, desperate for a handhold.

As the shockwaves dissipated, Buffy’s muscles relaxed, turning to lead and sinking into the ground, while releasing Spike from his position between her legs. She sighed, stretched, felt him climb up her body, only opening her hazel eyes to look at him once she knew he was directly over her.

His face shone from the juices smeared across his mouth and cheeks, and there was no mistaking the smug satisfaction in those azure depths. “I told you,” he said.

In spite of the heaviness of her limbs, Buffy lifted her right hand to touch the vampire’s jaw, stroke his bottom lip. “Told me what?” she asked, barely able the articulate the words.

Spike’s own hand reached up to caress her face, touch the golden curls laying dishevelled around her, before bending down to brush a light kiss over her lips. “Mine,” he whispered.

Buffy didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes searched his face, poring over the familiar scar, the unimaginably perfect cheekbones, the sensuous mouth. So intent was her scrutiny, she didn’t even hear their approach until Spike’s head had jerked up to look past her, deeper into the cave.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Out of the frying pan…”

The Slayer twisted around to see what the vamp was referring to. There, in the black recesses of the cavern, stood a dozen armed demons, all focused on the pair on the ground. Buffy groaned. “And into the fire…”

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

“I still say we could take ‘em,” the vampire grumbled.

At his side, a barefoot Buffy gritted her teeth. “Spike. They have. My pants.” As the rapier of the demon behind her brushed against the hem of her shirt, she did a quick double-step, scooting out of its way.

“And I’m tellin’ you, that works to our advantage.” He ducked his head, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You give ‘em a little flash, distract them, and I go in and knock ‘em about ‘til we get our opening to run for it.”

Her head swivelled to stare at the vamp, her hazel eyes wide. “OK, first of all, ewwww,” she said. “Second, flying kicks, no underwear, not my style. And third, did I mention ewww?” Buffy pulled the shirt closer around her middle. “And, anyway, if these are Daymon’s guys, why are they taking us deeper into the cave?”

Spike watched the three demons marching ahead of them, the torches in their horned hands revealing little but the narrow passage before them. “First time, we got snatched by humans. I think this is a whole new ballgame.”

The Slayer sighed. “Great. On the one hand, we got the Sharks wanting to whisk us away to god-knows-where for god-knows-what, and on the other, we got the Jets leading us into the pit of hell. If these guys start dancing and snapping their fingers, I swear I’m going to blow.”

“That a promise?” His leer was more put-on than real, but somehow the thought of her mouth on his cock seemed more important than anything these demons might have planned.

Buffy glared at him. “This is so not the right time for this conversation.”

Spike shrugged. To be honest, she could do very little now to destroy his good spirits. Her taste still lingered on his tongue, and the memory of her thighs against his cheek was enough to bring back his hard-on. Yes, it was unfortunate they were interrupted, but the vampire had little doubt that they would resume where they left off at the very first opportunity.

As they walked along in silence, it became evident quite quickly that the demons’ lights were not the only source of illumination. The walls of the cave began to gleam with some phosphorescent inner glow, widening to allow the group more room, while the grit that had covered the ground disappeared, revealing a smooth stone finish. The occasional door began to appear along the passage, and the whole thing began to smell of domesticity, even by Buffy’s standards.

In front of her, the demons finally stopped, standing back while one stepped forward to push open a low door. He looked back at the captives, his violet eyes nearly invisible under the heavily horned brow, and barked a few short words.

Glancing up at her companion, Buffy said, “Please tell me you got some of that.”

“Not specifically,” replied Spike, “but somethin’ tells me he wants us to go in there.” Tilting his head to peer into the dark chasm, his lips spread into a smile. “If it makes you feel better, Slayer, it’s not a torture chamber. Just looks like a regular bedroom. A rather posh bedroom.” He glanced back at her. “With an enormous bed.”

She ignored his smirk. “Well, I suppose it can’t be any worse than before,” she said. “Unless these guys refuse to give me back my pants.”

She should’ve expected his response. “Who needs pants?”

“Gutter. Out of it.” With one last look behind her, the Slayer stepped forward and crossed the threshold into the darkness, the blond vampire at her heels.

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

For some reason, the smoke from the fire wasn’t filling the cave. Xander didn’t know if it was because of something magical that the witch had done, or just some geological stroke of luck that was keeping them from getting asphyxiated, but either way, he wasn’t arguing with it. The desert was freezing, and this was the first moment of comfort he’d had since they’d arrived.

The dark witch had been mostly silent since they’d left the ranch. Hanging back, Xander had just watched as she’d seemed to speak with the Hound, then followed along as it loped off into the desert. It had brought them to the mouth of this cave and was currently parked outside, too big to enter.

“We’ll rest here,” she’d said in a tone of voice that meant no arguing.

As tired as he was, Xander was too curious about the witch’s motives to turn his brain off enough to sleep. “You know,” he started, “I don’t even know your name. If we’re going to be all Starsky and Hutch, I should know what to call you. Unless you want to be Starsky. Or Hutch, I’m not picky.”

Her eyes were black pools in the firelight. “Celandia,” she finally answered. “You may call me Celie.”

He nodded. “I’m Xander.” The long uncomfortable silence that followed was only broken by the crackle of the fire. “So…you’re a witch. My best friend is a witch, maybe you know her. Willow Rosenberg?” He waited for a response, but with none forthcoming, he barrelled on. “’Course, you’re not from around here so probably not. Her girlfriend’s a witch, too, but you probably don’t know her either because of the whole not being from around here thing…” His voice trailed off as he realized he was rambling and hoped that he hadn’t annoyed her to the point where she’d do something crazy like the teleport thing again.

“I make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh god yes,” he blurted, then straightened, his brown eyes wide. “No! I mean, no, I always talk this much. Really.” Silently, Xander kicked himself. Way to be smooth, he thought. She’s going to feed you to that dog yet. “So…” he said. “What’s the new plan?”

Celie stared into the fire. “We rest for now and in the morning, you go into the cave and bring them back.”

“That’s it? That’s the brilliant plan?” He waggled his fingers, pretending to cast a spell. “What about the hocus pocus, abracadabra, we’re there? How come I get to go in by myself?”

She didn’t seem to want to reply. “My magic is unsure here,” she finally said. “It’s taking my entire concentration just to control the fire and I’m afraid that if I were to go with you, I would be powerless. No, it’s better this way. The Hound and I will ensure no one prevents us from getting the Slayer and the vampire out.”

Xander glanced back at the dark shadow of the Hound looming at the cave’s entrance. Just who exactly was she trying to prevent from running here? All of a sudden, the fear that he’d made a huge mistake in agreeing to this deal overwhelmed him. God, Buffy, he thought. I promise I will do everything I can to make sure this turns out all right.

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

The door had not been shut for thirty seconds before Spike came up behind her, put his hands on her waist, and bent down to kiss her neck. Although Buffy’s first instinct was to close her eyes and tilt her head to allow his cool lips access, after the initial contact, she stiffened and pulled away. “Don’t,” she said, and began poking around the room.

Spike stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching the young woman look under the bed, pull open the drawers of the nightstand, even peer into the adjoining room. “If you’re worried about getting interrupted again, luv, I think all the little beasties are outside. Well, except for this one, of course.” Tilting his head, the vampire’s lips curled in a smile.

She refused to meet his eyes. “Is it possible you could be more disgusting?” she growled. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re prisoners. Again. And I don’t know about you, but I just want to get out of here, get home, and forget everything over the past few days ever happened.”

“Everything?” He waited for a response, any sign of recognition from her, but was met with stony silence. The vampire’s jaw clicked shut. “Right,” he said, harsher than he wanted but indicative of his sudden downshift in mood. “So we’re back to disgusting now. Well, thanks for letting me know where things stand. Slayer gets off and Big Bad gets booted. Nice to know some things never change.”

As Spike tried to walk past her, Buffy grabbed his arm. “That’s not what I---.”

He yanked himself away. “Sod off,” he snarled and stormed into the adjoining room, slamming the door shut behind him.

She stared at the closed door, her mouth hanging open. What the hell had just happened here? OK, so maybe she hadn’t been entirely clear, but didn’t he realize that now was not the right time to be thinking about sex? Just looking at him made her mouth water, and if she was going to figure out how to get them out of this jam, she needed her head clear, which meant no hanky-panky. Why didn’t he get that?

“Spike!” she called out. The sound of running water filtered into the room, and Buffy frowned. Shit. He was ignoring her. “Spike!” she yelled, this time a little bit louder. “Don’t make me come in there!” Oh god, she thought. Now I sound like Mom.

A gentle rap behind her diverted Buffy’s attention and she turned just in time to see a white head poke its way around the door. “Knock, knock,” a woman’s voice called. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I? I heard yelling.”

“No, everything’s---.” Buffy stopped, crossing her arms across her chest. Why was she trying to explain anything?

The new arrival floated inside and it was all the Slayer could do not to stare. Everything about the woman was white---long white hair, super-pale skin, an ivory hooded caftan that trailed along the floor behind her. Even her eyes were such a pale blue, they seemed ghostly. “I’m so sorry,” she was saying. “I meant to be here when they brought you in. You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“Noooooo,” Buffy replied, taken aback. There was an ease, a friendliness, to this woman that one wouldn’t expect from a would-be kidnapper.

