Monday

2.15pm

"Dawn? Is there something you need?"

"Uh, no, Miss Mackeltie."

Dawn rocked from one foot to the other in front of her easel, and tried to wipe charcoal dust off her shirt. Oh, great. Now she had an even larger black smear on her blouse, right near her boob. Shit.

"Are you sure you’re alright there, Dawn?"

Dawn sighed. That’s right, make everyone in the class look in her direction…

"I’m fine, Miss Mackeltie."

She pulled her cardigan over the smear, and then tried to focus on what she was doing. A bottle, some flowers, and a loaf of bread. This is Art?

Apart from the intrinsically dull subject matter, she hated working with charcoal – too messy. Everything she drew came out like a dusty black blob. She much preferred soft pencils, or even pastels. But she lifted her hand anyway, and resolutely tried to make the lines on the page smooth and clean.

A few minutes later, she had the rough outline of a blobby bottle, blobby flowers, and blobby bread.

"Have to agree with you there."

The voice came from behind the easel to her left. Dawn watched with amusement as a face appeared from around the corner of the paper – dark curly hair, olive skin and hazel eyes. Dawn knew him from class. She searched for his name while wondering if she’d really spoken her last words out loud.

"Uh – yeah."

God, what was his name? She was sure she’d met him before – geez, this was embarrassing.

"I think I prefer drawing stuff from my own head."

He was whispering for Miss Mackeltie’s benefit, and she replied in kind.

"Me too. Bottles and bread and stuff…not exactly inspiring."

He snorted, and kinked one corner of his mouth.

"Yeah –this blows."

Dawn laughed in surprise, and clapped a hand over her mouth. Ack, too loud. She looked behind her, checking for their teacher.

"I could do without the Seargent Major always looking over my shoulder too," she murmured.

The boy nodded.

"Again, agreeing with. I always thought that art was supposed to be about freedom of expression."

He raised an eyebrow in her direction and Dawn’s breath caught in her throat. Geez – cuteness. Why had she not noticed him in class before, and, more relevantly, why the hell couldn’t she remember his name?

Pulling at her cardigan in a little flush of self-consciousness, she positioned herself a bit closer to his easel. Catching sight of the work that he’d already done she baulked in surprise.

"Hey – that’s really good."

It was good – darkly shaded lines and slightly surreal angles.

"Oh." He looked embarrassed and shrugged. "Yeah, I like to draw."

"Well you’re heaps better than me," Dawn pronounced firmly. She liked that he was so modest.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Nah, I don’t think so. You’re just not inspired by the subject matter."

Dawn grinned ruefully.

"Great. Can I put that on my picture when I submit it?"

The boy with the hazel eyes smiled and traced a finger over the lines that he’d drawn.

"If you want. And you can tell Miss Mackeltie you quoted me, if you like."

Dawn laughed again.

"Sure. Thanks."

With a touch of bravado, she straightened and plunged in.

"I’m Dawn, by the way."

He smiled at her warmly.

"Nice to meet you, Dawn – I’m Gabriel."

Gabriel – that was it. Right. She dusted her hands together and grinned at him.

"Well, Gabriel, do you have any more charcoal?"

"Sure. Here."

He passed her two pieces of soft blackness, and their eyes met in the transition. Dawn got goosebumps, promptly lost her cool, and dropped the pieces on the floor.

"Shit."

She dipped to retrieve them, and heard a voice sounding from somewhere near the back of the class.

"Dawn Summers, are you working on your piece or fooling around?"

"I’m working, Miss Mackeltie," she droned, and stood back up quickly.

She caught Gabriel’s glance and rolled her eyes. He grinned, and then they each returned to their work in silence for a moment.

But a few minutes later, in a lull, she heard a whisper.

"Dawn?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, you have charcoal…" He rubbed a knuckle on his own cheek to demonstrate, and grinned.

"Oh – thanks."

Scrubbing at her face with the edge of her cardigan, Dawn groaned inwardly. God. Why did she always have to embarrass herself in front of the cute ones?

oOo

4.11pm

"…so then you say the incantation and boom! Instant demon-tracker."

Willow grinned and settled her hand gestures back down into her lap.

"Great. So as soon as you get the whatsit root you’re set to go?"

Buffy had a sandwich in front of her, as did the two witches, and paper wrappings were strewn over the floor. She and Willow and Tara were having an indoor picnic, ensconsed in the witches’ room in the dorm. It was cozy, sitting on the carpet with the windows open and the drapes drifting in the summer breeze.

Tara nodded in response to Buffy’s question.

"Yep – as soon as Xander gets back with the herbs. Then it’s ‘Thunderbirds are go.’"

Buffy chuckled at the image of Willow and Tara as two Miss Penelopes, taking off in a dinky little convertible. Then she shook her head, back to business.

"Well, I’ll be very appreciative of the go-ness. There’s so many demons in town right now my spidey-senses are always screeching – not so good for the tracking and locating."

She made a face.

"Well we could help with that too, if you like," Willow volunteered.

She lifted a book from the small pile near the bed and started riffling through the pages.

"I’m sure I saw something in here for sharpening perceptions of evil."

"You could do that?"

"I guess. Why not?" Willow looked at Tara, intrigued by the idea.

Tara shrugged.

"It’s possible. But I think we’d have to work with Mr Giles on that one."

"Oh. Giles." Buffy sighed and her shoulders slumped. "I’m kind of giving Giles a bit of wide berth at the moment."

Willow frowned.

"How come?"

She grinned quickly, trying to lighten the mood.

"Wait – don’t tell me. You disagreed over your favourite brand of crossbow bolts again?"

"Hah. I wish."

Buffy contemplated her sandwich and picked at it desultorily.

"Nah, he just got all parental on me yesterday. Wanted to have one of those Deep and Meaningful Conversations. I wasn’t into it so –blech."

She deposited a slice of pickle onto the paper in front of her.

Tara and Willow exchanged glances.

Tara cleared her throat.

"Ah, this Deep and Meaningful Conversation wouldn’t have had anything to do with, er, Spike by any chance?"

Buffy glanced up, surprised.

"Well – yeah."

Then she saw the witches’ conspiritorial faces.

