It was raining.

                “Yes, well, anyway,” Giles cleared his throat, looking around the crowded room.  “Perhaps this calls for a celebration.  Dinner?”

Chapter Two

            Next day, Buffy took Tara and Willow up on their invitation to look around the university campus.  Tara explained that the University of London had colleges all over the city, and that they’d moved out of their manky dorm after the first year and got a place together.  It was a tiny, tiny little flat, but the girls had decorated it with bright colours and lots of fabric, and the place was so warm with their love that Buffy forgot she hardly knew them and chatted for hours.  Later, they went for a drink at one of the many student bars, and Buffy had her first taste of English bitter.  It was horrible.

            She kept looking around for the odd pale-haired man called Spike, but she didn’t see him anywhere.  Any time she saw a tall guy with shiny dark hair though, her heart flipped over.  It had been three months, but Buffy still saw Riley everywhere.

            On their way out of the bar, Buffy noticed a darkened room with lots of odd equipment.  A gym.  Her muscles ached for some exercise, after her day of travelling, sitting cramped up in a plane, then a train.

            “Guys,” she said to Willow and Tara, who had gone on slightly ahead.  “Do you think I could use the gym?”

            They both looked slightly surprised, until Willow realised, and explained to Tara, “She’s Californian.”

            “So are you,” Buffy exclaimed.

            “Well, yeah, but I live in England.”

            “I think you could use the gym if you wanted,” Tara said.  “We could-” she didn’t look too happy with the idea, but she went along with it, “we could come down tomorrow...”

            Buffy was looking at the gym mats longingly.  “Do I have to wait?”

            The girls left her to the gym, and Buffy happily stripped off her jacket and heeled boots and stretched to warm herself up.  She spread out some mats and tried a few basic poses, then some rolls and tumbling, not seeing the man in the corner, watching her.

            Buffy picked up a pair of boxing gloves and flexed her fingers.  She attacked the punch bag energetically, imagining Riley’s face on the leather, remembering the workouts they used to do together, before his army training became more important than her and he stopped hanging out with her at all, before he’d told her he was going to South America and maybe it would be better if she didn’t wait for him...

            She aimed three high kicks, slamming her foot into the punch bag once, twice - then reeling round and planting her heel on the leather-clad shoulder of the man who’d been watching her.

            Spike.

            He caught her ankle and looked down at her in amusement.

            “You often work out in the middle of the night?”

            “It’s not-” Buffy glanced at the clock.  “You often perv over girls in the gym?”

            “I was watching you.  You’re good.”

            “Yeah,” Buffy tried to reclaim her leg, which was aching from being held up so high, “you have no idea.”

            For a second they looked at each other, Buddy with her fists raised in classic boxer pose.  She’d have looked awesome, she thought, if it weren’t for the fact that this man was holding her leg up in the air.  It wasn’t comfortable, and it certainly wasn’t ladylike.  This sort of thing never happened to Charlie’s Angels.

            “I knew you were there,” she told him, blowing hair from her face.

            “You didn’t see me.”

            “No, I smelled you.”  Buffy sniffed.  “What, do you smoke twenty a day?”

            “Thirty.  You beat the crap out of punch bags.  We all have our therapy.”  He nodded at the leather bag, swinging slightly behind Buffy.  “Who was he?”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            Spike rolled his beautiful eyes.  They were, Buffy noticed, just the colour of the English sky.  When it wasn’t raining.

            “That wasn’t just idle frustration,” he said.  “Who was he?”

            Buffy yanked at her foot.  “Can I have my leg back?”

            He dropped her ankle, and Buffy stumbled into him.  He was warm and smelled of cigarettes and something else, something hot and deep and male and good.

            She drew back sharply.  “Ex boyfriend,” she said.  “He’s in the army.”

            “Good for him.  He give you that?”

            Spike motioned to the ring Buffy wore, antique diamonds and gold.

            “Yeah,” she said, still feeling defensive.

            “Very pretty,” Spike began, taking her hand and looking at the ring.  Buffy was about to protest but his skin was warm and dry and anyway, a voice from the corner made her jump so hard she nearly leapt into Spike’s arms.

            “As pretty as me?”

            Spike grabbed Buffy and shoved her behind him as he spun around to face to woman in the dark end of the gym.

            “Dru,” he said, not sounding particularly happy.  “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

            “Aw Spike,” she said.  “That’s not very nice.”

            Buffy couldn’t see this ‘Dru’ around Spike’s wide shoulders, but she sounded mildly crazy.  Her voice was adult and had the same London accent as Spike’s, but she sounded like she was trying to be a child.