“You look familiar to me,” the woman said quizzically, a tiny line between her thin white brows as she appraised Buffy. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You haven’t come wandering through here before, have you? I know I know you from somewhere.”

Buffy shook her head. “Considering I don’t even know where here is, I’m going to say…no. Unless this is Sunnydale---.”

The woman brightened. “Buffy Summers!” she exclaimed. “The vampire slayer! Am I right?”

“So much for secret identities,” Buffy muttered. Louder, she asked, “How’d you know that?”

The woman’s smile was genuine. “It wouldn’t be very smart not to know who the local demon hunters are, now would it?” Entering the rest of the way into the room, Buffy’s guest settled herself down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t get many celebrities through here.”

“I’m not---,” and then it dawned on the Slayer, her hazel eyes widening. “You’re a demon.”

“Oh god, where’s my head? I haven’t even introduced myself.” She held out her hand. “I’m Cortina.”

“Hi.” The young woman’s response was automatic, but she stopped herself short, frowning. “Wait. Cortina? You’re not real.”

Cortina laughed. “I’ve gotta remember to give Harvey a bonus,” she chuckled. “Honey, when you’re a demon who wants to have a little privacy, it pays to have a good PR guy.”

Behind Buffy, the bathroom door opened and Spike stepped out to lean against the jamb, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He cocked his eyebrow at the sight of the new arrival. “Well, well, well, what have we here?”

The glance over her shoulder turned into a long admiring stare. “Mmmmm, aren’t you yummy…” Cortina commented. Turning back to Buffy, she said, “If that’s his shirt you’re wearing, hon, my deepest apologies my guys found you so soon.”

Spike laughed, a deep smile creasing his face. “Nice to know someone appreciates my charms.”

“I had a vampire for a boyfriend once. Not the brightest bulb in the pack, but an absolute animal in bed---.”

“Spike’s not my boyfriend!” exploded Buffy.

“Oh.” Genuine confusion clouded Cortina’s face. “I thought…Wait a sec, I don’t get it. You’ve got his smell all over you and he’s just dripping in your scent.” She turned to Spike. “And that’s your mark, isn’t it?” the demon asked, gesturing to Buffy’s neck.

The vampire shrugged. “She’s a little thick sometimes.”

Standing, Cortina smiled. “Maybe I should let you two just sort all this on your own. I just popped in to make sure you weren’t a threat or anything.” She stopped, her eyes widening. “You’re not, right? I hope you didn’t come here to kill me, ‘cause I’m really not in the mood to have to get rid of you.”

“No.” The encounter was making Buffy’s head whirl. Cortina looked and acted like a human---even a very nice and funny human---yet she freely admitted to being a demon. For some reason, she even showed some signs of admiration for the Slayer. What would Giles do with this one? she wondered. “We were just…getting out of the cold,” she added.

Mopping fake sweat from her brow, Cortina sighed in relief. “That’s what I figured. Listen, you two get some sleep, take a shower. There’s a gorgeous underground stream just down a bit if you’re in the mood for something a little more exotic. Once the sun goes down, I’ll have one of my guys lead you out to where you can call your friends in Sunnydale.”

“Gee, thanks,” said Buffy. “That’s really…nice of you, but…” She plucked at the hem of her shirt.

“Clothes, of course! Not a problem.” Opening the door, Cortina smiled back at the Slayer, her blue eyes dancing. “But I think you’ll have more fun without them.” She waggled her fingers at Spike. “G’night.”

“I like her,” he said, once they were alone again. “Refreshin’ to meet a smart bird for a change.”

“I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about yet another bad guy,” moaned Buffy as she flopped down onto the bed. “I haven’t been this tired since Xander’s Mel Brooks marathon.”

“Right. Well, you should get some sleep then.”

Propping herself up on her elbows, the young Slayer frowned as the vampire strode across the room. Stop him! her mind screamed. Make him understand what you meant. “Spike…” she started.

He froze, his hand on the doorknob, his blue eyes averted. “What?” His voice was clipped, cold, his anger just barely in check.

“…Don’t you think…Cortina seems nice?” Inwardly, she groaned. Oh yeah, that would make him stay.

“Most Vrolek demons are, Slayer.” He paused, his jaw clicking. “But since that doesn’t fall into your pretty little definition about what a demon really is, you wouldn’t know that, now would you.”

Her temper flared. “I just said she was nice!”

“Well, bully for you,” he snarked, finally meeting her hazel gaze. “Think your Slayer head is going to explode from having to deal with that little tidbit? ‘Cause that might be fun to stick around and watch.”

She jumped up from the bed. “Is it so hard to actually listen to what I’m saying for a change? Here I am, trying to have a calm and rational conversation, and you’re trying to turn it into Bitchfest 2000.”

“Buffy, your real problem is that I do listen you.” There was no mistaking the control---in his voice, in his tightly wound body---and his knuckles were white on the doorknob. “I’ve heard every single ‘evil,’ every single ‘disgusting,' and every single ‘thing.’ For some reason, I thought I could change the song, but you’ve made it abundantly clear that that’s not going to happen. So, this Big Bad’s going off to find our Vrolek hostess, see if she’s got anything remotely alcoholic to get pissed with, and try his damnedest to forget for just a little while that he’s managed to fall in love with the Slayer.” Yanking the door open, Spike was through it and gone before Buffy could blink.

When she did, it was slow and deliberate, as if the act of closing and opening her eyes would somehow rewind the clock. Had he really just said what she’d thought he’d said? It wasn’t possible; it was Spike, of all people. All along, she’d figured it as a purely physical thing; the blond vampire had certainly never made any bones about sharing his attraction to her. But this…

…Spike was in love with her?

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

She was waiting for them as they pushed open the door, letting the bright morning sunlight stream inside the dim shop. “Where have you been?” Anya demanded shrilly. “Is Xander with you? Did you find Buffy?”

Giles blinked against his employee’s onslaught and hesitated, allowing Willow and Tara to slip past him into the store. “And good morning to you too, Anya,” he said, shutting the door gently behind him.

“No, it’s not a good morning, Giles,” she barked, following right on his heels as he walked to the counter. “Xander didn’t come home after dropping off Dawn yesterday. I really need for you to tell me he was with you last night and that right now, he’s back at the apartment sleeping it off.”

“No, I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him since we left.” The Watcher frowned, glancing at the witches before continuing. “Did you see if Dawn got home all right?”

“Well, no,” Anya admitted. “Dawn’s got her own family to worry about her. I spent the night worried sick about Xander.”

Willow crossed to the telephone. “I’ll call the Summers’ house.”

“Did you at least find Buffy?”

The ex-demon’s question seemed to fluster the trio, and Willow turned her back as she dialed, hiding the faint blush on her cheeks. “The spell worked,” Giles replied. “We’ve got coordinates on the map of the desert for where she was at that point.”

“So? You just left her there? Are you crazy?” Anya’s voice was getting higher and louder with each question, the worry lines between her brows deepening.

“We weren’t exactly…prepared for a midnight hike.” Taking off his glasses, Rupert seemed intent on cleaning the lenses, avoiding the young woman’s eyes.

Anya looked over at Tara. “Giles got a little scared,” the blonde witch said in a low voice.

“I did not!” the Watcher said vehemently. He took a deep breath and added more calmly, “It was dark, and we didn’t have any tools.” Both girls just looked at him. “I wasn’t scared,” he repeated.

“So what are you doing here? Get your things and get out there and find her!”

“Anya, did you learn something while we were gone?” asked Giles. “Did the Tract of Telemus have some answers for us?”

“Oh, I’ve got answers,” the young woman grumbled, crossing to behind the counter. She pulled out two books and dropped them onto the surface. “I’ve got answers coming out of my ears. Fat lot of good they’ll do if you don’t get Buffy back in time.”

Replacing his glasses, Giles picked up the top book and looked at the spine. “Why? What did you find out?”

Anya opened the remaining tome on the counter, turning to a section she’d already marked. “That is what we’ve got to worry about,” she said, her finger jabbing at an entry at the bottom of the page.

Tara came up to read over the Watcher’s shoulder as he scanned the passage. “This is a ritual that occurred over five hundred years ago,” he finally said. “I really don’t see what this has to do with Buffy.”

“Neither did I,” Anya replied, and took the other book from his hands. She began flipping the pages, skimming the contents until she found the picture that had jumped out at her the previous evening. “Not until I found this.” She set the book down in front of him on the counter.

His lungs seemed to stop working as he gazed down at the book. Behind him, he heard Tara’s breath catch in her throat. “Th-th-that’s…Buffy,” she murmured. “How could a picture of Buffy be in there?”

“Telemus was an ancient Greek seer,” Giles explained, automatically switching into teacher mode. “This is a collection of his prophecies.”

“As seers go, he’s fairly accurate,” Anya continued. “He predicted Menudo.”

“What does he say about Buffy?” the older man queried, his muscles finally relaxing so that he could pick up the tract to scan it himself.