"Oh – oh great. First Anya, then Giles, and now you two. Come on, out with it. What has the Scoobie gossip machine been chattering on about behind my back?"

Willow shook her head vehemently.

"Nothing. Really. Buffy, it’s not like that."

Buffy crooked an eyebrow at her.

"So, what is it like?"

Willow didn’t quite know where to begin. She tried to aim for a relaxed approach.

"Well, just that you, um…"

Tara tried to help out. Between the two of them there was a lot of shrugging and looking around.

"That you and Spike were…"

"That you and Spike might have been…um…"

Buffy gave them both a exasperated glare. Obviously she was going to have to fill in the blanks.

"What? Getting icky? Doing the wild thing?"

Tara finally gulped up the appropriate word.

"Involved."

"Yeah, involved," Willow affirmed with relief.

"Involved, huh?" Buffy blew out noisily. "Well I’d like to involve Spike’s head with a brick wall right now…"

Willow recovered herself enough to remember her sense of humour about the whole thing. She tilted her head towards Buffy with a sympathetic grin.

"He’s driving you crazy, huh?"

"Argh!"

Buffy threw down her sandwich and buried her head in her hands, her muffled voice rising out from between her fingers.

"Does that answer your question?"

She looked up at them again.

"He’s just so…argh! You know, he showed up at my house last night."

Tara looked surprised.

"Wow. I thought he was kind of…well…"

"Avoiding me?" Buffy supplied. "Totally. But then last night I came home from patrol to find him having cocoa and chitchat with my mom."

"Your mom?" Willow said confusedly.

"Yeah. She said he came to apologize. What a jerk."

Now it was Tara’s turn to look confused.

"He’s a jerk for apologizing?"

"No, he’s not a jerk for apologising," Buffy sighed. "He’s just a jerk."

She buried her head again and groaned.

"And now I feel like a jerk…"

Tara understood immediately.

"You argued with him."

Buffy looked shamefaced.

"You could say ‘argued’ – I freaked. I punched him in the nose."

"You what?" Willow gasped, then she and Tara looked at each other and had to hide ther grins. Willow put her hand on Buffy’s shoulder.

"Oh, Buf – you’re not a jerk. Spike is – well, Spike can be…difficult."

"Very." Tara nodded in affirmation. "Spike rates very high on the Difficult scale."

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Like a ten. No, make that eleven. God." She looked at the witches imploringly. "You can’t make him just, y’know, disappear or something?"

Willow considered, eyeing her books.

"Well, I suppose…"

Tara gave her lover a glare and cut in firmly.

"No, we can’t."

Buffy sighed.

"Shit. Goddamn Spike."

She snorted at memories – Spike sitting on her mother’s bed; Spike sucking on his umpteenth cigarette; Spike at the research table, glowering at her, clenching his jaw that way he did... She shook her head, frustrated.

"He’s just so…so…"

"Irritating?" Willow suggested.

"Aggravating?" Tara put in.

Buffy looked at them helplessly, like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"I was gonna say ‘cute’."

The three women were reduced to blinking at each other.

The phone rang suddenly, breaking the moment. Willow rose and brushed breadcrumbs off her skirt as she went to answer it.

Tara contemplated the situation, taking in Buffy’s forlorn face.

"So…he came to your house to talk to your mom. It sounds almost…gentlemanly."

Buffy nodded, frowning in disbelief.

"I know. Like something Giles would do. Weird, huh?"

Tara shrugged.

"Kinda – but not so, in a way. I mean, he did grow up in the Victorian era and everything."

Willow interrupted.

"Buffy?"

She was holding out the phone receiver slackly, her face pale.

"It – it’s your mom."

oOo

5.13pm

Giles and Xander moved as quickly as was decorous in a hospital, rounding the corner of the foyer. The sight before them couldn’t have been more despondent – Buffy, her hand around Dawn’s shoulder; Dawn, with her head buried in her sister’s hair; Willow and Tara sitting on either side. All four of them looked anxious and depressed, and cramped from sitting in the hard plastic visitor’s chairs ranged along the hospital wall.

As the two men approached Buffy stood, and Dawn with her, as though she was attached to her sister with glue. Giles enveloped them both in a hug. Xander patted their shoulders, glancing back worriedly at the witches.

The girls disentangled themselves, and Dawn allowed herself to be pulled back into her chair by Xander. He sat next to her, holding her hand as Giles and Buffy talked.

Giles didn’t know what to say. In the end he opted for simplicity.

"Buffy – I’m so sorry."

She nodded and scuffed the floor at her feet.

"Thanks. Thanks for coming."

Giles glanced from Buffy to her younger sister with concern.

"Are you and Dawn alright?"

Buffy sighed.

"I’m fine. Dawn’s still pretty shaken up. She was the one who dialled 911."

Giles looked around briefly at the hospital foyer, as if waiting for Joyce to appear from behind one of the doors. Then he realised he was being ridiculous, and returned his gaze to his charge.

"And where is your mother now?"

Buffy shrugged.

"We don’t know. We’re waiting for a doctor to come and talk to us. All I know right now is that she’s in the ICU…and they say they’re doing everything they can."

Her words, and the look of despair on her face, rammed the situation home; Giles felt suddenly overwhelmed. His mouth went dry, and his eyes clouded. But underneath the emotion, a nastily professional voice was biting at him – This couldn’t have come at a worse time…

He shook the voice off, and did the only humane thing – he drew Buffy in for another hug.

"Oh god. My poor girl."

To his surprise, she jerked away, head low.

"Giles, I can’t – I can’t do this right now…"

Her face was stony, but the cracks were beginning to show. She smeared a hand roughly across her eyes, her face twisting with the effort of controlling her emotions. The internal struggle reduced her voice to a whisper.

"Just give me a second – talk to Dawn for me, okay?"

Then she bolted away, in the direction of the ladies’ room. Giles watched her go, his expression one of undisguised anxiety. When he looked over to the group on the chairs, Dawn was talking quietly to Xander, Tara behind her. Willow had been the only one to notice Buffy’s exit. With a look at Giles, the red-head rose quickly and made her way after her friend.