            “Spike likes his pretty things,” Dru went on in her singsong voice.  “He likes very pretty things.”

            “And that’s why I don’t like you,” Spike said shortly.  “Could you tell me why you’re here or bugger off?”

            “He’s hiding something pretty behind his back,” Dru went on, as if she hadn’t heard him at all.  “Something very pretty.  But pretty things never last.”

            “Yeah?  Well, this one will.  I don’t mean to spoil the party, baby,” Spike said, and Buffy frowned, “but if you don’t get out of here in the next twenty seconds I’ll drop that bunch of sandbags on your head.”

            Buffy glanced upwards and saw that there was, indeed, a fat bunch of sandbags high up in the rafters, anchoring a climbing rope.

            But Dru giggled.  “Things fall from the sky all the time,” she said.  “Important things, and no one notices.”

            Buffy was quite sure Dru was mad.

            But Spike seemed to tense up.  “Drusilla,” he said warningly.

            “I saw a shooting star,” she said dreamily.  “In Mexico.  I wished on it.”

            “What for?  A fully working mind?”

            Buffy almost giggled, but she managed to hold herself in check.

            “I wished I’d find what I wanted,” Dru went on, still hidden in shadow.

            “And did you?”

            Drusilla came out of the shadows, and Buffy ached to see her.  But she daren’t look around Spike’s comforting strong body, and all she could make out was a cloud of dark hair and a long black coat.

            “It was gone,” Drusilla said.

            “Was it now?”

            “Both of them were gone.”

            “Both of what?”

            “It,” Drusilla said.  “And him.”

            “In plain English, Dru.”

            “No spark,” Drusilla said, and she sounded sad.  “Just bones and skin.  Bones and skin and no pretty gold, like sparkling sunshine, no spark.”

            Buffy thought she heard Spike swear softly under his breath.

            “Well, thank you for that information,” he said, “now sod off.”

            Drusilla tsk’d.  “I gave you something,” she said.

            “You mumbled a lot of riddles, Dru, that’s not the same as giving someone something.  Apart from a lot of trouble.”

            “Can’t I even see?” Drusilla wheedled.

            “No.”

            “Not even a tiny peep?”

            “Dru,” Spike said warningly, and then Buffy felt him tense as he sucked in a breath.  She strained her eyes to see just a millimetre further, and then she froze too, because Drusilla was aiming a gun at them both.

            “Show me,” she said, and now she didn’t sound childlike at all.

            There was a second when none of them move, and then Spike said, “Tumble,” under his breath, and Buffy dropped to the floor and rolled away, just as a gunshot rang out, and then a loud pop, and when she looked up there was white powder clouding everywhere, and a hand grabbed her out of the choking dust and yanked her to her feet.  She saw Spike’s leather sleeve and clutched his hand as they ran.

            They ran for ages, Buffy barefoot and cold in her thin trousers and T-shirt, her feet dirty with bits of chewing gum and cigarette stubs from the pavement.  Once she stumbled, and Spike hauled her back to her feet, and when she trod on some glass and cried out, he swept her into his arms and carried on running.

            Buffy was too dazed to register where they were going, but suddenly Spike kicked at a door and they were in a warehouse, and he carried her to a pile of pallets and set her down gently.  Buffy cradled her sore, dirty foot and looked up at him.

            “Okay,” she said, “so what the hell just happened?”

            Spike, still breathing heavily, pulled off his long leather coat and glared at her.  “You’re welcome.”

            “Thanks.  You’re impressively burly.  I couldn’t have run with a tiny little cut between my toes.”

            He looked incredulous.  “A tiny little cut?  I carried you half a mile for a tiny little cut?  You were screaming like your foot was about to fall off!”

            “I was not,” Buffy said indignantly.  “It damn well hurt-”

            “You just said-”

            “Don’t you tell me what I just said,” Buffy said furiously, getting to her feet and stumbling when she tried to put weight on her injured foot.  Spike caught her and lowered her to the pallets again.  Without asking, he took her foot in his hand and peered through the gloom at it.

            “I can’t see a bloody thing,” he said, dropping her foot, and stalked over to the nearest wall where he grabbed a torch and stood it on the pallets for some light.

            “There’s glass in your foot,” he said to Buffy, not angry any more.  “God, can’t people put things in a bin?”

            “Can you get it out?” Buffy asked.

            “I don’t suppose you have any eyebrow tweezers with you?”