“Basically, a very old demon is going to use her for this cleansing ritual and that it’s not going to turn out very pretty,” Anya stated matter-of-factly. Behind her, she heard the click of the receiver as Willow replaced the telephone. “Well?” she asked as the witch came to stand next to her.

“I think we got trouble,” the redheaded witch said. “Dawn’s home and all, but she claims that she walked home alone last night.”

“That’s not true!” Anya’s voice started climbing the register again. “She left with Xander!”

Willow shook her head. “She says that when she left, you two were all making with the smoochies here at the Magic Box.”

The ex-demon whirled to face Giles. “Now I know something is wrong, because I definitely didn’t get any ‘smoochies’ last night. We’ve got to get out there and find Buffy!”

“I agree,” he murmured, still absorbed in the text. “We can’t let this ritual happen.”

“Is Buffy in danger?” asked Willow.

“Extreme danger,” the Watcher replied, as he lowered the book. “As are all of us, should this cleansing occur.”

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

The bed seemed too big for just her as Buffy rolled over for the umpteenth time that morning. Sleep had been elusive, as thoughts and memories kept flickering through her head, causing diaphanous dreams of strong lips and a deep British accent. She couldn’t escape his smell, and though he’d not returned to the room after his rather stormy exit, the Slayer could’ve sworn that he was lying right next to her. The sense of loss when she’d turn over and not find him there was too crushing even for her to ignore.

It was just supposed to be about sex, something Buffy had finally decided was not only acceptable but desirable, but Spike’s proclamation now made that impossible. If they continued the physical part of their relationship, he would expect some sort of emotional commitment and she didn’t know if that was something she was prepared to do at this time. After the Parker debacle, how could she do that to someone else, even if it was Spike? Sure, he was all Big Bad and everything, but she’d witnessed firsthand how deep his feelings could run. He’d been willing to risk it all for Drusilla; if he now loved her, how far would he go for the Slayer?

Her thoughts went back to the vampire’s actions over the past few days. Everything seemed to make sense now---his tender assistance when she was under the fever, his concerted effort not to drain her, even his determination not to allow her to throw herself at him when she’d drunk the dog potion. Everything he’d done had been for her, and now he thought she still considered him disgusting…

Jumping up from the bed, Buffy grabbed the shirt off the pile of clothes Cortina’s men had dropped off during one of her brief naps. I need to talk to him, she thought. He needs to know the truth. If nothing else, she was going to convince him that he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion earlier, that her exhaustion prevented her from speaking her mind clearly, that she didn’t in fact think of him as disgusting. He’s going to listen to me this time, she thought grimly. If I have to beat him senseless to do it…

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

She heard him before she saw him. Well, she heard the water, at least. As Buffy rounded the corner of the cave, she found herself at the edge of a wide stream, a cascade of water trickling down the opposite wall, landing on the stones with a gurgle. Benches had been carved out of the banks, allowing seats for those who might choose to swim there, and it was on one of those that she first saw his black jeans. Her hazel eyes scanned the water surface until she saw his platinum head break through near the far wall, and her breath caught in her throat as the rest of him emerged.

The water dripped over his chiseled muscles, running down his back, over the curve of his buttocks, down the back of his thighs, before melding with other droplets still in the stream. His skin shone under the phosphorescent glow of the walls, a blanket of white velvet that suddenly seemed important for Buffy to touch. She bit her lip as she caught the dark flash of his pubic hair and the irrational realization that he didn’t bleach himself all over flashed through her head.

“Hope you’re enjoying the show, Slayer,” he commented, his words a quiet rumble echoing through the cave, his eyes not bothering to meet hers as he began to wade through the water for his jeans.

She wasn’t going to rise to the bait. “Did you find Cortina?” she asked, doing her best to keep her gaze up…on the vampire’s face…away from…temptation…

“If that’s your way of asking if I’m drunk, the answer is no. I forgot alcohol is as deadly to Vrolek demons as sunlight is.” He ran his fingers through his curls, shaking out the excess water, oblivious to the effect his naked form was having on Buffy.

“Well, that explains what she might’ve had in common with a vampire then,” she joked, trying to keep it light. At Spike’s frown, she hurried to add, “The sunlight thing, I meant…” The young woman bit her lip as the silence between them stretched into awkwardness. Why was this so hard? It was just Spike…

“Look, Buffy,” the vamp started, then stopped as he watched her unconsciously toss her hair over her shoulder, exposing her bare neck.

It was gone. Some time since he’d left the room, she’d removed the bandage covering his bite and now bore it in naked testimony for anyone who might see. His gaze flitted to her face and he realized…she wasn’t even aware of what she’d done. Maybe…

He watched as she stepped into the water, wading around the shallows until she reached his side. “I came looking for you because I thought we needed to talk,” Buffy explained. “And I mean, talk. Not snipe, not flirt, and definitely not yell. Talk.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Talkin’ goes two ways. Or is this goin’ to be the Buffy-talks-Spike-takes-abuse Hour?” He was glad to see her color in shame. A week ago, she would’ve just taken his comment in stride, shooting back with her own cutdown; now, it looked like she was actually beginning to be aware of her words with him.

“How…? I don’t…” Both thoughts trailed away and Buffy just stood there flustered. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t naked. It was taking all her concentration not to stare at his cock, and she wondered how he could stand there so nonchalantly, so at ease. “You’re not disgusting,” she finally managed.

His scarred eyebrow raised in amusement. “Already knew that,” he drawled. “Question is, do you?”

The candor of his query stifled her ready response. Of everyone she knew, Spike was by far the most perceptive. Maybe it came with being a vampire, but he always seemed to know what was really going on, how she was really feeling, how to get into her head with truths that she found it increasingly difficult to deny. When she’d been getting ready to find him, she’d stared at herself in the mirror, her gaze fixated on the bandage on her neck, and the realization that she’d let him drink from her---saved him with her own blood and did so voluntarily---set her stomach aflutter. She cared what happened to him. There. She’d admitted it. Regardless of everything else, there was something between her and the vampire, and it was time for her to stop pretending it didn’t exist.

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this is a better time for Action Buffy than Talking Buffy,” she said, casually tossing his own words back at him. His head cocked, his blue eyes locked with hers, and thus was unprepared when, with one liquid motion, Buffy’s foot shot out, sweeping the vampire’s legs out from under him, sending Spike sprawling in the stream.

“What the bloody fuck was that for!” he sputtered, his anger boiling to the surface then quickly ebbing as her laughter filled his ears.

“You know, I don’t usually like the water,” she said lightly. “Ever since the whole drowning and dying thing, it’s kind of lost its joy for me.”

“Really?” Spike growled as he righted himself onto his hands and knees. “Sorry to hear that…” With vampiric speed, his hand shot out and grabbed her ankle, yanking the Slayer toward him so that she landed on her ass with a splash.

“Hey! Clothed here!” But there was no real anger in her voice and he could see the lights dancing in her eyes. She lashed out with her heel, smashing his fingers against her shin, but his grip remained steel on her leg and he dragged her closer, the glint in those blue depths unmistakeable.

“Losing your touch, Slayer,” he goaded. “That didn’t even hurt.”

“Then maybe I should try harder.” As the vampire pulled her against his chest, her legs scissored around his waist and she flung herself backwards into the water, flipping Spike over her head. He sailed through the air, splashing into the center of the stream, his blond head disappearing under the surface.

Wiping the water from her eyes, Buffy waited for Spike to reappear, a smile twisting her lips. After a moment, though, the glee began to fade as the ripples atop the stream smoothed. “Spike?” she called, and began moving deeper into the water. OK, vampires don’t need to breathe, he’s not going to drown, she reassured herself. Still… “Spike! This isn’t funny!”

Just as she saw a white streak cut through the water, the world seemed to tilt around her and her body flew backwards as Spike tackled the Slayer. Her face went under and she’d swallowed a lungful of the stream before she could resurface. With blonde hair hanging over her cheeks, she struggled to her feet, coughing and gasping for air.

All she could hear was the vamp’s laughter. “Now, that’s funny.” As her vision cleared, Buffy was greeted by the relaxed smile on Spike’s face, and she couldn’t help the grin that creased her own.

“I’m going to have to ask Cortina for more clothes,” she commented, wringing the water out of the hem of her shirt.

She could see the sarcasm on his lips as his mouth opened, then closed. Instead, he stepped forward, the water swirling around his hips, and pushed the gold strands from her forehead. “You’ve got to know, I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. “Was supposed to be romantic and all, with moonlight and such, maybe some leather…”

“God, you are the luckiest girl.” At the sound of Cortina’s voice, both Buffy and Spike turned to see the demon standing at the edge of the stream, watching them with wide-eyed forthrightness. Her frank appraisal of the vampire’s nudity was met with an amused chuckle, and she just smiled wider. “I’m so glad to see you two made up. I hate it when couples fight.”

“Fighting’s half the fun,” came from Spike.

Cortina rolled her eyes. “Vampires,” she sighed.

“Tell me about it,” Buffy added, and gave the blond vampire a shove, forcing him to lose his balance in the water again. “We weren’t too loud or anything, were we?”

“Oh, god no. These caves totally suck up all the noise.” Glancing back over her shoulder, the demon added, “Actually, I stopped by because I have a little favor to ask you, Buffy.”