The door to the women’s restroom was just hissing closed – Willow gave it a gentle push inwards and stepped inside. Buffy was standing hunched over a sink, splashing water on her face.

A few short steps brought her behind her friend. Buffy was rubbing her hands across her eyes, mascara streaking, looking about as far from her usual image of strong, confident, cocky Slayer as she could get. Pain radiated from her in awful waves.

And standing quietly, watching the scene in the huge restroom mirror, like she was outside her own body, Willow felt strangely afraid. Tara’s words were coming back to her now - I’m worried about how she’d cope if she had too many personal disasters to deal with. Her own blithe assertion that Buffy had support, that she’d get through okay…

Willow swallowed.

The mental kick was enough to get her moving. She took a deep breath, reached out and place a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

It was a little gesture, but it seemed to be enough. Buffy looked up, gripping the sink with white knuckles, staring at Willow’s reflection in the mirror.

"I can’t do this, Will. It’s too much, I can’t –"

Then her strangled voice dissolved into sobs.

Willow felt a wash of calm flow through her – a sudden strength. Mentally, she was scared, but emotionally she could deal with this. It was why she was there. Instinct took over, and she reached out her other hand, and drew Buffy in close. Her soft words cooed out from a deep internal spring.

"Shh. It’s okay. It’s alright. It’ll be alright…"

oOo

Giles chafed his hands together, and felt ineffectual. Dawn was sitting beside him, biting her nails, and he turned to her gently.

"Dawn, I think it might be best if you and Buffy stay at my house tonight."

"No."

Dawn clenched her jaw, refusing to look at him.

"I’m staying here with Mom."

"Dawn…" Giles sighed.

"I said no. She’ll want to see me when she wakes up. I want to be here."

Before Giles could make any more headway on the issue, Dawn straightened and looked up. A doctor was approaching. And older man, with thinning hair and glasses, he seemed to be accustomed to the anxious whirlwind of patient’s relatives, and calmly took in Dawn’s breathless rush towards him.

"Buffy Summers?"

"I’m Dawn, I’m her sister," Dawn stammered. "She’ll be back in a second. Is my mom okay?"

The doctor nodded carefully.

"We have her stable now, and she’s improving. I’m keeping her in the ICU for now, but we should be able to move her to a ward tomorrow."

"Can we see her?"

The doctor gave Dawn a gentle look.

"Your mother has been sedated for treatment, so she won’t be awake for a little while."

"But can we see her?"

Dawn’s stress-filled face made him consider, and then nod.

"I think that should be okay. Do you want to come now?"

"Yes – but my sister –"

"I’m here. Is she okay?"

Buffy spoke from behind the doctor. She looked pale, but together. Willow followed close behind her. The doctor turned to accommodate both sisters.

"She’s fine. Would you like to come and visit now?"

"Hell yes. I mean - yes. Just give us a minute?"

She turned to the others, now standing behind Dawn.

"Will you guys wait here for us?"

Giles volunteered an answer on everyone’s behalf.

"Of course we will. Buffy, I just suggested that perhaps you should both stay with me tonight."

She nodded.

"Good idea. Dawn, you can stay with Giles."

"But…" Dawn started with an annoyed tone. Her sister cut in firmly.

"No buts. The others will be patrolling with me later – is that okay?"

She looked up briefly to check – Willow and Tara were nodding, Xander gave the thumbs up. Buffy’s expression was heartfelt.

"Thanks guys."

"Buffy…" Dawn began again.

"Please – can we talk later? Let’s just go see Mom first."

Dawn looked pissed off, but conceded with a nod. Buffy looked back to the doctor, who had been politely ignoring the ‘family’ exchange, and indicated that he should lead on. With a quick apprehensive smile back at the Scoobies, Buffy took Dawn’s hand and they followed the doctor into the hospital corridor.

The solid walls of the wards gave way to the glass partitions and automatic doors of the ICU. Dawn saw their mother first – a fair-haired shape amidst an intimidating array of tubes and wires. She caught her breath, gave Buffy a quick quivering glance, then rushed forward to the bed.

With a look back at the doctor to ensure that it was okay, Dawn picked up her mother’s limp hand in her own. Buffy felt her throat hitch again at the sight of her sister smoothing and petting their mother’s hand, whispering a mantra of reassurance that was intended for them both.

"Mommy, it’s alright. We’re here now. It’s alright, you’ll be alright…."

The doctor left them in peace.

Buffy watched in silence. She rounded the bed, and went to her mother’s other side. She didn’t want to say anything – didn’t want to touch her mother at all. Right now, Joyce looked like Snow White under the lid of the glass coffin – pale, and bright, and suspended in medical animation. Buffy didn’t want to break the spell. She didn’t think she could maintain her control if she touched her mother’s hand – and the last thing she wanted to do was break down in front of Dawn.

So she stood, immobile, beside the bed as Dawn petted and whispered softly over their mother.

Dawn straightened at last, and looked around at the paraphernalia – there was a breathing tube under Joyce’s nose, and wires linked to monitors that threaded beneath the sheets. She wrinkled her nose at it all, wishing she could pluck it all away, take their mother back home where she belonged.

"She looks uncomfortable."

"Your mom’s okay."

The two sisters turned at the sound of the new voice. A male orderly, dressed in nursing blue, was standing at the door of the room. Buffy watched him as he entered with a gentle smile at Dawn. He nodded towards the wires.

"I know all the tubes look bad, but she’s okay – really."

Buffy looked carefully from the orderly back to her mother.

"Will she be out like this…"

"Until tomorrow, I think." He gave them another soft smile, trying to reassure. "You guys should probably go home and get some rest."

Dawn looked up in a little panic.

"But if she wakes up she’ll want to see us…"

The orderly moved to the foot of Joyce’s bed, focussing his calm on Dawn.

"She’s alright. I’ll be looking after her tonight, and I don’t think she’ll wake up, but if she does I’ll tell her that you’ll be back first thing in the morning."

Dawn nodded reluctantly, but she seemed comforted that her mother would have personal attention through the night. She leaned down to press her face against Joyce’s smooth cool cheek.

Buffy swallowed, and squeezed her eyes against the threatening tears. She straightened and sighed, wishing this was all a bad dream.

