¤

If She Craves the Fun

¤

She woke up the next morning from a dream that still had left pleasant ripples within her. She was smiling to herself as she eased her eyes open, but in the next blink she was wide awake; sitting up and realizing the following moment that she was still fully dressed. Grateful she then recalled the night before. She looked around, but didn’t see Spike anywhere. Sighing she got out of bed and checked her watch.

“Oh, holy crap!” she exclaimed.

Five minutes later she burst through the backdoor of her house, entering the kitchen in which Joyce was seated with eyes red from worry. Giles hung up the phone at the sight of the Slayer and Buffy felt like turning and running right back outside.

“I’m sorry,” she said to her mother. “I’m sorry,” she said to Giles.

“Sorry isn’t gonna cut it, young lady,” Joyce stated, getting to her feet. “I want a minute-by-minute description of what you’ve been doing since I went to bed last night and up until this very moment! I want you to remember exactly what you’ve been doing because I never, ever want you to do any of it again!”

“I woke up early! And I decided...”

“I checked in on you,” her mother interrupted, Buffy’s eyes widening indignantly.

“You check in on me now!”

“That’s far from the issue,” Joyce warned, then added: “but yes! And last night I did so at three o’clock in the morning. You weren’t there! No note, nothing! And what’s worse, you just tried to lie about it!”

Buffy struggled to gather her thoughts, looking from one to the next. After another ten seconds she drew a small breath and said:

“I am sorry. I went for a walk ‘cause I couldn’t sleep.” True. “And then I just lost track of time.” Also true. “I ended up at campus and I thought I’d go see Willow to...”

“I just got off the phone with her,” Giles stopped her and Buffy paled considerably.

“Buffy Anne Summers,” Joyce said, baffled.

Buffy felt as though she was shrinking.

“I was with someone...”

“Someone?” they both said with one voice.

Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap.

“Spike!” she finally confessed. “I was with Spike, alright. Nothing happened. We talked.”

Giles was flabbergasted and Joyce looked slightly confused, then a light-bulb went off and she began to adopt the expression of the Watcher.

“The vampire? The vampire that’s tried to kill you!”

“You talked? Up until right now?” Giles asked.

“No, I fell asleep.”

“You are not to leave this house again without my knowing of it, is that clear?” Joyce demanded and Buffy nodded. “And you cannot socialize with this vampire anymore.”

“But, mom!”

“Don’t you but, mom me!”

“Listen to your mother,” Giles put in and Buffy’s eyes went from one to the other again before she pushed passed them and ran up to her room.

She was so angry that she shook, but soon the feeling gave way for frustration and then sorrow as she sunk down on her bed crying.

¤

That evening she ventured downstairs, wearing the most adorable pajamas she could find, hoping to somehow sway her mother’s determination. She peeked into the living room, but it was empty and she continued into the kitchen. Her mother turned her head to her as she entered, the younger not feeling self-assured by the expression which met her.

“Mom,” she said hesitantly, “can I talk to you?”

Joyce put the plate she had been drying off down, placing the towel she had been using on top of it and then facing her daughter.

“Go ahead,” the older urged.

“Okay. I understand that you’re... upset.”

“Try livid.”

“Still?”

“I will probably not be anything but for quite some time to come.”

“Then I understand that you’re livid. I get why you’d freak on me, if you’d stayed out without telling me where and when you were coming home I’d have a meltdown too! I’d worry. I get that you worried. And that the worry made you... not really want to look at it from my point of view. But if you just let me try to explain, then...”

“Is this leading somewhere, Buffy?” Joyce interrupted tiredly.

“Yes. I didn’t go out to try and hurt you. I didn’t fall asleep just to worry you, you know that, right? I’ve never done anything like that before, and I promise I’ll never do it again. I’ll always leave a note! We can have a note-place, where you can look if I’m for some reason not in my room...”

“Do you think that I will let you out of my sight after the stunt you pulled?” her mother once more cut her short. “For years I’ve had to live with the fact that you put your life at risk. It’s been bearable because I have seen with my own eyes that you’re very good at what you do. But you are not nineteen years old anymore. From what Giles tells me your fighting skills are back to basics and you could get seriously injured. I see that your Slayer side is something extraordinary to have to carry by yourself, and that it drives you to do things that you normally wouldn’t; but you are not leaving this house until you are back to your former age.”