“Oh? What?” The young woman began wading out of the water, leaving Spike sitting in the shallows.

“I’ve had a little…situation come up that I’d appreciate your help with.” Cortina stepped back as a dripping Slayer emerged. “I know it’s hard to tear yourself away, but if you could give me just a couple minutes, it would make my life a lot easier.”

“Go on,” said Spike as he stood up. “I’ll just go back to the room and…dry off.” His hooded gaze sparkled and he made a special show of stretching, which set off another round of giggles in Cortina.

“You ever get tired of him, I’ll be more than happy to take him off your hands,” the demon whispered in Buffy’s ear.

“I heard that…” drifted Spike’s voice as they strolled away from the stream.

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

“So…you’re a Vrolek demon,” Buffy started as they walked down the corridor.

“Yep. You’re a lot smarter than the last Slayer I met. She thought I was some albino vampire just because my boyfriend had a thing about bloodsucking.” Cortina shook her head. “You have no idea how refreshing it is to meet someone who gets the big picture. I mean, I just get so tired of having to argue with these wannabe demon hunters who keep showing up here, thinking they have to prove something.”

“Ummmm, thanks,” Buffy muttered, a slight blush high on her cheeks. “But, confession here. Spike was the one who actually told me what you were.”

The demon gave the young woman’s shoulders an affectionate squeeze. “Yeah, I figured as much. But that’s OK. You’re still miles ahead of that other one in the brains department. And you’ve got great taste in boyfriends.”

Oh, if you only knew, Buffy thought. Out loud, she asked in a voice too cheery in the dim cave, “So other than alcohol and sunlight fetishes, what else makes a Vrolek tick?”

“Oh, we’re boring,” Cortina shrugged. “Melanin-challenged magic-drains, that’s what we are.”

“Magic-drains?”

“For some reason, magic just kind of fizzles around us,” the white-haired demon explained. “Don’t know why, but not going to argue with it. It’s saved my life more than once.” She stopped in front of a closed door.

Buffy looked down at her still-sodden clothes. “You don’t need me to beat something up, do you?” she asked. “’Cause my mobility’s a little hampered here.”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” She reached out, grasped the knob. “My guys brought somebody in, keeps saying he knows you.” The demon pushed the door open.

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Xander…?”

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

The last thing he expected when the door opened was to see a soaking wet Slayer. Stopping in mid-pace, Xander gaped as she turned to the woman standing behind her.

“It’s OK,” he heard her say. “He’s a friend of mine.”

The woman in white looked over at him, frowning. “He’s not another boyfriend, is he?”

“Oh, god no!” Buffy exclaimed. “Just a regular friend who happens to be a boy.” She turned to face the young man, her head cocked, hands on her hips. “A very unexpected boy. Not that I’m not glad to see you or anything, but what the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s a rescue mission, of course,” he replied. “And it was going great until her goons showed up and dragged me in here.”

Buffy glanced back at Cortina, who just shrugged. “He was resisting coming quietly. Dragging was their only option.”

“And thank you very much for the difficult moment I’m going to have explaining to Anya how I got these marks on my back,” the young man commented. “I can kiss sex goodbye, that’s for sure.”

“Xander, be real. Anya won’t stop having sex with you just because of a few scratches. Now, she might call in one of her vengeance pals…” To her hostess, she added, “His girlfriend’s an ex-vengeance demon.”

Cortina nodded knowingly. “Not usually a good idea to upset them. My apologies if I’ve made things hard for you.” Looking back and forth between the friends, she said, “Well, since this is all kosher, I’ll just leave you two to talk. You know how to get back to your room?”

“Yep,” said Buffy, and watched as the white demon closed the door behind her. Once they were alone, she crossed her arms and sighed. “I’m not sure if I want to know if you came alone, because either way, it was really, really stupid. Brave and appreciated, but stupid.”

Xander just stared at the door, before his brown eyes swept back to his friend. “You have a room here?”

“Of course,” she said. “Cortina’s being super-nice---.”

“That’s Cortina?!?” At Buffy’s nod, he shook his head. “I’ve got to start taking these local legends more seriously.”

“Don’t worry, she’s not a threat or anything. Once she found out I wasn’t here to kill her---.”

“And she’s a demon?” Xander’s eyes kept getting wider, and he began pacing the room again. “Next thing you’ll be telling me is that she’s offered to help you get out of here.”

Buffy bit her lip. “Well…”

He flopped down into a nearby chair, shaking his head. “Buff, you’re not seriously believing her, are you? That must be some serious mojo she’s working if you’re falling for demon lines now.”

“Look, Xander,” started the young woman, crossing the room to sit on the bed opposite him. “You have no idea what I’ve been through the past couple days. Cortina is absolutely the least of my worries right now. What’s really important is that we find the guy who kidnapped me in the first place. Now, I think Spike and I should be able to figure out where he is, but I’m going to need you to go and get Giles and the rest of the gang before we make any sort of attack.”

“So Mr. Undead is still around?” asked Xander. “I would’ve thought he’d be blowin’ in the wind by now.” He grinned, thinking of the friction between his friend and the vampire, and expected Buffy to join in, but found his comment met with silence.

“Like I said,” she finally said, her voice low, her hazel eyes on the floor. “A lot’s happened. And, believe it or not, I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for Spike.”

The words of the witch came floating back into Xander’s head. …because he loves her. He’d dismissed it out of hand at the time, but now, seeing the gravity of Buffy’s expression, he was beginning to think that maybe he’d been too hasty. Something had obviously gone down and it was something big enough to make his friend shut him out of it completely. For a while there, he’d been feeling a little guilty about turning the vamp over to Celie. Now, knowing that Spike had done something to seriously upset Buffy, those feelings were gone.

“I’ll ask Cortina to bring you some new clothes when she gets me some,” the Slayer was saying. “Maybe we can hide those marks from Anya for just a little bit longer.”

“Sure,” agreed Xander, but his head was elsewhere. Come sundown, a certain chipped vampire was finally going to get what was coming to him.

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

At Willow’s request, they’d closed the curtains against the sunlight so that she could better concentrate on the markings for the spell. Carefully, she lit the last of the candles and stood back.

“Close your eyes, Dawnie,” she instructed.

Sighing, the teenager at the center of the chalk circle did as she was told. She still didn’t understand what the big fuss was about. When Giles and the girls had shown up at her door bearing tons of supplies, she’d actually gotten excited for a minute, thinking they were finally going to let her go with them on some Scooby biz. Instead, all they wanted was for her to be their guinea pig for this spell of Willow’s. Boring.

She had no idea what they were doing, but the sound of Tara’s chanting mingled with Willow’s. She was about to comment about two witches for the price of one, when a blinding flash filled her mind’s eye, followed almost instantaneously by the sensation of a vise being loosened around her head. Her blue eyes shot open.

“Buffy!” she screamed.

Giles caught the girl as she bolted to her feet, ready to run for the door. He grappled with her for a moment, struggling to keep her still, before she seemed to slump in his arms.

“Yep, it was a forget spell,” said Willow as she wiped the dust from her hands.

Carrying Dawn over to the couch, the Watcher gently laid her down. “Dawn?” he asked quietly. “What do you remember?”
Her lids flickered open. “Buffy and Spike are gone.”

“And Xander? What about Xander?” Anya’s strident voice chimed in as she stepped forward.

“He left with the dog lady.”

“Tell me what happened, Dawn,” said Giles. “You know about Buffy’s kidnapping?”

The teenager nodded. “The woman with the dog said she could help Xander get her back.” Her eyes widened. “You should’ve seen this thing, Giles. It was absolutely massive with these little red eyes…”

“Yes, we know,” he murmured as he looked at the others. “Did you remember to bring the map?”

Willow nodded. “Everything’s out in the car, ready and raring to go.”

“Good. We’ll have to---.”

“Why does the dog lady want Spike?” interrupted Dawn.

A frowning Watcher swivelled back to look at the young girl. “Spike? What do you mean?”

With all eyes on her, Dawn explained, “That’s what she wanted. She told Xander she’d help him get Buffy if she could have Spike.”

“Anya, do you remember reading anything in the books about a vampire with the ritual?” Giles asked, the furrows in his brow growing deeper.

She shook her head. “Just Buffy.”

The four females in the room watched as the older man stood and began pacing, the earpiece of his glasses firmly entrenched between his teeth. “What is it, Giles?” Willow finally asked.

“It doesn’t fit. We know she’s a witch, so she’s not the one who wants the ritual. But since she was the one who was originally hunting Buffy, we can assume she works for whoever does.” He paused, his mind racing. “But this issue with wanting Spike complicates things.”

Anya sighed. “Of course there’s complications. It wouldn’t be Life with Buffy unless there were,” she moaned.

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

Leaning her head against the stone wall, the Slayer closed her eyes, exhaling long and slow. Talking with Xander had been difficult, an exercise in avoidance, and she was angry with herself for not telling him the whole story. Spike deserves better than that, she thought, then froze, her heart quickening as the import of her realization slammed into her gut. It wasn’t possible, not after everything, not so soon…

She whirled as his scent filled her nostrils, and she watched him round the corner of the cave, a stack of clothes in one hand, a small paper bag in the other. The glow from the walls sent pale shadows dancing across his face, and Buffy felt her palms itch, anticipating the satin of his skin. When the flutter in her stomach flew to her throat, her hazel eyes went round as saucers. Damn…

He stopped when he saw her. “So much for beatin’ you back,” he said dryly.