"Your mother’s a strong woman."

The orderly was looking at Buffy – he was an older guy, she noted. Red hair and clear, warm eyes. Buffy felt a little more confident. She nodded firmly in reply.

"Yeah, she is."

"And she has strong daughters."

That made her smile softly.

The orderly looked at her kindly, encouragingly.

"Now you should go home and rest. I’m sure you need it as much as your mom does."

Buffy gave him a grateful look.

"Thank you."

"No problem." He inclined his head towards her in introduction. "I’m Michael."

Buffy nodded a greeting.

"This is my sister, Dawn – and I’m –"

"Buffy Summers. I know."

Her expression was curious, and a little suspicious. He allayed her fears by nodding towards the bottom of Joyce’s bed, at the hard-backed papers there.

"It’s on your mom’s chart – next of kin. Nice to meet you." He tilted his head towards the exit, with a kind look. "Now you better go – give your mom and yourselves a chance to rest. You can come back first thing tomorrow, around nine."

Buffy smiled courteously.

"We will. And thank you again."

Michael smiled in return as she encouraged Dawn towards the door.

"See you tomorrow."

oOo

11.45pm

"Xander, behind you!"

Xander dropped his head, and felt the wind whistle near his ear as the demon’s fist swiped at the place where his face had been.

He whirled out of the way abruptly as he saw Tara’s intent, and rolled to allow her better leverage. With a grunt of exertion, the blonde witch swung the large tree branch she was holding, and it made satisfyingly solid contact with the demon’s jaw. There was a heavy thump as the creature dropped to the ground.

Xander was momentarily distracted by the sounds of fighting behind him.

"Get out of the way!"

"I’m trying! Just give the axe to me, and I’ll –"

"Anya, shut up for a second and let me –"

Willow pushed the ex-demon in the back, which effectively cleared her line of sight, and belted the oncoming demon they were fighting with the flat of the axe. The demon overbalanced and stumbled directly into Anya’s path – only to fall over her legs, and topple face-first on top of her.

"Oh gross! Get off me, you hairy, smelly creature of the netherworld!"

With a heave, Anya pushed the stunned demon to one side, then scrambled for safety. This unfortunately left her trapped between a mausoleum and a tree, with the groggy-but-still-staggering demon right in front of her. The creature bared it’s tusks menacingly.

"Ah, help! Buffy! Anybody!"

Buffy only had time to glance back briefly – her concentration was on avoiding the punches of a third demon, who seemed to be a little better at fighting than the other two. She swung puches and kicked it’s ribs – or what she hoped were it’s ribs – while she called back.

"Anya, I’m a little busy –" Kick "- right now, but –" Another kick. "- give me a –" Punch combination. "- minute, and I’ll…"

She flipped over a gravestone, and righted herself into a solid block from the demon. Ow. She blinked to clear her vision, trying to parry with one hand.

"Anya!"

Xander was too busy looking at his girlfriend in mortal danger to focus – he only dimly saw the punch descending, and it only registered when it hit him on the jaw. His teeth rattled, and he slumped down with one arm supporting him.

It was enough for the demon to take the upper hand – ignoring Xander, it went for it’s next target. Tara tried to wield the tree branch in an aggressive manner, but the drool coming out of the thing’s mouth made her shudder.

"Oh…oh boy. Nice demon…"

She backed away, and the creature, sensing her confidence evaporating, charged.

"Anya, here!"

Willow tossed the axe through the air, and Anya still had enough presence of mind to catch it. Emboldened now with a weapon, Anya saw the second demon become wary, and decided to press her advantage. With a whooping cry, she ran at the thing with the axe handle forwards. It impacted right in the creature’s stomach, sending it reeling. It staggered back against a gravestone.

Willow saw her moment. She extended one hand, and took a focussing breath.

"Ignis incendae!"

With a popping of air, and a bright whoosh, the demon burst into flames.

Anya veered away.

Xander recovered his breath, and rushed forward. Tara was in an impossible position, leaned over a headstone, the demon’s hands around her throat. Xander made a pummel with his fists, belted the creature across the head, and then ducked to retrieve the fallen crossbow. He let off two bolts in succession, and watched as Tara pushed the creature away to die.

Buffy blinked a little as the demon behind her flared into fiery life. Appreciating the extra light, she grinned.

"Ah, that’s better."

There was just enough momentary illumination for her to see her attacker’s position – with a sudden motion she twirled, gripped the demon’s head in both hands, and gave a mighty twist. There was a pleasing crack as it’s neck broke. She dropped the body and stepped away, wiping the sweat from out of her eyes.

The rest of the Scoobies stood, recouping. Anya winced and scratched at her hair. Tara was rubbing her throat and looking relieved. Buffy looked around questioningly.

"Everyone okay?"

General nods – Xander was testing his jaw with his fingers.

"Was that nine? I thought I counted nine, but they came on pretty fast."

Buffy nodded tiredly and sighed.

"That was nine."

"Making a grand total of fourteen vamps and eleven demons over the last three hours – whew." Willow massaged her neck, and walked over to check on Tara.

Anya blew a strand of hair out of her face.

"That’s got to be some kind of record."

Xander nodded, looking at Buffy with incredulity.

"Buf, I can’t believe you’ve been doing this on your own for the past three days. You should have called us sooner."

Willow agreed, looking at Buffy with a delicate reproach.

"Yeah, Buffy – that’s too heavy for solo-patrolling."

Buffy shrugged. She still looked a little unfocussed, her thoughts elsewhere.

"I guess – I haven’t really been keeping count lately." Then she took in their looks and gave an apologetic grin. "But you guys can consider yourselves on patrol-call from now on, is that okay?"

Tara raised a still-shaky hand.

"Fine with me."

The others nodded. Xander smiled broadly.

"Then it’s a date – crazy fights-nights til Friday. Cool." He glanced over at Anya, who was grimacing at the ends of one of her pigtails. "You okay, honey?"

"I think Willow singed me."

She glanced accusingly at the red-head witch, who shrugged back helplessly.

"Sorry."

Anya conceded with a sigh. Then she turned again to Buffy.

"Seriously though, is that a record for Sunnydale?"