            “In my purse,” Buffy said.  “Which is - oh no,” she added with sarcasm, “it’s in the gym.  What did you do in there anyway?”

            “I ducked,” Spike said.

            “I mean with all that white powdery stuff.  It tasted... salty.”

            He looked up at her.  “You tasted it?”

            “Well, it went in my mouth.  What was it?”

            Spike smiled.  “She shot the fire extinguisher.”

            Buffy smiled. Then she laughed.  Then she laughed harder, and Spike had to hold tight to her foot to grab it and take the glass out, and then she stopped laughing, because it really hurt.  She was in a dark warehouse with a strange man and she had glass in her foot.

            Buffy felt tears slip out of her eyes.

            “Hey,” Spike touched her face, “did it hurt that much?”

            Buffy shook her head.  “No.  Well, yes, but... Why was that woman pointing a gun at you?  And why did you help me?  And who are you, anyway?”

            At that he smiled, a proper smile.

            “I’m just here to protect you, love.”

            “Do you have a real name?”

            “Yes, but I’m not telling you until I know you better.”

            She rolled her eyes, no longer crying.  “Well, in that case I won’t tell you mine.”

            “Suit yourself.  Buffy.”

            Buffy gasped.  “How do you know?”

            “I know a lot of things.”

            Great, Buffy thought, a wise guy.

            “Do you know how to get some water to clean my foot up?  I don’t want to get tetanus.”

            He nodded at a staircase in the corner leading up to a balcony where Buffy guessed some offices had been.  “There might be a bathroom up there.”

            He put her foot down gently and walked away, and Buffy found herself admiring how good he looked in jeans and how well his shirt fit across his muscular back.  He wasn’t big, but he was lean and he was strong, and Buffy entertained herself remembering how good it felt to have been cradled against his hard chest while he carried her.

            She jumped when Spike touched her shoulder, and when she opened her eyes he looked amused.

            “Dreaming about me?”

            What arrogance.  “You wish.”

            This only made him smile wider, and Buffy wondered if he could read minds.

            He held out an old kettle full of boiling water and some bits of cotton wool and disinfectant.  He also had plasters and tape.

            “Where did you find this stuff?”

            He shrugged.  “Looks like someone cleared out of here and didn’t take all their stuff with them.”  He lifted her foot and started cleaning away the dirt with the cotton wool dipped in the water for sterilisation.  Buffy winced, but she let him carry on.  It was like when she was a little girl and her mother used to clean her scraped knees.

            “Where are we?”

            He shrugged.  “Chalk Farm, I think.”

            Buffy’s eyes bulged.  “We’re on a farm?”

            At that Spike laughed.  “It’s a name,” he said.  “Part of London.  Not too far from Giles.”

            “How do you know Giles?”

            Spike lifted his shoulders and Buffy watched the movement with interest.  “We go way back.”

            “Are you another of his protégés?  Like Tara?”

            “You know Tara?”

            Buffy was intrigued.  “You know Tara?”

            “I asked you first.”

            She sighed.  “She’s Willow’s girlfriend?”

            “Red?  Her name is Willow.”  Spike nodded as if storing this fact away.  He dabbed disinfectant on the cotton wool and pressed it to her foot.  Buffy bit her lip.

            “How do you know Tara?”

            “Nice girl.  Knows a lot about Roman sandals.”

            “Yes, but, how do you know her?”

            Spike shrugged again.  “We sometimes work in the same field.”

            “And what field is that?”

            “We both like women,” Spike said, looking up at her through long lashes.  Buffy sighed in disgust.  She knew she wasn’t going to get anything out of him.  She also knew that Tara had never had another girlfriend before Willow, and vice versa.

            Spike pressed some clean cotton wool against the cut on Buffy’s foot and wrapped so much tape around it to hold it in place that Buffy was beginning to feel like one of the mummies in the museum.  Then he cleaned up her other foot, which wasn’t very clean.  Buffy wasn’t sure it was necessary, but his fingers on her toes felt damned good, so she let him.

            “Do you have a spare pair of socks, too?” she asked.

            “Oh, you’re funny.”

            “I’m laugh a minute.  Spike, who was that Drusilla woman?”

            Abruptly, he turned away from her.  “She was trouble.”

            “Well, duh.”

            “She’s after something.  I don’t know what,” he said, but Buffy could tell he was lying.

            “Is it something I have?”

            He shrugged again, his shoulders tense in the darkness.

            “Could be.  Ignore what she said, she’s cracked.”  Spike turned back to her and looked at his watch.  “It’s late.  You should get some sleep.”