“Are the clothes from Cortina?” She did her best to keep her voice neutral, to keep him from noticing her racing pulse.

Spike nodded. “Wouldn’t want to see her drycleaning bill.” He moved past her to the door of their room. “Get everything all sorted?”

Buffy held back as he pushed the door open with his hip. “Xander’s here,” she said simply.

The vampire stopped, halfway into the room. “How in hell did the whelp ever find us?” he said incredulous.

“I have no idea.” She felt silly hanging back in the corridor, and mentally shook herself. You’ve been here before, she scolded. Stop being such a baby. “I didn’t think to ask,” she added as she stepped inside.

When Spike closed the door behind her, it dawned on Buffy that even without seeing him, she knew exactly what he was doing, where he was situated, how he was standing. She knew without looking that he was watching her…that he’d slowly dropped the clothing onto the chair by the door…that his blue eyes were roaming over her back…and that he was hard, dripping with desire for her. This was more than Slayer senses, and she knew it. What she wondered was…did he?

“Where are Rupert and the witches?”

Without turning to look at him, she began undoing the buttons of her blouse. “Xander said they were using a locator spell out in the desert to try and find me. Apparently, some of Daymon’s men left a trail back in Sunnydale wide enough for a pack of elephants to follow. Thank god I have smart friends and stupid enemies.” As casually as she could manage, Buffy slipped the cotton from her shoulders and dropped the wet fabric onto the floor, ignoring Spike’s presence behind her. Her skin broke out into goosebumps as it met the chilled cave air and she scuttled into the bathroom. “You didn’t bring any extra towels, did you?” she called back to him.

His eyes were contemplative when she stepped back into the bedroom, watching her rub the fluffy towel over her flesh. “What are you doing?” he finally said. There were no recriminations in his voice, just a low concern shading its timbre, and Buffy hesitated, knowing what he meant but reluctant to go there just yet.

“I’m drying off,” she answered. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m all wrinklies and ridges.” She waggled her fingers in front of her and grinned. “You go into game face and we’ll match,” she joked.

As her hands reached for the button on her trousers, Spike closed the distance between them, grabbing her wrist and stopping her disrobing. “What did Harris say to you?”

“Why do you think he said anything?”

His gaze softened, and he cocked his head in order to force her to look at him. “Because you’re doin’ Gypsy Rose Lee without blinking an eyelash, and as much as I may appreciate it, I’m not so thick that I can’t see you’re using it to keep me distracted.” Reaching behind him, he grabbed Buffy’s top from the pile of clothing and handed it to her. “Go on and get yourself dressed. When you feel like talkin’, I’ll be right over there.” He gestured at the bed.

Tracing the stitching on the fabric, her measured response was hushed. “It’s not so much what Xander said to me, as it is what I didn’t say to Xander.” She lifted her chin, and Spike was surprised to see the shame in the hazel orbs. “I don’t know what you’re expecting from me---.”

“Absolutely nothing.” The vampire’s finger ran along the curve of her cheek, down the line of her jaw. “You really think I was expecting any of this? If I’d thought for one second that I stood a bleedin’ chance in hell with you, you would’ve known about it a helluva lot sooner, even if it meant chaining you to a wall to make you listen to me.”

Buffy grimaced. “There are better ways to get my attention, Spike.”

“Besides,” he added, “Rupes would’ve staked my ass for sure if he thought I was goin’ to sully his little Slayer.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” she said lightly, “I don’t consider myself sullied.”

Even Spike couldn’t resist her little joke, and his face relaxed into a half-smile. “I don’t expect Harris will react to the news as well as Red and her girlfriend did, anyhow.”

Buffy stepped back. “Willow and Tara know? How did that happen?”

“Hell if I know,” the vampire shrugged. “And I was there.” His shoulder ducked as he turned on his heel, picked up the bag he’d entered with, and walked to the far side of the bed. “Don’t worry, Slayer. I won’t say a word to the whelp.”

All she could see was his back as he perched himself on the edge of the mattress, kicking the sack under the nightstand. His porcelain shoulders were bowed, weighed by some unknown worries, and his tussled hair was just starting to curl against the nape of his neck. Slowly, Buffy’s hands returned to her waistband. “You’re always putting words in my mouth, and yes, before you say it, sometimes those words belong there.” She began to peel the wet pants off her legs. “But I think for right now, I’d like it very much if you just shut up for a minute and let me do the talking for a while.”

Spike looked over his shoulder, his jaw slightly dropped, to see the Slayer step out of her trousers and climb onto the bed behind him. As she crawled on hands and knees toward the vampire, her eyes shone, but from what, he had no idea. “If I thought apologizing for the last three years would make a difference, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But you know and I know that neither one of us would’ve done anything differently, so what’s the point in saying we’re sorry about it?” She knelt behind him and placed her hands on his upper arms, kneading them gently. “I’m a firm believer that actions speak louder than words, which is why having to re-orient my world to accommodate a non-evil Spike has been about as easy as drilling my own teeth, and about as much fun, because let’s face it, your body count pretty much puts mine to shame.”

As he started to turn back to look at her, his mouth opening to refute her accusations, Buffy grabbed his head and straightened it, forcing him to look forward again. “I said, shut up for a minute.” Her hands returned to his biceps, and slowly began to massage downwards. “I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but you’re always managing to be Mr. Insightful. Most of the time, it’s infuriating as hell because I’d like nothing more than to just be able to slide you into my little cubby labelled ‘demon’ and forget about you, but you just don’t make that possible. Instead, you go and get yourself chipped, start helping the gang, turn into an asset instead of just an ass, and now you say you’re in love with me.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, her mouth just inches from his ear. “You realize then, that any admission I make will be entirely your fault, don’t you?” she murmured. “That if I tell you I’m grateful you’re on my side now, or I’m sorry you have to deal with Bitchy Buffy so much, or that every time you walk away from me, it feels like someone’s just turned off all the lights, you’re completely to blame for it.” Her breath was warm against his neck. “But my hang-ups about what to say to Xander are my responsibility, and I’m not going to allow you to take on that as well. I am going to tell him, I want you to know that. I just haven’t figured out how to do it yet without his head exploding.” She chuckled. “So go ahead. Insight all that.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t even look at her. For a long second, Buffy wished that he was actually alive so she could see his breathing just to confirm he was still with her. “Don’t tell me I’ve actually made you speechless,” she joked, sitting back on her heels.

Very carefully, Spike leaned forward and pulled the paper bag out from underneath the nightstand. His back blinded her to its contents as she heard him open it and extract something. When he turned around to face her, his hands were filled with tiny purple buds, their tantalizing fragrance drifting to the Slayer’s nose. “See, the plan was, I got back first so I’d have time to get these out. Cort’s not got much in the way of flowers down here, not that I blame her ‘cause the buggers’ve got a way of dying when they don’t get sunlight.” He began dropping them onto the bed, letting them fall through his fingers onto the floor. “But the good thing is, no nasty thorns to prick delicate Slayer skin.”

Picking up one of the diminutive flowers, Buffy rolled it around in her palm, watching the light play with the violet hues. “I’ll say this, Spike,” she said, “you’re never short of surprising.”

The blond vampire grinned. “Just part and parcel of the whole Big Bad package,” he said.

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

The grit ground into his forehead as he lay prostrate on the ground, the candles flickering around him, the heavy aroma of incense hanging in the air. His muscles were stiff, and for a moment, he scolded himself for allowing his body to get so out of shape. Too much comfortable living, he thought. Never again. Once the cleansing was over, it would be a strict regimen of exercise, a proper diet that would keep his form trim and capable until the arrival of his inevitable death. Until then, though…

Smoke began to fill the small room, and the outlines of the altar before Daymon began to shimmer, fading against the blackness. A deep hum began to vibrate his eardrums, and he felt the familiar closing around his head as the figure began to thicken…solidify…until it towered in front of him.

“It’sssss been a longggg time, my friend,” the demon slithered, its serpentine form undulating in rhythm with its words.

“I am in need of your expertise,” Daymon replied. He raised his head and stared at the sightless being. “The Chosen One has escaped.”

“Ah, yessssss, your cleansssssing. I sssshould’ve persuaded you twenty yearsssss ago to renounce thisssss folly.”

“You do not exist in this half-state as I do. I’m neither truly demon nor truly mortal---.”

“Or both, if you choose to sssssee it that way.”

Rising to his knees, Daymon shook his head. “I grow weary of the debate, old friend. If I had not been so impetuous back then, beginning the rite without knowing the full requirements, perhaps it might have been a different story. But without the chalice, I cannot complete what was started, and now, she’s gone. My men have failed to retrieve her so I’m left with no alternative but to find her myself. And for this I need your aid.”

The snake-like demon bowed its head. “The rebirth will be painful,” it murmured.

“As will the cleansing, but I am prepared. I must find the Chosen One in time, and at this point, this is my only means to do so.”