“But...”

“No. I’m not completely momified. I understand that this isn’t about being allowed to roam the streets at night. This is about something much worse.”

Buffy felt a vacuum open up, threatening to suck her in.

“You cannot see him anymore, under any circumstance. And that’s final.”

Buffy swallowed, taking a step back under the sturdy gaze of her mother.

“It’s for your own good,” Joyce said as her daughter quietly left the room.

¤

Two days later Buffy’s mood had evolved back into seething anger. She flat out refused to talk to either Giles or Joyce when they still didn’t seem inclined to listen to her side of the story. She was so sick and tired of hearing them nag and tell her that they knew best, no matter what she thought about it, that she’d shut herself in her room, playing complain soft rock and staring at the wall.

When there was a knock on the door she glared at it, waiting until the third knock before she called out an annoyed:

“Would you, please, leave me alone!”

There was a pause, and then:

“It’s Willow.”

Buffy frowned, a pout on her mouth as she tried to make the girl disappear from behind the closed door with nothing but the power of her own will. She knew, however, it would take a little more than that. And thus she sighed and grumbled:

“Fine, enter at your own risk.”

The redhead came into the room with a smile on.

“So melodramatic,” she commented, closing the door behind her as Buffy impatiently gestured for her to do so.

The Slayer was lying on her bed, her hair in a sloppy ponytail and she was wearing a worn and torn old pair of pajamas. She looked aggravated and sad at the same time and Willow had a swell of sympathy for her occur in that moment. She hadn’t seen Buffy like this since... Since Parker. Willow swallowed her sympathy quickly, replacing it with determination. She had to make Buffy understand the actual situation she was in.

The Wicca approached the bed, Buffy muttering something before pulling her covers over her head.

“Buffy,” Willow said reproachfully. There was no answer. “You’re being ridiculous.”

The covers were reluctantly pushed down and Buffy peered up at her. Willow tried another smile, Buffy not returning it as she pulled herself into a semi-seated position, stroking loose tangles of hair out of her face.

“Alright, what’s going on exactly?” Willow inquired.

“Exactly? Want a minute-by-minute description?” Buffy sulked, Willow raising her eyebrows. “I’m grounded. Apparently for life.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, right. I may go to sit in Giles’ apartment or – if I crave the fun – I can go with mom to the museum. Yay.”

“Buffy.”

“Would you stop saying my name like that? And what did I do that was so wrong anyway? Tell me.”

“Well,” Willow replied, “you snuck out of the house; you had your mom and Giles and myself pretty frantic with worry; when you got back you lied twice about what you’d been up to...”

“Okay, okay,” Buffy interrupted.

Willow sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I think you know what you did was kinda serious,” she remarked and Buffy’s gaze shied away from hers stubbornly.

“Great,” she murmured, “another round from the firing squad – only this time it’s disguised as Friend.”

“I’m not here to make you more miserable,” Willow disagreed. “I am here to make you get, once and for all, why you’d do better staying away from Spike.”

Buffy cocked an eyebrow.

Then Willow told her not the whole story of the Slayer and the Vamp, but a broad recount of the vamp’s worse past. She told Buffy of when he first came to town with Drusilla, of the Slayer’s clashes with him, of him trying not only to hurt her, but her friends as well. Willow told Buffy all the details she thought were essential for the other to get the full picture of the vampire. How he probably hadn’t let her get herself killed simply because there was a more important part she had yet to play.

Buffy listened, her face growing more and more mask-like until she raised one hand.

“I think that about does it,” she mumbled with a weak smile.

Willow eyed her for a second, and then she nodded.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Buffy assured, her smile not fading. “Just a little... I don’t know, weirded out... It doesn’t sound like...”

She blinked, shaking her head a little.

“Wanna change the subject?” Willow wondered.

“Yes... No. Know what? I think I’d rather be alone for a little while.”

“You sure?” At that, Buffy nodded. “Okay.” Willow rose and walked up to the door. “Need anything?” she asked as she was about to close it and Buffy shook her head. Willow stood still for another moment, then said: “I know it’s taking some time to fix whatever’s happened to you, and I’m sorry about that. Usually we’re pretty quick about that stuff. But we’re working on it.”