            Buffy blinked.  “I’m not staying here!”

            “You can’t walk on that foot.  And I’m not carrying you all the way back to Giles’s.  You’re not that featherweight, you know.”

            Buffy scowled.  “It’s muscle,” she said.

            “Sure it is.”  Spike felt at her arm.  “Lots of muscle there.”  He trailed his hand down her stomach.  “More muscle there.”  His fingers went a little lower, and Buffy drew in her breath sharply.

            “Stop that.”

            He looked up at her innocently.  “Just testing your fitness, love.”

            “I’m not your love.”

            Spike just smiled.

*

            When she awoke it was morning and there was daylight coming in through the dirty warehouse windows.  Spike was nowhere to be seen, although his coat had been draped over Buffy as she slept.  She glanced around to make sure he wasn’t watching, then breathed in deeply.  The old leather smelled of Spike, and it was a good smell.

            She turned over and went crashing to the floor: Buffy wished someone had told her she’d fallen asleep on the pile of pallets.  Spike came rushing down the stairs from the offices above and grabbed her.

            “What happened?  Are you hurt?  Buffy-?”

            “I’m fine,” she grumbled, letting him pull her to her feet.  “I just lost my dignity.  What time is it?”

            “A little after eight.”

            “God!  Giles and the others will be wondering where I am!”

            “Then we’d better get you home.”

            Spike handed her his coat, saying it was cold outside, and Buffy pulled the leather around her.  It nearly scraped the floor and there was something very intimate about wearing something that was so obviously a well-loved part of its owner.  She limped after him, feeling scruffy and dirty, trying not to get dirt in her bandaged foot.  But London was so dirty, centuries of dirt in the air and on the ground.  It was beautiful, but all Buffy could see today was the dirt on the ground, ready to sneak in and give her cut toes hell.

            Spike led her around a few corners until they came to a small shopping street.  He took her in a shop and Buffy was puzzled until he asked what size her feet were and she realised he was looking for shoes.  Laughing, she told him and then they had to work it out in English sizes.  He bought her a cheap pair of jelly sandals, like kids have on the beach, and she put them on, feeling better now her feet were protected.

            It was cold out, and she was grateful for the coat.  Spike didn’t seem to be bothered by the chill, and Buffy wondered spitefully if he was just being manly so he could show off his great body under its tight T-shirt.

            Then she felt mean.  He was being really nice to her and all she’d done was bitch at him.

            “Is it far?” she asked.  “Giles’s house?”

            Spike stopped her at a bus shelter.  “Better if we ride,” he said.  “Those shoes weren’t really meant for city walking.”

            Buffy looked down at them.  Her feet did look ridiculous.

            “I - I don’t have any money for the bus,” she said, “or to pay you for the shoes...”

            Spike waved his hand.  “I can afford it,” he said.

            Afford cheap jelly shoes and a bus ride.  Hardly fiscal solvency.

            Sitting beside him on the bus, her thigh pressed against his, she tried not to think about how close he was.  Giles’s house wasn’t far, but by the time they disembarked - Buffy refused to say ‘got off’, even in her head - her heart was thumping and her palms were sweating.  It was stupid.  It was like she’d never been near a hot man before.  Riley was hot.  Riley was really hot, especially in his commando gear.  Riley had women falling all over him.

            Maybe that was the problem.

            But Riley had never rescued her.  If anyone came onto Buffy in a bar or whatever, she fended them off herself.  Riley’s friends used to joke that she could join their detachment any day she wanted.

            Buffy would rather have shaved her head than spent more time than was needed with those sexist testosterone freaks.

            They reached Giles’s door and Spike raised his hand to knock, but Buffy caught it and he looked at her.

            “I just wanted to say,” she could hardly breathe, “I just wanted to say, thanks.  For looking after me.  And stuff.  I’m not usually so helpless, I-”

            And then he kissed her.

            Buffy could have lived in that kiss.  It was golden sunshine.  It was a Faith Hill song.  It was life-giving.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, as hard as he was kissing her, and his body felt really good against hers, pressing her back against Giles’s cold front door.

            Then the door opened, and Buffy fell in, dragging Spike with her, landing hard on the carpet with Spike grinning down at her.

            And then she looked up and saw Anya and Xander there, too.

            And she gulped.

            “Hi?”

            Xander waved.  “Hey, Buff.  Hey complete stranger with his lips attached to my best friend.”