“Ssssso be it.” It waited as Daymon returned to his prone position before coiling itself around the altar. “Let the resurrection begin…”

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

They stood in a line, staring down at the puncture, none of them really wanting to move. Finally, Anya broke the silence.

“You at least have a spare, don’t you?” she asked, her arms folded across her chest.

“Yes, of course,” Giles murmured, her query prompting him into action. He strode to the trunk of the car. “At least, I assume I do.”

“I told you we shouldn’t have taken that shortcut,” she continued. “Shortcuts are never good. If they were, everyone would just use those instead of the long way and pretty soon the long way wouldn’t even exist anymore because the shortcut would be the main route, and then everyone would start looking for an even shorter way---.”

“Anya, do shut up,” the Watcher interjected. He pulled the tire out of the trunk and lugged it around to the side of the car, propping it against the door. Returning to the rear, his head disappeared as he continued to rummage around.

“I’ve never changed a flat before,” said Tara. “Is it hard?”

“Not when you’ve got the right tools,” came Giles’ muffled voice. He straightened, a frown darkening his blue eyes. “Which we apparently don’t.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Willow walked over to the older man’s side and peered into the trunk.

“I seem to be missing a jack.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” the redheaded witch offered. “Tara and I can use magic to lift the car while you and Anya change the tire.”

“Me? Why do I have to help? Giles is the one who got the flat.”

He rolled his eyes, annoyance shining within the blue. “That’s all right. I can do it myself.” Standing back, he watched as Tara and Willow joined hands, their concentration focusing on the vehicle. There was a long moment of quiet during which nothing happened. Giles glanced back at the witches. “Is there a problem?”

Willow looked at her girlfriend, frowning, before turning to face the Watcher. “Ummmm, kind of. It’s not working.”

“What do you mean it’s not working? Just poof it up so we can get out of here.”

“I said, shut up, Anya!” Giles’ voice was harder than he intended and he took a deep breath to steady his last remaining nerve. In a calmer tone, he asked, “What do you mean, it’s not working?”

“Hang on.” Scanning the desert ground, Willow picked up a small twig and set it on the hood. Again, she focused her energy on it, and again…nothing. She turned worried eyes back to the group. “It’s like something’s sucking up all the magical power around here,” she explained. “I can feel the forces going out to move the car, or the stick, but then it’s like they get whisked away before they can work.”

Giles glanced around at the landscape. “It must be some geological phenomena with this particular area,” he commented. “It would be interesting to try some experiments later.”

“Later,” Anya emphasized. “But what do we do now?”

“We walk.”

Three sets of eyes widened. “W-w-walk?” stuttered Tara.

Looking up at the setting sun, Rupert said, “The spot where we located Buffy is only six or seven miles from here. We should make it there just about sunset if we set off now.” He regarded his three companions. “And the more we dawdle, the darker it will be when we finally arrive.” His words sent them scurrying for their things in the car. And let’s just hope that we get to Buffy before it’s too late, came his unspoken worry…

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

Waking was like battling through a wall of down comforters, pushing one aside to find another---albeit thinner---waiting to bar the way. As Buffy struggled to return to consciousness, the dreams that had been darkening her mind’s eye scuttled away, their specific images fading, leaving behind the sense of kismet that always accompanied her prophetic Slayer visions. She would not remember these when she awoke fully, however; only the adrenalin coursing through her veins would let her know they’d visited during her sleep.

The first thing she became aware of was the weight curled around her body. The hair on Spike’s arm tickled her side where it lay, and his fingers were sandwiched between her waist and the mattress, gripping her as if she were a life preserver and he was floating at sea. Without opening her eyes, she smiled. There was something infinitely comforting about waking up in the arms of a strong man, knowing for those few precious seconds before the real world set in that she didn’t have to face it alone, that someone else was there to help bear some of the burden, and she was determined to enjoy it for as long as possible.

Buffy had no idea how long they’d been asleep. After the vampire had pulled out the flowers, there had been one incredibly long kiss----a kiss that still curled her toes just thinking about it---before Spike had done something she couldn’t ever remember seeing him do before. He’d yawned.

“I’m absolutely knackered,” he’d said apologetically.

In response, Buffy had just pulled him down so that they were spooning on top of the blankets. “This is nice, too,” she’d whispered, and felt his gentle kiss in her hair before drifting off to slumberland.

Neither one had really moved while they slept, and now, Buffy could feel his solid form pressing against her back, an icy statue bending to fit around her curves, leg to leg, hip to hip. There was no mistaking the hardness pressing into her buttocks and she couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her throat. The vamp walks around with a permanent erection, she thought, followed quickly by the codicil…must be my sparkling influence…

With extreme care, the young woman lifted the arm from around her waist and slid out of his embrace, twisting herself around so that she could set it down without waking him. His features were relaxed, the laugh lines around his mouth smoothed away in repose, and it dawned on Buffy that she’d never seen him look so serene as he did right then. Is this how Drusilla saw him? she wondered. Or did the crazy vamp drive him to join her in that manic state in which she seemed to exist? Either way, the Slayer was pleased that, for a few minutes at least, she could give him peace…

As she watched, Spike rolled over onto his back, his arm flinging upward to cover his eyes and forehead, exposing the muscled expanse of his alabaster chest. Unbidden, Buffy felt her jaws separate, her tongue curling against her top teeth as her mouth watered in anticipation. OK, safe to admit the truth to herself now. The vampire was most definitely a hottie.

Her hazel gaze slipped over his form. The burn on his cheek was almost gone now, only a faint redness indicating that anything had ever been amiss there. On his shoulder, the arrow wound was healing quickly as well; Spike had removed the bandage some time before his swim, and the stream’s waters had cleaned it even further. Outside of the bite marks on her neck, there were few reminders of their stay in Daymon’s hold, and she found herself wishing that she could just let the whole thing slide, get back to Sunnydale and deal with her crises there without having to tie up these loose ends as well. She sighed. It wasn’t going to happen and she knew it. Daymon seemed too determined to get her for whatever purpose he had in mind.

On the bed, Spike stirred in his sleep, nudging Buffy back into the present. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips lightly across his, more a caress than a kiss, focusing her breathing on his skin as her mouth hovered over his jawline. She inhaled deeply, drinking in the aroma of smoke and leather until it made her head swim, and her eyes closed as a wave of desire swept over her. What would it take to wake him up? she wondered. Just how deeply do vampires sleep anyway?

The young woman’s tongue darted out, joining her lips as they caressed the line of his neck, dipping into the hollow before his collarbone, snaking along its length, past the mending injury, to stop at the depression at the base of his throat. If he were a man and breathing, she would’ve seen the pulse of his heart throbbing there, felt it beat under her tongue. But this was Spike, and that particular spot lay frozen, inert under her touch.

Being wary of waking him, Buffy trailed her hand down his sculpted abdomen, stopping only at the waistband of his black jeans. Her eyes jumped up to his face, and she watched him closely as her nimble fingers undid the button…pulled down the zipper…outlined the length of his hard cock…The vampire lay motionless, still deep in his slumber.

The Slayer smiled, and pulled her hair back with her free hand so that it wouldn’t tickle his stomach as her mouth swept downwards, tasting his skin, stopping just short of his navel. Time for repositioning, she thought, and shifted her weight so that she was just inches from his hardness. Carefully, she lifted the shaft, allowing herself just enough room to slide the head between her lips.

A growl from the head of the bed alerted Buffy to Spike’s waking. As her tongue swirled around him, his hands crept up and began stroking her hair, combing it down her back and out of her face. “And you keep sayin’ I’m the evil one,” he muttered. “How long were you goin’ to let me sleep through this little tongue bath?”

She raised her head, looked up to see him gazing down at her, his eyes darkened. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” she offered coyly.

His reply was to tighten his grip on the back of her neck, causing the young woman to giggle. “Didn’t think so,” she said, resuming her position over his hips.

Her mouth seared his skin as it slid up and down on his cock, and he gasped as he felt her nails begin to rake his inner thigh. The fantasies that had been fuelling Spike’s dreams for the past few months vanished on tenuous wings as the reality of Buffy’s heat drove them away, devastating their pale imitations with her vibrancy, and the vampire reveled in the gift he felt he’d been bestowed. She hadn’t said the words yet, but her vow to explain it to Xander was more promising than anything else he could hope for at the present. It didn’t seem as if the world could get much better.

The shock as her small hand began pumping him in rhythm with her mouth caused him to buck underneath her, and he was met with the force of her shoulder pushing him back down, pinning him in place. “God…” he groaned, his voice a mere croak. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to last under her onslaught; he desperately wanted to make it go on forever, but the combination of her tongue, mouth, and hand was already starting to send him over the edge.

“Buffy…” Spike whispered, mustering what resolve he had left. “Stop…” His hand loosened its hold on her golden locks, and he edged upwards, away from the seduction of her heat.

She blinked. Had he really just asked her to stop? Sitting up, the emptiness at the pit of her stomach ached, and she turned, bewildered, to meet his sapphire eyes.

He could see right away that she was hurt. Bollocks, he thought. She thinks it’s her fault. His hand reached forward, cupped her cheek, his thumb gently stroking the silk of her skin. “Not like this,” he murmured.