Buffy thought briefly, then shook her head, settling herself on a headstone.

"Probably not. But you’re right – the number of nasties in town is off the charts. Giles made some enquiries back at the hospital – unexplained deaths have been rising way too fast, even for Sunnydale."

Willow’s raised eyebrows contained a wealth of misgiving.

"Here comes the Gathering…"

"With a vengeance." Buffy nodded. "I just hope I can keep up the pace."

Tara smiled at her encouragingly.

"Well, we can be Slayer’s little helpers for a while, at least."

Xander pitched in helpfully.

"Yeah, Buf – we’ll be your extra firepower."

Anya glanced at him.

"I think you mean cannon fodder."

Buffy smiled her thanks at them all, then looked at them with seriousness.

"Well, Angel will be in town by Wednesday, so you guys should just concentrate on staying in one piece if you plan on patrolling with me every night until then. Stay together, and remember to watch each other’s backs –"

Her Slayer senses alerted her seconds before her normal senses registered the movement in the air – she jumped away as a huge axe came crashing down on the headstone that she’d occupied a few moments before. The stone shattered dramatically.

The demon wielding the axe didn’t waste any time – it went straight into the attack. Buffy barely had a moment to square off before she was in the thick of another fight. Punching and kicking wildly, she had a second to think that she would’ve liked a minute to catch her breath between demons. But it was too late for that now.

Xander was the nearest. He tried raising the crossbow, but it was hopeless – the two figures were too close to get off a clear shot.

"What now?" he called back in frustration.

Willow’s voice sounded in return.

"Ah, Xan – I think we have other things to worry about…"

And he heard the sibilant hiss reverberate behind her words. By the time he’d turned around, the new demon, an ugly reptilian, had already tossed Anya and Tara to the ground.

"Oh crap."

His shoulders slumped for a second, then he straightened and prepared to advance.

Buffy kicked high, aiming for the head. Damn, this one was strong. And bore a strong resemblance to Olaf the troll, axe included. Her next kick landed upside of it’s neck, and she felt a nauseating roll in her stomach as it grabbed her foot and spun her over and backwards. Her head made thumping contact with the earth, and she grimaced, her eyeballs rattling in their sockets.

Before she could do anything, huge arms lifted her around the waist, and flung her back. Time seemed to slow ominously as she fell through the air.

And it did. Her back smashed against a gravestone, and she felt a million needles of pain spin through her. It made her dizzy for a second – long enough for the demon to surge forward and raise the axe high above it’s head. She watched the axe swing to the limit of the creature’s reach, found herself strangely fascinated by the instant when the weapon hovered in the air, the seconds before it found the momentum to return along it’s path with added force, ready to blast into her at the moment of impact. She watched –

The moment never came.

The demon let out a deep gurgle, and the axe slipped from it’s grasp on the downswing, drumming harmlessly against the ground. The demon reached up, fumbling at it’s throat. Buffy frowned.

And then her eyes widened as the creature’s head gently rolled off it’s neck, and landed with a mushy plop in the gravedirt at her feet. Her eyes widened.

She looked back at the swaying, headless body. It stood upright for a moment, then, as if finally realising that it was dead, it toppled sideways, swinging away like a theatre curtain to reveal a slim figure in black, short sword balanced at shoulder height, ready to make another parry if necessary. When he realised that it wasn’t, Spike let the blade fall loosely – the tip embedded itself in the ground, and he leaned on the sword like it was a golf club. He cocked one eyebrow at her and tilted his head.

"So – who’s watching your back, Slayer?"

She could only stare in astonishment. Now the sounds of fighting began filtering through from behind – she heard Xander groan. She shook her head to ease the confusion there, and pulled herself to her feet, using the gravestone as support.

"You right?" Spike asked with concern.

Buffy nodded, still feeling fuzzy.

"I’m fine. What are you…?"

She was frowning at him, questioning, but became distracted by the noises of battle to the rear. She held up a hand.

"Um, just…hang on a sec, okay?"

She reached down to grab the demon’s axe, then spun and entered the fight with the reptilian. It took about five seconds, and mainly involved hauling Willow, Tara, Anya and Xander out of the way long enough for her to get in a decent swing. The axe was very sharp – she actually chopped the demon in half, more by accident than by design. Then she turned back to Spike, who was watching her work with an expression of professional interest, and gave the others a chance to regroup behind her.

"All done?" Spike flicked a glance over to the carcass.

"Um, yeah."

Anya wiped reptilian-demon blood off her coveralls with an expression of distaste.

"That was number twenty-seven."

"Yeah," Spike sighed, " demons in Sunnydale these days are like ants at a picnic."

Xander was peering at the vampire curiously.

"What’s on your nose?"

Spike reached up automatically to finger the white tape over the bridge of his nose. He dropped his hand quickly and shrugged, his eyes flicking over briefly to the Slayer.

"Mm. Must have cut myself shaving again. Bloody cut-throat razors, eh?"

Willow and Tara exchanged a look. Xander just frowned with confusion.

"Pardon?"

"It got broken, you dolt." Spike rolled his eyes. "Forget about it. So… twenty-seven is the lucky number tonight, eh? Well, there’ll be a lot more demons between now and Friday."

"How many, do you think?" Willow asked.

Spike shrugged.

"Dunno. A lot. More than you’ll be able to kill in one night."

"Gee," Buffy added drily, "thanks for the encouragement."

"Not trying to rain on your parade, pet – just stating the obvious. I mean, it’s a Gathering – every vamp and demon in the business will be partying here by the end of the week."

"So you’re saying we don’t stand a chance," Xander said, looking peeved.

"I didn’t say that."

Spike tried to ease the tension his remarks had caused, wondering why humans always got their knickers in a twist over every little thing.

"I just meant that it’s gonna get busy."

Buffy snorted, still trying to work out his motivations for lending a hand.

"And you’ve just decided that you want to pitch in."

"Well, sadly enough, I live here too y’know."

He pulled the blade out of the ground, and tested the edge with his finger, avoiding everyone’s gaze as he mumbled out the next words.

"And I figured that you need all the help you can get."