            Spike wasn’t making any effort to move from her, and Buffy had to admit it wasn’t a totally unpleasant feeling, being trapped under him.  But she felt damn silly with her friends looking down at her.

            “Um,” she said.  “Spike?”

            “Yes, pet?”

            “You think you could move?”

            “’Fraid not.  I think you’ve broken me.  I’ll have to stay here.”

            She glared at him, and he laughed, his body shaking against her.  “Okay, Summers, you win.”  He rolled off her and to his feet in one easy motion that Anya stood there admiring until Xander noticed and scowled at her.

            Giles came down the stairs, talking as he went.  “Xander, Anya, what is going on - Buffy!  Where on earth did you go?  I was worried sick about you, I’ve been on the phone to Willow half the morning...”

            He came over as if to hug her, but then hesitated and patted her shoulder instead.

            “British reserve, Rupert,” Spike said, and Giles swung round to face him.

            “William?”

            William? Buffy thought, as Xander mouthed ‘Spike?’ in disbelief.

            “I should have known you’d be in on this,” Giles said wearily.  “Buffy, how on earth did you meet this reprobate?”

            “Uh,” Buffy got to her feet, dusting herself off.  “Well.  It - uh - your name is William?”

            Spike glared at her sullenly.  “Not to you it isn’t.”

            “Not even now I know you better?” Buffy teased.

            “Hey, if I gave my name out to every woman I - never mind.  Rupert.  I saved this young lady’s life and all you can do is scold me?  He’s like a mother hen,” Spike said fondly, making Giles scowl.

            “Why was her life in danger?  I thought you were supposed to be protecting her?”

            “Protecting me?” Buffy said, but no one seemed to be listening.  Xander had fetched a bag of crisps from the kitchen and he and Anya were watching like it was street entertainment.

            “I was bloody protecting her,” Spike was saying to Giles.  “Dru showed up-”

            Giles took off his glasses and covered his eyes.  “Drusilla?”

            “Yeah.”

            “How is the lovely lady?”

            Spike looked at him like he was insane.  “She’s as fruitcake as ever.  Kept going on about shiny things and shooting stars.”

            But Buffy knew Spike had understood what Drusilla had meant.

            “And she has a gun,” she piped up automatically.

            “Oh, dear lord,” Giles said.

            “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Xander asked Anya, taking the crisps from her.

            “Nope.  Do you have any idea who these people are?”

            “Well, that one’s Buffy and that-”

            “I mean Captain Peroxide.”

            Anya squinted.  “I think that might be his real colour.”

            “Yeah, like yours is your real colour.”

            She scowled and took the crisps back.

            “Hey,” Buffy waved at Giles’s face.  “Could someone please tell me what is going on?  Who is this insane Dru gal and why did she pull a gun on us and why did I have to spend the night in a warehouse and am I ever going to get my shoes back?  I liked those shoes.”

            They were all staring at her.  Xander reached for some more crisps.

            “Willow has your clothes,” Giles said.  “She found them at the campus gym.  Why-?”

            “I felt like a workout,” Buffy said.

            “Californians,” Giles shook his head.

            “Hey!” Buffy, Anya and Xander said in unison.  “And ‘Hey!’ for Will, too,” Xander added.

            “Buffy,” Giles turned to her, “perhaps you should come in and sit down.  It’s too cramped in this hallway anyway.  There are some things I need to tell you.”

            She followed him into the living room, Anya and Xander trooping in after them and sitting down to watch, still passing the bag of crisps back and forth like they were in a cinema.

            “Wait,” Buffy said, feeling the room was empty, “where’s Spike?”

            They looked around.  Xander checked the hallway.  “He’s gone.”

                Buffy sighed.  Nine in the morning and already it was a bad day.

Chapter Three

            Drusilla walked into the little theatre and let out a loud yell.  It wasn’t a yell or frustration or anger or pain: it was just a yell, because Drusilla was quite crazy.

            From the wings of the little stage a man emerged, a tall, good-looking man with dark hair and soulful eyes.

            “Hey, honey,” he said.  “You’re home.”

            Drusilla looked down at him and a smile broke out on her face.

            “I saw something shiny,” she said, running down the aisle of seats and throwing herself at the tall man.  He caught her and swept her up onto the stage and kissed her cinematically.

            “You saw it?  The fifth one?”

            “Glowing and sparkling like the sun,” Drusilla made motions with her hands.

            “Yes, but did you see it?”

            “So shiny...” Drusilla looked up at him.  “Angel,” she said, passing her hands over his face.  “You glow.  You glow, too.”