Buffy kept the smile on as she answered:

“All I need to know.”

As soon as the door clicked shut the smile was gone and she was out of the bed and at her window. She opened it, swung her legs over the sill and was outside in the blink of an eye. As soon as she hit the grass below the tree she was running. She ran so fast she thought it was unbelievable how soon she found herself on the step of the door of his crypt. She barely had to catch her breath, either. She had to smirk to herself for no real reason, and then she knocked.

No answer.

She didn’t wait, she didn’t bother to knock again; she went inside.

Spike furrowed his brow deeply as he turned to her where he was sitting in the armchair. The television was on, but she ignored it, coming up to face him properly. He looked quizzical. She didn’t know where to start. He waited for a little while longer and then he directed his attention back on the TV. It was her turn to frown, then she went up and twisted the knob, shutting the contraption off.

“Hey!” he exploded, rising to his feet. “I don’t see you for two bloody days and then you show up without an invitation! What’d you expect! A welcome back banner?”

“Did you kidnap Xander and Willow? And did you try to bite her? And if you didn’t have a thingy in your head, would you try again? Would you kill my mom, Spike? Me? Am I only standing here right now ‘cause of some ulterior motive? Did you save me that first night... from being bitten... and probably worse... because of something other than you wanting me safe?”

He ogled her in surprise. This seemed terribly uncalled for. Then he shook his head at himself and looked her dead in the eye as he replied:

“Yes. Yes. Most probably. No, I like the bird. Yes. Yes. ...And yes.”

She swallowed. Then she brought her arm up without even realizing it, delivering an awesome strike to the side of his face, which sent him stumbling to the right. He met the kick she delivered next with one hand, swiping it away from hitting his side and then kicking her in the stomach, nearly screaming with the pain shooting into his head. She flew backwards, into the wall, and landed hard on the floor. Rubble broke from the ceiling and rained down on her and she curdled into a ball before she was pulled to her feet by the strong grip he took on her arms.

“What the bugger did you think, Slayer! That I was innocent? I told you, love. That Red’s been smartened up, because she knows me.”

“I know you,” Buffy said. “I know you.”

“No,” he murmured, “you really don’t.”

He didn’t understand why he was wavering, meeting the grief stricken green of her eyes. The absoluteness of her denial. Why was it even there? He looked down at her and then slowly let her go, taking a step back and actually taking her in. She was disheveled, for starters. And...

She noticed the sudden glitter of amusement in his gaze and when she looked down at herself she understood why it was there. She was still wearing her pajamas. Her hands went involuntarily to her hair and she remembered the lack of make-up.

“Dammit,” she muttered and his smirk grew.

Then it disappeared.

“You need to go.”

“No, I don’t,” she said. “I don’t wanna go back there.”

“Slayer.”

She met his gaze and held it, then she came up to him. He fought to keep the decisiveness in his chest, to keep the dislike strong, to remind himself what he still seemed in need of reminding – who he was dealing with here.

“You win,” she said. “I’ll watch my back. But you’re gonna let me stay here. You don’t know what they’re like. I can’t stay in that house anymore... It’s like a prison. It isn’t my home.”

“And you think this is?”

She took a look around, noted the still residing spider and then she smiled one of those bright smiles again. He couldn’t figure her out. In a way, it was nearly... tempting. He gritted his teeth. His skin was crawling and he couldn’t settle from what.

“They’re gonna come looking for you. Mom, surrogate dad, gang, even Captain Cardboard, I bet, once he catches ear of this.”

“What do you care?” she challenged. “Think having the Slayer share your digs ’ll ruin your rep?”

“Hadn’t really thought about that,” he grumbled and she smiled again.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she stated and the crawling in his skin grew more apparent with a sudden twist of vexation. The look in her eyes somehow soothed him, though. “I’ve even missed you a little,” she shrugged, his eyebrows going up. “I get the left side of the bed,” she stated, again twisting the knob of the TV to turn it back on.

He glared at her as she walked passed him and up to the place leading down to the bedroom, but he couldn’t quite get the sting into his gaze and he sighed as he sat back down in the armchair.

¤

Buffy lay in the dark, on the bed she had woken up on two days ago, and wondered what she was doing. She felt revived, and yet scared of this decision. She had never disobeyed her mother this way before, ever; but her mother had never not listened to her either.