“But you…” Her voice trailed off, suddenly unable to articulate, and she swallowed hard in an attempt to clear the lump of fear that had settled there.

“We’ve got all the time in the world for that, luv,” the vampire soothed. “And trust me, I fully intend to enjoy that particular Slayer skill.” He leaned forward, brushing kisses across her eyelids. “But as gorgeous as this mouth is…” His teeth caught her bottom lip, tugging it gently, playfully, before letting go and finishing, “…that’s not where I want to be at the moment.”

Relief suffused Buffy’s breast, followed quickly by awareness of what the vampire was saying. Her mouth made a silent, “Oh,” and the twinkle returned to her hazel eyes. “Then that means getting rid of these,” she said, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

Spike smiled. “I’m not the only one in pants, pet.” Grabbing her around the waist, he hooked one finger around the edge of her silk underwear and yanked, ripping the fragile fabric and letting it flutter to the floor, before laying back and pulling her down on top of him. Buffy couldn’t help her grin as he locked her against his chest, using his free hand to push the denim down around his ankles, kicking the jeans off so that they flew across the room.

“Someone’s definitely done some recuperating,” she joked.

“It’s all about stamina, luv,” he responded, before meeting her lips in a bruising kiss. Tongues entwined…melded, as the passion both had been holding in check released in a blaze, enveloping the pair in their own silent whirlwind, crushing into dust the fears that both had been harboring. Wrapping her arms around him, pulling him even closer, seemed the most natural thing in the world for the young Slayer; at the moment, she couldn’t think of why she had ever doubted it would be any different.

Breaking free from his lips, Buffy lifted herself up onto the heels of her hands so that she could look down into his face as her legs slid open. His smile was gone; instead, the blue of his eyes had deepened to a stormy sky, locking with hers as his fingers dug into the flesh on her hips. She needed no guide. As the tip of his cock brushed against her, slowly…deliberately…she thrust downward, allowing him to sink in…

…inch by inch…

…burying himself…

…the walls of her pussy sucking at him, urging him deeper…

…until they both felt him pressing into her ass, evidence that every centimeter of his cock was imbedded inside her. There was a moment of hesitation as both vampire and Slayer tasted the intoxicating fervor of fusing together…

…before Buffy started the journey back up, sliding over him, her wetness easing the trip. She began riding him, an unhurried rhythm of in…and out…up…and down…and lowered herself back down to meet his lips once more, her breasts crushing into his chest.

The more he tasted her, the more his hunger for her grew, threatening to unleash the demon and overpower her once and for all. Spike had lost all sense of where he ended and the Slayer began; he knew only the sensations centralized around his cock, the fire laying siege to his skin…

As their tempo quickened, Buffy’s back began to glisten from the sheen of sweat evincing her efforts, and she felt small beads of moisture begin to roll around her sides, under her breasts, slicking her stomach and smoothing the friction between them as he pumped into her. Each thrust seemed deeper, harder, and still she wanted more, pounding her hips against his as her muscles tried to consume him, make him her own.

It began in her pelvis, a low rumble that swelled, radiated up her torso…down the back of her thighs. She couldn’t stop…wouldn’t stop…had to engulf him…until her body detonated, a blinding explosion setting her alight, creating an inferno that should’ve devoured the vampire but instead spurred him further.

Her orgasm sent Spike careening over the precipice as her inner muscles clenched and squeezed, spasming around his cock. His roar as he came matched her scream, blending into a single song, and he clutched at her trembling form to try and stave the swell of emotion rising in his throat. Above him, Buffy slammed down onto his hips, locking him in place, before burying her face in his neck.

They held each other like that as the waves of pleasure ebbed, receding into memory. Overwhelmed by the scent of her hair, Spike nuzzled the golden strands as his hands slipped up her back. “God, I love you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Buffy didn’t reply, only nestled herself deeper into his embrace. I can’t, she thought. Not just yet…

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

As the screams died down, Cortina smiled. She hadn’t meant to be eavesdropping, but when she’d approached the room to remind them of the time, the primal sounds of Spike and Buffy’s lovemaking had been enthralling, and she just couldn’t tear herself away. It was so nice to be right about these things.

When the blond demon had spilled his story to her earlier, she hadn’t been all that surprised. Slayers and vampires went back a long way, and sensing the attraction between these particular two had been as simple as opening her eyes. She did understand his pain, however, and so when she’d suggested he take the flowers back to the room, Cortina was relieved that he didn’t recognize their true origins. Not many knew that the fragrance of the tiny purple buds stripped away falsehoods, acting in its own way as a sort of natural truth serum, and so she knew she was taking a risk by exposing them to it. But her instincts had prevailed, and their recent gymnastics only proved what Spike had known all along.

She sniffed the air. Sunset was still a couple hours away; there was no reason to disturb these two just yet. Let them enjoy these few minutes, she thought, and turned to go back down the hallway.

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

There was a new scent in the air, familiar but not quite right…power not yet fully realized mingled with innocence both young and old. It traveled with two others, a perplexing pair of smells born of violence yet steeped in propriety, and together they approached him. They were still some distance from the Hound, but unless they changed their course, it would only be a matter of time before they arrived.

His caretaker lingered within the cave. Ever since the man had disappeared into its depths, she’d been engaged in preparations of the magical variety, too busy to notice her charge. She was obviously absorbed in her duties, her exhaustion seeping from every pore of her skin, but his own needs were becoming more and more vital, the growing hunger in his belly distracting him from his responsibilities. Whatever it was, he hoped that whatever she was planning would come to fruition soon…

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

Buffy just sat there, watching him scarf down the food in front of him. “Hungry much?” she commented.

Through a mouthful of pastry, the young man replied, “Xander starving. Xander eat.” He reached for the glass of milk at his plate’s side and downed it in three long swallows. “You should have some. I think your demon friend must have it trucked in from Donut Digs or something.”

The Slayer shook her head. “I already ate.”

“And Blood Boy? He’s all set to go, too?”

“Yep. But I still don’t see why you won’t just let some of Cortina’s guys walk you back to the entrance to get your things. They promised they wouldn’t drag you this time.”

“Believe it or not, at this point, I’d rather have Spike as a bodyguard,” Xander said. “At least that way, I know that I’m not going to get hurt without him getting a monster of a headache.”

“Well, we’ll have to make double-time,” Buffy replied. “I want to get back here so that we still have time to get to Sunnydale before sunrise after Cortina shows us her maps.”

Xander sat back in his chair. “Whoa, back up. We? You think it’s going to take two of you to help me find my stuff?”

She tilted her head, her hazel eyes annoyed. “No. I think if I leave you two alone together for more than five minutes, one of you will say something that only pisses the other one off, and you’ll go storming off, and then I’ll have to go looking for you, and that just screws up the whole timeline. You guys most definitely need to be refereed if I’m going to get all of us out of this intact.”

As he reached for another pastry, the young man cast his gaze downward, unwilling to meet his friend’s face. “Listen, Buffy,” he started, then stopped, unsure how to continue. She still didn’t know about Celie; he’d carefully edited that part out of his narrative. If she came back with him and Spike, she’d discover that he’d sold the vamp out, and right now, he wasn’t sure exactly how she’d take it.

“It’s OK,” the Slayer was saying. “I think I know what’s bugging you.”

His brown eyes lifted, widened. “You do?”

“Sure,” she replied. “And it’s partially my fault because I’m trying to be all uber-Slayer and everything. I want you to know, I’m not ignoring everything you’ve done in trying to find me, really. I know you guys have worked overtime on this one, and with the Glory mess and Mom, I haven’t exactly been appreciative girl lately. I promise, when we get out of this, you will be lauded as Scooby Extraordinaire to all who will listen.”

Her wide smile was genuine, and Xander felt his stomach sink. “It’s OK, Buff. We understand the pressure you’re under.”

“Nope, I’m serious,” she said. “As soon as this is all over, we’ll have a bash to celebrate Scooby goodness, complete with cake and other sugary substances to overload our systems with.” And hopefully by then, she added silently, I will have been able to tell you guys about me and Spike.

There was no point in arguing with her. “Sounds good,” he said simply, and sank his teeth into the donut.

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

It had been embarrassing when they’d found him unconscious in the young girl’s bathroom. What was even worse was the fact they’d stolen his amulet in order to escape. When the orders had been made to send him and his men out in the trucks to search the night, there had been no displeasure apparent in Daymon’s face; only the tightness in his voice conveyed his barely controlled anger. To return without the girl and her vampire had been an extreme failure on the guard’s part, and he’d been reluctant to face his master’s wrath. Instead of expressing anger, however, he’d merely barked additional instructions before disappearing in the bowels of the house and it was only now, almost twenty-four hours later, that the men were hearing anything from the Greek.