Buffy’s face registered a strange surprise – then she bit her lip, and softened her voice.

"Well – thanks."

Spike looked at her around the edge of the swordblade.

"I heard about your mum," he said quietly. "Is she alright?"

Buffy swallowed, then forced a nonchalant look.

"She’s okay. We’ll be going to check on her tomorrow. Dawn’s staying with Giles."

Spike nodded his acknowledgement, and they both stood, looking solemn and fidgetty.

Anya smiled brightly.

"So have you two kissed and made up yet?"

"Anya!" Xander exclaimed, aghast. He looked up apologetically at Buffy, but she and Spike were both too busy ducking their heads and looking in opposite directions.

"What? I was just asking…" Anya began, hands raised.

Willow cut her off neatly.

"Well, as fun and, uh, painful as all this has been, I think I’ll call it a night. There’s still this little thing called an exam that I have to sit early tomorrow morning, so…"

"She still has to study for it," Tara added.

"Yeah, that’s me," Willow sighed, " demon-killer by night, lowly college student by day."

Buffy, still fighting a blush, tried to look blasé, if disappointed.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I was thinking of heading home the long way, maybe bagging a few more demons while I’m at it…"

She swivelled to face Anya and Xander, appealing a little.

"Ah…guys?"

Xander was grimacing from the hefty elbow in the ribs he’d just received. He glanced at Anya crossly, then returned his gaze to Buffy’s faintly pleading face.

"Ah, sorry Buf – we can go as far as Main, but Giles is sending me on another supply run early in the morning, so…"

"And I’m sure you and Spike can manage without us," Anya added sunnily.

Buffy’s face settled on Anya’s with a look of ill-concealed irritation..

"Right."

Xander sighed, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Then he swung the crossbow onto his shoulder and straightened for the march home.

"Okay. Let’s get out of Deadsville."

With a smattering of discrete groaning, they all began the tramp towards the cemetary exit. Emerging back into the streetlights, Willow squinted and rubbed her shoulder.

"Okay. This is us. Campus here we come."

She grasped Tara’s hand and they began to move off. Xander’s voice arrested their bruised trundling.

"Hey – there’s like, no way in the world I’m letting you guys walk back to campus at this time of night, with all the fun-loving yucksters cruising through town right now. My car is parked a block away. Come on – we’ll give you a ride."

Anya nodded her agreement. Tara and Willow exchanged glances, then grinned at Xander gratefully. Hefting weapons, and nursing limps and sore body parts, the four Scoobies chorussed their goodnights to Buffy, and left her standing in the middle of Main Street – with Spike.

She turned back slowly to face him.

"So."

"So."

He broke the uncomfortable pause, waving her on down the street.

"After you."

Buffy rolled her eyes then led off, picking up a determined tramp along the asphalt. Spike groaned inwardly, then loped after her.

They walked in silence for a while, both peering around for distractions. But the street was empty; demons and humans seemed to have both made a sudden clear-out. Finally, with a series of glances back and forth, it occurred to them that they might have to actually talk to one another. Unfortunately, they had the same thought at the same time.

"So I wanted –"

"What were you –"

They stopped to glare at each other.

"You first –"

"You first –"

Buffy huffed out a sigh, and muttered sotto voce.

"This is ridiculous."

Spike’s face took on resigned look.

"Yeah. It is."

He turned on his heel abruptly and started walking back the way he’d come. Buffy frowned.

"Huh? Spike, where are you going?"

He whirled to face her, hissing out his frustration.

"Away." He threw up his hands. "You’re right – this is ridiculous. I feel like a bloody idiot. So, you win, okay? I give up. This is too hard."

He swung around and started gallumping off. Buffy screwed up her nose.

"Spike! Goddamnit, Spike, wait!"

He kept walking. Desperate measures were required – she heaved out another sigh, and called out.

"Spike… I’m sorry I broke your nose."

He slowed and stopped, then looked over his shoulder at her with suspicion. Buffy steeled herself and continued.

"And I’m sorry I threw you out of the house. My mom told me about everything – how you came to apologise, how you made hot chocolate…"

She trailed off, unable to think of what else to say for the moment.

He tilted his head and snorted humourlessly at the heavens.

"Yeah, that’s right - I’m the caring, sharing vampire…"

God, he could be irritating. Buffy lost patience and took a confronting step forward.

"She also said that your ‘communication skills’ are for crap."

Her face held a faint smile at the memory of her mother’s words, and she inclined her head towards the vampire as she shared them with him.

"She said that you’re kind of like a porcupine – you roll into a ball and stick out your nasty side when you…when you feel vulnerable."

He looked startled, then bemused.

"Well. I guess that’s fair. I compared you to a turtle."

"A turtle?"

"Yeah." His mouth twisted into a reluctant grin. "Pulling your head into your shell at the first sign of trouble."

Buffy looked a little taken aback, then she regained a bit of dignity, lifting her chin.

"Well – I don’t like to stick my neck out," she said softly.

"Right," he agreed, his face wry. "And I don’t like to expose my soft underbelly."

"You have a soft underbelly?" she asked with an expression of confused surprise.

He grinned wolfishly back at her.

"Would you like to see it?"

"No!" she shot back, her colour rising. "I just…never heard you admit to having soft spots before."

Spike was quick to object, looking vaguely self-righteous.

"I have soft spots!" He ducked his head again, frowning at the asphalt. "I have a soft spot for you."

The muttered admission made them both look up at each other, full in the face, with matching expressions of shock. Spike, cursing himself immediately for being so lame, glanced away, avoiding her gaze.

Buffy took a deep breath and spoke again, stumbling over words.

"My mom said that you…care about how she is. She said…that you understand."

Spike sighed, and narrowed his eyes at her, looking kind of sad.

"I do. And…" He straightened and screwed up his face, searching for the right words, and the guts to say them. "…I am profoundly sorry, that I wasn’t around. For everything."

Buffy stared. My god – he really apologised. That must have come hard. Her face swirled with emotion – disbelief, curiosity, sympathy…and finally she smiled at him.

Spike felt something faint and delicate swim up from somewhere inside of him. Something that he recognised – something that might even be called elation....

"You know you’re a doofus," she said, with a half-grinning, half-reproachful expression.