So really, it’s not all my fault, Buffy told herself.

And there was Spike. The mere thought of him sent butterflies into her stomach, and pleasurable goose bumps up her arms, and she had been told to give that feeling up. She didn’t want to. She couldn’t. She had tried, she really had. For the first twelve hours of her self-afflicted confinement she had told herself that it was the right thing to do. That she had felt it in the crypt when she and Spike had spoken of their true nature: they were enemies. She told herself that nothing could come of it. She was too young, and he... she didn’t even know how old he was. He was certainly older. And he was a vampire. She was the Slayer. There wasn’t supposed to be any form of attraction, any sort of understanding.

And then she had though of how angry he had been with her that night when he saved her outside the Bronze. She had though of how he had smiled at her jokes and listened intently to everything she said, no matter how he tried to tell himself and convince her that he didn’t. That he hadn’t. He had consented to her idiotic ramblings of redecorating his spot of the world, and he had let her fall asleep next to him without so much as touching a hair on her head.

Now she smiled in the darkness.

She had made the right choice coming here.

She couldn’t give this up, whatever it was. It was too fresh, too unexplored, and something deep, deep down inside her spoke of treasures hidden just within reach. All she needed to do was prod very gently.

She rolled over on her side and wished she’d brought a candle with her down, though the room lay in a soft glow which she could only deduce was some form of night vision it might have been nice to have had some normal source of light. She had to like the perks that came with this Slayer deal.

She wasn’t tired, it was broad daylight outside.

She heard the creaking of the ladder and soon Spike’s form sunk down on the bed. He tugged at the sheet and she watched him close his eyes. She narrowed hers.

“Are you gonna sleep?” she asked.

“Creature of the night,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes.

“I can hear that,” he muttered, which made her smirk.

“What were you watching?” she asked. “In the afternoon... For an hour... Oh, my God, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know.”

She saw the corners of his mouth curl up.

“Gonna destroy the image for you, pet?” he inquired.

“Don’t wanna know,” she repeated and he smiled before yawning.

Stretching he moved to lie on the side, facing her, and since his eyes were still closed she took to studying him. She wondered why he was alone. She wondered why Drusilla had left him... or kicked him out, whatever. She wondered a lot of things when it came to him, and she mused whether or not she would ever have all the answers. She had the most instinctive feeling that something was missing for him, that he was... waiting. If she could only figure out what he was waiting for.

She woke up from the sound of the door opening upstairs. She hadn’t even noticed falling asleep. The tiredness cleared as she got to her feet and walked up to the ladder. She could hear Giles’ voice. She climbed up without hesitation, almost eager to face him; leaving Spike still asleep on the bed. Giles turned around as she ascended; his eyes sharp as flint.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice booming with quiet rage. “Get dressed.”

“I came here in this,” she replied calmly.

“Why did you come here at all?”

“Because I needed to,” she began to explain.

“Not another word. You are coming with me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, raised her chin a little and said:

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Buffy...”

“I’m staying here. Tell mom I’m really sorry, but this is something I have to do.”

“Spike? Is that what you have to do?”

“What’s it to you?” the vampire’s voice rang out right before he emerged up the ladder as well, stopping a few feet behind the Slayer.

Giles directed his gaze on the being, but Spike didn’t so much as blink.

“You’re not seriously telling me that she is welcome to stay here, with you?” the Watcher asked and Spike had trouble holding back the satisfaction in his expression as he replied:

“’S long as she keeps outta my way.”

“This is a ten-by-ten tomb, how the bugger’s that even supposed to be possible!” Giles exploded, then he drew a breath and steadied himself, focusing back on his protégé. “Stop this nonsense,” he pleaded. “You’re not yourself. It’s only a matter of time before you will be. Do not complicate matters by acting so out of character! You would never...”

“I am going to ask you, very politely, to get out,” Buffy stopped him. “Right now you’re not welcome here.”

“As if he ever was,” Spike huffed and Giles stared from one to the other, looking completely disbelieving.

“You will regret this,” he then said to Buffy, though it wasn’t a threat, more of a sad truth.

Then he turned and left.

Spike couldn’t grasp it. He felt like jumping up and down with pure glee. This was too good to be true. He wanted to throw her up in the air and dance around with her in his arms. Had she any idea how good he felt in this moment? She had just done what he had wanted to do for... ever!