            “Yeah, I’m just a cigarette butt in the dark.  Dru, baby-”

            “But he was there.”  Her face darkened and she tore away from him, stomping across the stage.

            “He?  Who?”  Angel’s face darkened.  “Spike?”

            “He was hiding her, he had her, I knew it,” Drusilla whined.

            “Spike’s protecting her?”  Angel did some creative swearing.  “That makes things harder.”

            Drusilla was standing at the edge of the stage, her pale eyes sad, her face fragile.

            “All you care about is getting all five,” she sulked.

            “Do you know how rich that will make us?”

            “That’s all you care about, your gold.  That doesn’t shine.  Money doesn’t shine, it’s dirty, I hate it, it makes you dirty...”

            Angel crossed the stage to her, his boots thudding on the boards.  “Dru,” he put his arms around her.  “I’m doing this for you.  So I can buy you lots of pretty things.”

            “You’re a pretty thing,” she said, tracing his face with a long, reverse manicured nail.

            “And so are you.”  He grinned slowly.  “You glow.”

            “You really think so?” Dru asked dreamily.

            “Mmm.  Now let’s see if you glow all over...”

*

            Buffy stared at Giles.

            “But it can’t be,” she said sensibly.  “Where would Riley get something so valuable?”

            “Probably he stole it,” Xander said, gesturing with a chocolate bar, now he and Anya had finished the crisps.  “I never liked the guy.  Too much muscle.  You can’t like a guy with too much muscle.”

            Anya took half the chocolate bar.  “You’re just jealous ‘cos you don’t have any.”

            “But, Giles,” Buffy said, twisting her ring, “why would anyone want this?  It’s just a present from a guy to a girl.”

            “Buffy, try to think,” Giles said seriously.  “Can you think that Riley might have had any dodgy dealings?  Any friends who seemed slightly shady to you?”

            Buffy thought back to the hulks that Riley had hung out with.

            “All of them,” she said.

            “Well, was there anybody of especially bad reputation?”

            Buffy thought some more.

            “All of them,” she repeated.

            Giles sighed.  “He was in with a bad crowd?  He always seemed so stable.  Such a-”

            “A nice young man.  Giles, you sound like my mom.”

            “I thought he was nice,” Anya piped up.  “Very burly.”

            Buffy and Xander glared at her.

            “Well, he was.  Although his friends were sexist assholes.  Giles, do you got any popcorn?  This is entertaining.”

            “No, and it’s do you have, not do you got,” Giles corrected irritably.  “And it’s not supposed to be entertaining.  Buffy’s life could be in danger.  The Angelus group is a very dangerous faction.  They’ve been known to kill people before, and in very unpleasant ways.”

            “Is there a pleasant way to kill someone?” Xander asked.

            “Well, overdosing on sleeping pills wouldn’t be too bad,” Anya said.

            “Beheading’s supposed to be quick,” Buffy said helpfully.

            “Yeah, but did you know your brain keeps on working even after your head is cut off?” Xander said eagerly.  “There’s blood everywhere, but your eyes are still moving and you could even speak, if you had the vocal chords.”

            “Euw, gross,” Anya bashed him.  “I’m going to die in bed with Xander.  Having sex with him.  When I’m very old.”

            They all baulked at this.  Sometimes Anya’s frankness did not lead to very pretty pictures.

            “Yes, well,” Giles tried to reclaim the situation, “I have a feeling that the Angelus group are not planning on stuffing Buffy with sleeping pills or beheading her quickly.  Or anything else,” he added sternly as Anya opened her mouth.  “Buffy, you need twenty-four hour protection.  I wanted you to leave California because I knew that the Angelus group operates out of there, but I didn’t think... I’d forgotten about Drusilla...”

            “Yeah, and what’s the deal with that?” Buffy asked.  “Is she insane?”

            “More or less,” Giles said.  He polished his glasses and looked at her apologetically.  “Welcome to England.”

*

            Tara made her way through the museum halls with her broom.  It wasn’t, strictly speaking, her job, but Jenny who did the cleaning had to stay home with her son, who was ill, and Tara didn’t want her to take any sick days.  So she’d trailed half of the huge empty halls with the broom, wondering where everyone was.  Didn’t people go to museums any more?

            Concentrating on the floor, she frowned at a cigarette butt and chased after it with the broom, not looking where she was going and running straight into a pair of biker boots.

            “Oh!”  She looked up, her hand to her mouth.  “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t s-see you there, I-”

            And then she looked up a little further.