He rolled his eyes, looking contrite.

"Right. I’m a doofus. A doofus with soft spots."

Before he could say something even more stupid and break the moment, she cut in.

"Spike…I accept your apology. And thanks. But…"

He frowned at her confused face.

"But. But what, you still wanna break my legs –"

"No," she grinned, then peered at him. "I was just wondering…why did you go away?"

He shrugged, considering how much to tell her.

"I dunno. I just…" Oh just bloody say it. "…just couldn’t really deal with seeing you so unhappy an’ all."

"Oh."

She didn’t know what to say to that. He fumbled to explain further.

"I think I kind of convinced myself that you didn’t need me in the way, with your mum so ill and everything, so I just…pfft." He made a little flicking, disappearing motion with his fingers.

Huh. Buffy studied his face as he studied the ground again, then pronounced her words gently.

"Spike – you were never in the way."

He looked up with surprise.

"Yeah?" He considered her words for a second, then gave an embarrassed grin. "Oh."

She sighed. What a strange conversation. And man, he was strange, but at least they’d got that sorted out. Straightening and hoisting the axe onto her shoulder, she nodded her head towards him.

"Okay, come on – walk me as far as Oak Street, then I better go rescue Giles from Dawn."

"Sure."

They walked along in companiable silence for a while, watching for movement in the alleys. It was getting late, and the street was amazingly quiet. Spike tucked his hands in his pockets, and ventured a question.

"So, your mum’s gonna be in the hospital for a few days?"

"Yeah, I guess,"

Buffy sighed, thinking that she’d almost forgotten for a second there.

"There’s an orderly looking after her in the Intensive Care ward tonight." She paused, and then decided to fill in some of the more personal details. "Dawn found her, you know."

"That’s rough," he replied, frowning at the thought.

"Coming home from school to find your mom unconscious on the kitchen floor? Yeah, that qualifies as rough."

Spike peered at her sideways – she was coping, but not that well, he thought. He watched her blink away the worry, then changed tack gently.

"So, Niblet’s alright?"

"I guess. She’s hanging in there, but she’s anxious – we all are."

He nodded, chose his next words carefully.

"Seems like you’ve got a lot to be anxious about these days."

"Yeah," she agreed, raising her eyebrows. "The Gathering, mom…it never rains but it pours, y’know?"

He knew alright. But she went on quickly before he could say anything.

"But, hey – beating demon heads together seems to help."

He grinned at her.

"That’s the spirit. I know killing something always makes me feel better."

She smiled at his interesting take on being supportive.

"Yeah."

They were halfway through town, getting closer to her turn, when he felt it happen. The mood changed – something imperceptible had occurred, and there it was, like a hum in the air. Nothing had happened – there’d been no contact between them, they were maintaining a respectable distance from each other…

But he started to feel a tingling tightness in his chest, and his skin was prickling. He cast a quick glance over to Buffy, and was surprised to find her looking at him – then they both rushed to look away, checking the streetscape again for something, anything.

He knew her heart was hammering because he could hear it. And her body temperature had risen – he could feel that, too, a delicate heat in he air. God, how could he be so attuned to her? It was crazy…

When she cleared her throat to speak, he almost startled.

"Spike…"

They both stopped and turned towards each other. She opened her mouth, and his eyes zeroed in immediately on her lips. Which made her lick them self-consciously, and he felt a jolting, agonising ache. She breathed in with a faint hitching, and tried again.

"Spike…"

There was pretty much only one thing that could have distracted him at this point – and there it was over her shoulder. Before she could breathe out another word, he grabbed her by both arms, and pushed her roughly to the side – barely in time to avoid the raking claws of a bear-like creature that was now lunging towards them.

"Oh."

Sprawled on the ground, her face went from angry to understanding as she watched him vamp-out and throw himself at the demon. As he whirled in for another kick, she did a neat hand-spring to standing, grabbed the axe, and went in for the kill.

Between the two of them, it was short work. A few parries, a bit of dodging and weaving, and she managed to get in one good swipe, that sliced through the thing’s side. Then she watched in irritation as the demon casually reformed itself – damn these quick healers.

Spike caught the back of one of the demon’s paws, and whirled to avoid another punch. The thing grabbed him – he did the only thing he could think of, and head-butted it in the face. The creature released him, slightly dazed.

Good old Liverpool kiss… He rubbed his forehead, de-vamped now, and heard Buffy call out.

"What now?"

"The head – the axe –"

He ducked for cover as the demon tried another wild swipe.

"Ah, bloody hell – you know!"

"Gotcha."

Buffy somersaulted to the other side as the demon advanced on Spike, and hefted the axe, then swung it in a short arc. The creature’s head separated smoothly from it’s body, and landed about fifteen feet away. That gave Spike enough time to retrieve his fallen short-sword, and skewer the thing through the chest. It dropped like a stone.

Spike danced away from the body, backing into the alley from which it had come. Buffy veered around the thing kicking feebly on the ground, and caught up with him.

Her breath was gasping from the thrill of the sudden exertion. They were standing very close together, and suddenly she felt her skin come alive.

My god, she thought in an instant – he positively glows after a fight. Even in the dim light of the alley, Spike’s white hair and pale skin, in addition to the frisson of tension in his body, made him look almost luminous with energy. She felt oddly dazed, and blinked up at him.

He was squinting at the creature’s body, and checking his forehead, then he fumbled at the bridge of his nose, absently peeling off the white tape, and tossing it onto the dead demon. He looked back at Buffy, surprised to find her so near.

"That’s twenty-eight, right?"

"Yeah. You okay?"

"Fine. What were you going to say before?"

She gazed up at him, eyes bright and focussed on his face, grinning.

"That I’m glad you’re back."

He stared down at her for a bare second. Then the rush of their bodies clinching together took all thought away.

Kissing rapturously, bruisingly…his legs were having trouble staying steady, and he felt something sharp knocking the back of his head.

"Mm…ow, axe…"

Buffy realised she had been still holding the axe when she threw her arms around his neck.

"What? Oh…"

She distractedly tossed the weapon away into a corner, and then with nothing further impeding them they threw themselves at one another again.