She turned to him and he didn’t even try to hide the grin plastered all over his face. At the sight of it she laughed. He couldn’t help it. He joined her.

¤

The Cat’s Meow

¤

Buffy nibbled on the chicken wing she had just devoured. Spike was suckling contentedly on one too. She watched him for a moment, then wondered:

“What’s the best part about being you?”

He cocked an eyebrow, finishing the wing and tossing it back in the bucket it had come in before rolling over on his back on the bed.

“Freedom, baby,” he answered simply. “Or at least it was... ‘til the bleeding government got a say in it.”

“Right... The chip. How weird. And how cruel.”

Now he met her gaze.

“Just what I think,” he nodded, and the sincerity in his voice had her smile, putting her wing down as well.

“I mean, can they do that? Really? ‘Cause that should be violating an amendment or two, just sticking something in your brain that completely holds you back from being... who you are.”

“Ah, but see, in this context it’s what I am, not who; and unfortunately the amendments only work for the human race. If you’re a demon you pretty much have to fend for yourself.”

“Terribly unfair.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he smiled and she giggled, grabbing the bucket and getting it out of the way before she placed herself next to him. “I think if they’re so bloody aware of us they could very well find a way to include us in their petty regulations.”

“From what I gather you’re not very fond of abiding by the rules,” she pointed out.

“As aren’t a lot of humans, but you don’t see them walking around getting electrocuted in the noggin’ simply ‘cause they wish to kill something.”

She was silent for a while and then she asked:

“Is it really like that? A need to... kill? Just haphazard mayhem?”

He thought it over.

“No... Not haphazard. But sometimes you need to blow off some steam. I bet you know all about that.”

“I bet I would,” she mumbled and he glanced at her.

It was nearing seven o’clock and he had woken up to the smell of the chicken she had gone and bought. She was still wearing her pajamas, but her hair was brought into a high ponytail. Still, the thought of her walking to the local KFC and buying the food was something that kept bringing a slight curve to his lips. He had to admit that after the stunt she had pulled with the old poof, he sort of had come to terms with having her there.

“So, if the freedom’s taken away... there’s nothing good about being you?” she was asking.

“I’ve got strength, speed, hearing, sight...”

“Yeah, I have those too,” she said matter-of-factly, which suddenly irked him something incredible. “And then there’s the pesky business of sucking blood, which I’m happy to do without.”

He didn’t reply to that and so she let the comment hang in the air. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and she recalled that he couldn’t feed anymore. So, he missed it then. She had a slight shudder run through her and sat up, putting her arms around her before looking down at the pajamas.

“God, I wish I had a change of clothes,” she sighed.

He looked at her back and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Done,” he stated and in the next blink he was gone.

She stared at the spot he had been in and slowly got to her feet. She wished she knew what other tricks he could do. She went up and got some matches, having almost finished with lighting the downstairs when he returned, plastic bag in hand.

“What’s that?” she asked and he dumped the contents out.

She gave a slight squeal of delight at the sight of the jeans and sweaters he had gotten for her. She grabbed them and clutched them tight to her chest before she wrapped her free arm around his neck and gave him a hard hug.

“You are a god, answering a girl’s prayers! Thank you!” she exclaimed.

When she pulled back she began fussing with the clothes and didn’t notice the way he was watching her, taking a few steps away from her. He wanted to know exactly why she was there, that was all he wanted. And exactly why he had let her stay. There was something in the curve of her shoulder. Something in the softness of her blonde locks. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

So he looked away, cursed himself and went back up to the ladder.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’ll let you change,” he muttered, climbing upward and away.

She put the jeans on, noting that they were hers and wondering how he’d been able to get into the house undetected. Had he used speed or strength? Had he gone through her window or the front door? She thought of his cockiness and settled on the latter option. She brought a black sweater over her head and let her hair out, combing her fingers through it before she walked up to the ladder, climbing it easily and stepping up and into the crypt.

He wasn’t there and she furrowed her brow.

“Spike?” she tried, but he was gone.

¤

“This can’t be happening,” Joyce was saying. “She can’t stay there! She’s a minor! She can’t just up and leave! I’m calling the police.”