            “Spike?”

            He scowled at her, taking out a fresh cigarette and lighting up.

            “You kn-now you can’t s-smoke in here,” she stammered, pointing to a smoke detector.

            “And that’s gonna stop me, is it?”  He gestured to the butts she was sweeping up.  “Didn’t detect any of them.”

            Tara sighed and went after them with the broom.  Spike watched her, leaning against a glass cabinet filled with nineteenth century china.  It was an odd contrast: Spike with his ferocious edges, black leather and huge boots, and the delicate, floral china reflected in the thick glass.

            “I didn’t think you were so interested in tea sets,” Tara managed without stuttering.  Spike always made her nervous.

            “I drink tea,” Spike defended.  “In polystyrene cups from dodgy guys at the station, but you know.”

            “Not quite the same.”

            “I wanted to see you,” Spike said, and Tara dropped the broom.  Spike watched in amusement as she picked it up and dusted off the handle nervously.  Eventually she turned to face him.

            “M-me?”

            “Yes, y-you.”

            “Don’t tease me, Spike.”

            He grinned.  “But you’re all blushing.  It’s very cute.  Do I make you nervous, pet?  I’d think you were in love with me but I know that’s not the case.”  He raised his eyebrows at her and Tara blushed further.

            “Why do you want to see me?”

            “You know Buffy.”

            Tara frowned.  “Mr Giles’s friend?  Not very well.”

            “You were out boozing with her last night.”

            “Well, we had a couple of drinks...”

            “Did she say anything?”

            Tara raised her eyebrows.

            “Well, she said lots of things,” she began drily.

            “I mean, did she-”

            Tara stared.  Then she covered her mouth again.  Her eyes were dancing.

            “What?” Spike asked menacingly.

            “Did she say anything about you?” Tara giggled.

            “No, did she say anything about her ex.  And a ring he gave her,” Spike waggled his finger at her, and then added, “And yeah, anything about me?”

            Tara leaned on her broom, still giggling.  “Are you jealous of Riley?”

            “No!  Guy’s a poof.”

            “Hey,” Tara said severely, pointing her broom at him.

            “I - well, you know.  He’s an idiot.”

            “Have you ever even met him?”

            “No, but he sounds like an idiot.”

            “He and Buffy were together for a whole year,” Tara said.  “I think they had something pretty special there.”

            “Still split up though, didn’t they?  Anyway, listen kid, did she say anything about the ring?”

            Tara shrugged.  “I thought it was pretty, and she said her old boyfriend gave it to her for her birthday.  When she was twenty one.”

            “Is that all she is?” Spike looked mildly appalled.  “Bloody hell.”

            “That’s all I am too,” Tara said.

            “Yeah, but you’re a student.  And you’re - shut up,” Spike said, annoyed.  “Did she say anything else?”

            “About Riley, the ring, or how hot she finds you?” Tara teased.

            He glared at her.  “This is purely professional,” he said.

            “Of course,” Tara replied solemnly.

            “I’ve been hired to look after her.”

            “Of course you have.”

            “I bloody have!”

            “And you took the job for how much?  Twenty p?”

            He jabbed his cigarette in her direction.  “You shut up.  I’m doing what I’m paid for.”

            “Who’s paying you?”

            “Can’t tell you that.”

            “Right.”  Tara idly chased a sweet wrapper with her broom.  “Spike?”

            “What?”

            “If you’re supposed to be protecting her, then where is she?”

            His face changed.

            “Oh, bloody hell,” he snapped, and stormed out, Tara grinning behind him.

*

            Buffy lay in bed, hot despite the chilly night, her skin prickling where Spike had touched her.  She could still feel his warm fingers on her foot, she didn’t want to take off the dressing he’d put there.  His hands had caressed her arms, her shoulders, his lips had been hot and his tongue insistent...

            Buffy swallowed.  If he came to her now what would she do?  Let him in?  Let him see her in her pyjamas - no, they were too childish.  She’d unfasten a few buttons and let the top slide down over her shoulder, maybe exposing some of her breast.  Let him take her in his arms and kiss her again, until she was dizzy and could no longer stand and he picked her up and laid her down on the bed, his hand slipping down over her bare shoulder to caress her breast, her aching, sensitive nipple.  And she’d kiss him hard, letting her leg slip around his waist so she could feel him against her, hard and excited.