His stomach lurched in fear as he approached the basement door. Daymon had specifically requested that the guard who’d been discovered in the Slayer’s room be the one who was sent to him, so he knew that now was the time to face his retribution. He had no idea what it might entail; Daymon was known as a fair but firm employer, so perhaps he might get away with just a demotion among the ranks. But then again…

“Sir?” he called out. The cellar of the house was pitch black and he groped blindly for the light switch. It clicked loudly in the darkness, but no illumination sprang forth as a result. I must inform housekeeping about that, he thought, as his foot inched out in search of the top stair.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. At some point, candles had been burning in the nether regions, but now, there was an oiliness permeating the air, a thickness that almost made it difficult to breathe. Holding his hand over his nose and mouth made it better, but only slightly, and he began taking short, shallow breaths in an attempt to clear his lungs.

“Sir?”

This time, there was a response. “Please, come on down.”

The guard hesitated. Although there was no mistaking the master’s voice, there was a certain sibilance to his speech that seemed somehow foreign. Perhaps he’s had an accident, the man thought, and hope flared in his gut. This could very well be his opportunity to get back into his good graces.

He took too long to respond, as the distinct sigh floated up from the cellar’s depths. “Are you deaf as well as incompetent?” Daymon asked. “Must I do everything myself?”

That was all the guard needed to spur him into motion. As quickly as he dared, he navigated the remaining stairs until his feet came into contact with the packed dirt floor of the basement. “I’m here as you requested, sir,” he said.

“Good.” The voice was nearer, but in spite of the guard’s peering into the darkness, he still couldn’t make out his master’s form. “I am in need of your assistance.”

“Oh, yes, sir.” His pleasure at being able to redeem himself brightened his words and he stepped forward, eager to be of service. “Whatever I can---.”

The words were cut off with a gurgle, followed quickly by the dull thud of his head hitting the floor. Daymon’s slitted eyes surveyed the decapitated body slump lifeless to the dirt, and his wide nostrils flared as the scent of fresh blood began soaking the air. He had no patience for ineptitude and this soldier obviously needed to find his calling within the organization elsewhere.

Ignoring the fallen head, Daymon slithered to where the body rested, the blade in his hand hanging loosely at his side. It had been more than twenty years since he’d tasted a fresh kill, and his forked tongue was salivating at the prospect. Yes, this man most definitely serves a purpose, he thought gleefully, as he raised the sword to begin carving.

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

She’d just finished brushing her hair back into a ponytail when she heard the bedroom door open, his boots cross the threshold. An unbidden smile lifted the corner of her mouth, and for some unexplainable reason, Buffy felt the urge to start humming. She stifled a giggle. Somehow, the whole thing just felt entirely too domestic, and she wasn’t so far gone that she didn’t see the humor in feeling like some dewy-eyed freshman going to the prom with a senior.

He appeared in the doorway of the bathroom and leaned against the jamb. Cortina had come through with what the vampire had requested; he was wearing a black t-shirt that matched those from home, albeit one that was just a trifle too small, outlining the muscles of his chest and shoulders in even more detail than usual. Buffy glanced down at his hands, half-expecting to see them still shiny wet with black nail polish, and was surprised to see the lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. “I see Vrolek demons don’ t have any hang-ups about smoking,” she commented dryly.

“Doesn’t mean she’s got good taste in brands,” he responded, grimacing. “Besides, I didn’t think Harris would recognize me without one. We wouldn’t want the whelp getting any wrong ideas, now would we?”

Buffy sighed. “I told you, I’ll tell him. It just wasn’t…the right time.” As he closed the distance between them, she turned to check her appearance one last time, only to be jolted as the discontinuity of his arm slipping around her waist collided with her lone reflection. She hated this aspect of vampires; it had creeped her out with Angel, and it still managed to give her the wiggins.

“Doesn’t matter,” Spike said as he bent to kiss her neck. “Not when I’ve already got you.”

Gently, the young woman broke free from his embrace, using her boots on the toilet as an excuse to busy herself elsewhere. “Now remember,” she said. “You promised to behave.”

Turning on the faucet in the sink, the vampire extinguished his cigarette before flicking it into the nearby bin. “I’ve heard the lecture a dozen times, pet. I’ll be good and proper as long as the pillock keeps his yap shut.” He shook his head. “Can’t say I’m really looking forward to this, though. I don’t really fancy having to listen to Xander whinge for an hour just so he can get his stuff. And what I don’t get is, why in hell did he leave it there in the first place?”

Buffy shrugged. “He said he got dragged away too quick to grab it.” Zipping up her second boot, she stood, straightening her shirt. “Besides, if you’re a good vamp,” she continued with a smile, “maybe I can think of some kind of reward for you when we get back.”

His response was to grab her hip, pulling the Slayer forward so that she was forced to lean against him. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he taunted, his lips lowering to meet hers. “I’m the Big Bad…”

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

In spite of all her warnings and preparations, the trio’s trek through the cave had not gone well. In fact, they had only been walking for five minutes before Xander had made an unfortunate comparison between Spike and a case of syphilis and, true to his word, that was the line the vampire had refused to let go unnoticed. After that, there had been no holding back as demon and construction worker laid into each other, their words growing increasingly venomous. Buffy had been able to tolerate only a few minutes of their virulence before exploding, threatening each with death and dismemberment---not necessarily in that order---if they continued. Since then, the cavern had been silent.

They trudged along, the only sounds coming from Spike’s boots kicking at the occasional loose stone. After almost an hour like this, he finally stopped in his tracks.

It took a second before Buffy and Xander realized what he’d done. When they turned around to look at him, the vampire just stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. “This is stupid,” he remarked.

The young woman glanced at her friend, before replying, “OK, I’ll bite. What’s stupid?”

“I think maybe me and Harris need to have a little talk. You know. Clear the air.”

Her hazel eyes widened in fear. “Spike, that’s not necessary. I think the air is plenty clear right now.” She sniffed pointedly.

“See? Breathing just fine.” She tried a bright smile, but felt it fading around the edges even before she could finish it.

“No, for once, I think Spike’s got a point.” Buffy turned in surprise at Xander’s affirmation. “A little talk might do us some good. Just mano et…vampo.”

The two men just stared at each other, leaving the Slayer’s head swiveling between the two like she was watching some silent tennis match. Finally, she sighed. “I just want to go on record for saying that this is a really bad idea. OK. Have your little confab. I’ll go on ahead a bit and wait. But if you’re not caught up to me in ten minutes---and I mean both of you---I’m going to come back here and kick both of your asses into next Tuesday.” With one last look at them, Buffy disappeared around the bend.

There was a moment of silence as the two regarded each other. “You don’t like me,” Spike finally said.

“If this is going to be a confession of obviousness and understatement, I’m going to go catch up to Buff right now.” Xander straightened his shoulders as he spoke, trying to make himself look more fearless than he felt.

“Look, I’m trying here,” the vampire exclaimed, his annoyance shining clear. “For her sake, if not for your sorry skin. She just wants everything to be all cakes and puppies, with everybody playing nicely and gettin' along. I, for one, am willing to give it a go, but you seem determined to throw a spanner into the works no matter what I try. So you tell me. What’s it goin’ to take?”

“You’re in love with her.” He’d wondered about it before, but now, with the Big Bad Annoying One standing before him, Xander knew. “You’re in love with Buffy,” he repeated.

There was no point in denying it. “Like you’re not,” he snarked, pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He began to light one, only to find it batted out of his mouth and dashed to the ground. Brows furrowed, he glowered at the younger man.

“That’s different. That’s not ‘in love.’ That’s just ‘love,’ like she’s my friend love. And that means I care about what happens to her and that I worry about her getting involved with another vampire.”

“Because none of us are any good for your precious Buffy, is that it?” Spike had reached the end of his tolerance, and squared off with Xander. “If I remember correctly, you were never too keen on ol’ Angel hangin’ around, either. Not that I blame you on that one, ‘cause the broodin’ bit does get a little old after a while. But he had a bleedin’ soul and you still wouldn’t cut him a break.”

“He made her life hell!” Xander exploded. “Not to mention torturing Giles, and killing Miss Calendar.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “That was Angelus, you wanker.”

“Still a vampire. You think because you’ve got a chip now, that makes you all peaches and cream? That Buffy will just ignore the fact that you’re a killing machine and come running into your arms because you help her occasionally? Let me just jog your memory, in case you’ve forgotten. She pays you for information. To her, you’re just another snitch out to make an easy buck.”

“Buffy needs me.”

Xander shook his head. “No, she uses you. And if you’re too blind to see that, you’re even more pathetic than I thought you were.” He took a step closer, bringing his face within inches of the vampire’s. “You can never give Buffy what she needs because you’re evil, Spike. Inherently, forevermore evil, incapable of doing anything that doesn’t ultimately reward you in the end. And she deserves better than that.”

Spike had opened his mouth to counter Harris’ argument when a resounding thud reverberated through the cave’s walls, sending dust to fly through the air, settling onto the ground in disquiet. There was a moment of hesitation as both men just looked in the direction the Slayer had disappeared, neither sure of what had just happened but both already fearing the worst. It was the crackle of electric energy in the air that eventually spurred their feet to break into a run down the path. Within fifty feet, however, the cave took a sudden turn to the right and it was there that both Spike and Xander skidded to a halt, their eyes widening in alarm.

Against the stone wall, a thrashing Buffy was suspended in mid-air, a nasty gash on her forehead dripping blood down her face, while opposite, a focused Celie had all her magics concentrated on the young Slayer…