The embrace was wild, uncontrolled – less like a kiss and more like an explosion. Fumbling, squeezing hands, punishing lips…Buffy’s arms were around his neck and her hands were travelling through his hair, across his shoulders, her tongue smoothing the places she’d bitten, touching his face with her fingers, trailing her nails down his neck, down his chest. He groaned and stumbled, bringing them back up against the alley wall, putting her in a position of control.

He couldn’t think at all while her lips kissed down the side of his face, her tongue lapped across his jaw and down his neck, then tickled back up to sear his mouth again.

He heard strange sounds, gasping, and realised that he was the one making them. She was making him breath enough to gasp… When he felt her hand slide under his t-shirt to smooth across the muscles of his stomach he growled and reacted automatically.

He slipped one knee between her legs and flipped her around, and she moaned as he put both hands under her derriere to hitch her up.

With her legs squeezing around his hips, and one hand on the alley wall for support, he had unlimited access to her front, and began the advance there, kissing down her neck, tasting the skin at her collarbone and down the vee of her tank, skimming and squeezing her waist with his other hand.

She gasped against his earlobe as he traced a line of cool fire down her neck with his tongue. Her hands slipped again under his shirt, making him shiver, but not from the night air.

Buffy arched into him as he nipped along the top of her shoulder, where he’d pulled back the tank top to gain entry. She reached for the waistband of his jeans, and it was only then that something registered dully in her mind.

Apparently the same thought had blundered into Spike’s mind as he’d stretched the fabric of her top. Jesus, we’re gonna fuck right here in the alley if we don’t stop - With a moan and a mammoth effort of will, he pulled back.

They stared at each other, shocked by the intensity of it, Buffy panting, and Spike’s chest rising in reflexive mimicry.

"Bloody hell."

"Wow."

The hoarseness in her voice weakened his resolve, and he dipped his head for another kiss. Her response was in her trembling lips – they tasted each other’s mouths slowly, taking deep, sweet, sipping kisses. His tongue darted across her bottom lip and she shuddered and closed her eyes.

Then his fingers started to stray again, clutching at her bottom, and tracing down her neck, flicking away the strands of mussed hair there. Buffy hissed and tangled her legs around him. Two seconds later and she was already wondering why they’d stopped in the first place.

Then sanity rose again, and she reluctantly eased her head back. The way his long length was pressing her against the alley wall, and the closeness of his face, made it damned hard to concentrate.

"Oh god. Spike, I have to go…"

She couldn’t help it, his lips were only inches away… she slid in for another kiss. His mouth was like the rest of him – smooth, with a glassine perfection that appeared to be hard and unyielding, but which, on contact, proved to be as soft and supple as...

Damn, she’d done it again.

She moved her head away, trying to speak, her body taking notes as he groaned in disappointment.

"Mm. No, really, I –"

Spike leaned in, and she forgot what she was going to say for a moment as he nibbled on the corner of her mouth. Then with a gasp, she remembered.

"Spike –" She put her hands on his chest to give herself room to think. "Spike – I have to go get Dawn."

Spike pulled himself together and nodded his head, releasing her from the tangled position they’d assumed. But they were still close enough for him to stroke his hands up and down both her arms, which he was doing almost unconsciously.

"Oh yeah, right." He cleared his throat, to make it sound more convincing. "Well, you better…"

Their eyes caught and held, and they inclined towards each other.

"Yeah," Buffy sighed, "I better…"

Reluctant to separate, Spike dipped his head, resting his forehead on hers and smelling the intoxicating scent of her arousal, her sweat and heat.

Buffy shivered, her mind whirling. How did it get like this? How did it get so strong?

"God."

She finally pulled her body away from his, giving them a bit of physical distance, enough for her to capture the thoughts racing like butterflies around her head, and stay on track.

"Okay, I have to go now, or I won’t…" she trailed off with a sigh.

"You won’t?" Spike looked at her mournfully.

"No," she breathed out, "I won’t. Look, I’m gonna be between the hospital and the Magic Box all day, okay?"

He sighed, resigned to their parting now, even though he knew that it would be crazy for them to continue what they were doing before. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, just nodding his agreement. But he wanted to make sure of something first, to remind them both that it wasn’t a dream. To hold onto the promise of more…

"Buffy – I’ll see you tomorrow."

"Sure," she nodded, then began a slow backwards walk to the entrance of the alley, keeping her eyes on his. Just before turning, she tilted her head towards him.

"And – Spike?"

"Yeah?"

It was the oddest thing he’d seen yet – the Slayer, with her familiar bravado, looking at him almost shyly…

"Don’t be a stranger, okay?"

He grinned back at her broadly.

"Sure, love."

Then with a quick, brilliant smile, she turned and dashed away.

Leaving him standing in the alley, staring after her, wondering whether the last few minutes had been some strange twist in reality. He ran his hand across his mouth, remembering the imprint of her kisses there. More than the imprint – he had a bitemark on his lower lip, which he knew would be gone by tomorrow, but which for the moment seemed to be the irrefutably honest evidence that he and the Slayer had just snogged each others brains out against an alley wall…

He felt faintly dazed. He leaned back against a nearby dumpster. Then a strange and sunny thought wriggled it’s way up to him.

He blinked, absorbing. The air seemed suddenly warmer. And the night sky seemed oddly sparkling with radiance. A faint grin began playing across his passion-bruised mouth.

His grin widening, Spike dug through his pockets until he found a cigarette and a match, lit up with a jaunty air, and blew a celebratory plume of smoke into the alley. His smile was full-blown now. Stabbing a finger towards an imaginary audience, he pronounced his words firmly into the silence.

"She. Kissed. Me. Back."

Then with a spring in his step, he whirled around, took a hit from his cigarette and sauntered out of the alley.

There was quiet. Nothing stirred, and then – a figure stepped out from a shadowed doorway. A tall man, in a long coat, his skin reflecting an even darker sheen in the night than it had during the day.

Salter narrowed his eyes, perused the place where Spike had discarded his match, then looked over to the spot that Buffy had left bare moments before. He frowned thoughtfully.

Then, with silent footfalls, he strode off, down the length of the alley.

oOo