            He’d kiss her neck, nipping the soft skin with his teeth.  He wouldn’t be gentle, no, that wasn’t his style.  He’d pull the buttons off her pyjama top and nuzzle at her breasts, taking one hard nipple between his lips and sucking, licking, bruising it with his teeth, while Buffy’s fingers tangled in his hair and she slid her free arm under his coat to feel the hot, hard muscles under his T-shirt.

            The coat would fall away and Spike would be naked from the waist up, and that hard body she’d felt when he kissed her would be bared in all its glory for her to touch and kiss.  She’d lick his chest, feel the contours of his washboard stomach with her tongue, look up and see his face sharpen with pleasure.  He’d push her back down and wrestle off her pyjama bottoms, taking her knickers with them, and she’d lie there naked while his fingers caressed her thighs - no, he was going to be brutal, no caressing - he’d dig his long, strong fingers into her soft flesh, and Buffy would moan, lifting her hips, wanting him.

            And then, his eyes on hers, watching for her reaction, he’d slide his fingers between her legs and find her wet and slippery for him, stroke her while she writhed under him, slip his finger inside her as she moaned, “Spike, I want you inside me...”

            Buffy snapped her eyes open.  She was having erotic fantasies about a man called Spike?  She shook herself.  This was not good.  A man like him was not going to hold her afterwards and cherish her.  He’d pull up his jeans, toss a ‘Thanks, love,’ over his shoulder, and be gone.

            Buffy turned on her side, ignoring the ache in her nipples and the dampness between her legs.  She’d go to sleep and dream of puppies and rainbows and chocolate and non-sexual things.

            He dreams were full of Spike, naked and big and skilled, and she woke up in the morning panting.

*

            “So then, Buffster,” Xander said as he poured milk on his cereal, “what do you want to do today?”

            Find Spike, Buffy thought, but she shrugged and picked up a croissant.  “I don’t know.  Giles, can we go on that big wheel thingy?”

            “The London Eye?  Yes, I should think so.  I won’t be able to come with you, though, I do have a lot of work to do.”

            The phone rang and he went out into the hall to answer it.

            “Aren’t you scared?” Anya asked Buffy.  “About that ring you have.  Someone bad is coming after you.”

            “Thank you, Anya, I really needed to hear that first thing.”  Buffy started pulling bits off her croissant.  “I dunno.  It doesn’t really seem real.  It’s not like he’s out there, beating at the door-”

            Right then, someone started knocking on the door, and Buffy’s head whipped round.

            “Okay, that is not funny,” she said, getting up and going past Giles to the front door.  She opened it without thinking of the chain lock, and stared at the visitor.

            “Spike?”

            He grinned.  “Nice jammies, love.”

            Buffy looked down and realised she was still in her Yummi Sushi pyjamas.  Images of the last time she’d stood in this doorway with Spike flashed back through her mind, and she gulped.

            “What are you doing here?” she asked, trying not to turn red.  She felt for the buttons on her pyjama top: she didn’t care if Xander or Anya saw more than they should, but somehow with Spike...

            Actually, with Spike, she wanted him to see a little more...

            Stop, Buffy, she scolded herself, walking back into the kitchen, Spike behind her.  Bad Buffy.  Down girl.

            “Hey, mystery man,” Xander looked up.  “You vanished yesterday.”

            “Had things to do,” Spike said enigmatically.

            Buffy folded herself back onto her chair and picked up her mangled croissant.  “But you’re back now?”

            “I am.  I think you’ve slain that croissant, love.”

            Buffy ignored that.  “How come you’re back?”

            But before Spike could answer - or more likely, Buffy thought, fail to answer - Giles came back in.  He looked pale.

            “Giles?  What’s wrong?”

            He shook himself.  “That was Willow.  There was a break-in,” he said.  “Last night.  At the museum.”

            “Was anything taken?” Anya asked.

            Giles took off his glasses.  “No.  But the vaults were ransacked.”

            “You have vaults?” Buffy said.  “Cool.”

            Giles gave her one of the looks only Giles could pull off: half severe, half despairing.

            “Anyone see anything?” Spike asked, and Giles looked up, surprised to see him.  How could he be surprised, Buffy thought, it was impossible to not know exactly where Spike was.  Or was that just her?

            “Well, we don’t know,” Giles said.  “There was one witness, we think...”

            “You think?”

            “Yes, well, she’s not exactly in a position to tell anyone what she saw.”

            An awful, icy suspicion clawed its way up Buffy’s spine.

            “Who was it?” she asked, dreading the answer.  Her eyes met Spike’s and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

                “It was Tara,” Giles said, and Buffy suddenly felt dizzy.