“And what are you going to tell them?” Giles asked. “My daughter only looks nineteen; she’s fifteen in spirit and staying at a crypt with a vampire?”

“No. I’ll leave out the spirit and vampire part. He’s poisoning her!”

“I’m afraid,” Giles murmured, “it’s not all his fault this time. Buffy is strong-willed, you and I both know that, Joyce. This wasn’t his influence, it was her choice. Now we can only pray that the outcome won’t be too disastrous.”

“I don’t want to hear it! We are getting her out of there...!”

“How?” Giles stopped her softly. “Those two together? We’d need a small army. They’re too strong. I’m sorry. We’ll have to wait until she comes home.”

Joyce sunk down on the couch of the Summers home, her hands in tight fists on her lap. She seemed to forget just who her daughter was as of late. And she realized that it was true – she couldn’t make her daughter do anything she didn’t want to do.

Please, Buffy, she thought. Please, come to your senses!

¤

“Please, Buford!” the lady on the screen called after the man, who was walking away from her with determined steps. “Please, come to your senses! Come back to me! Buford! Buford!”

Buffy yawned, shifting on the armchair and wondering if she should head downstairs. It was close to two o’clock and still no sign of Spike. She was bored, the black-and-whites she had been watching didn’t do it for her and she had been sleeping restlessly on and off for the past hour. Now she stretched and when she turned her head she drew in a startled breath as her gaze met two blue eyes, watching her. She glared at him, suddenly irritated.

“Where ‘ve you been?” she asked, rising and turning the TV off.

“Why, you didn’t wait up for me... did you?” he asked, a teasing sparkle in his gaze.

She kept her eyes in his and then she huffed, walking passed him on her way to the ladder.

“Fine,” she said. “Be that way. I could’ve come with you, you know?”

“And what?” he asked, humor in his voice. “Watched me play poker? Done a little dancing, a little drinking? ‘S not your scene, love.”

“Don’t talk to me like you know me,” she fired off, stopping and turning back to him. “And don’t call me ‘love’.”

He raised his eyebrows, getting to his feet.

“You upset, love?”

“Why would I be? Just ‘cause you see it fit to abandon me here all night...”

“Abandon?” he laughed. “Come on. You could’ve gone out by yourself. You’re so good at taking care of yourself, remember? You weren’t scared, were you?”

“Do you want me to hit you? ‘Cause I’ll do it!” she warned and his smile merely widened.

“So do it,” he urged, holding his arms out to the sides.

“Tomorrow night – I’m coming with you,” she said, turning and disappearing down to the bedroom.

He didn’t move for a while, unsure of what he should do. A small noise in his coat pocket made him frown and then he remembered he had kept some of his winnings for later. He put his hand in and brought out the small kitten by the neck. It kicked furiously for something to grab onto and he vamped out.

“Sorry, mate,” he muttered. “Cat’s gotta meow, vamps gotta...”

“What’s that noise?” Buffy’s voice asked and she poked her head up, her face going blank at the sight of him and in the next instant she had the kitten safe in her arms and a look of death on the creature before her.

“Bugger,” he grumbled.

“You were going to eat her, weren’t you?” Buffy asked, appalled. “What? Feel like a late night snack? Are you crazy? You can’t go around snacking on innocent little animals! I suppose you eat puppies too?”

“Not really too fond of them,” he shook his head. “Their blood’s sticky, doesn’t flow well.” He met her gaze, then sighed. “Give it ‘ere. ‘S my kitty and I can do with her as I please.”

“You are not going to eat this cat!” she exclaimed and with another glare she headed back downstairs, kitten still in a firm grip.

He followed.

She walked up to the bed, cuddling the kitten lovingly and carefully placing it on the bed. Once that was done she twirled back to face him.

“You know, you can’t always get what you want!”

“Stones. Yeah, gotta love ‘em.”

“What are you talking about? Never mind. That living, breathing thing over there that you were about to sink your big, ugly fangs into actually has feelings! It probably smelled the vamp stench all over you and almost had a heart attack! You know, you can’t just walk around telling yourself you’re as bad as they come! Like it or not, I see right through that! And you can’t go around thinking you’re bigger than life simply ‘cause you’re dead!”

He looked at her through the entire outburst, his expression not changing. When he spoke his voice was controlled, but laced with agitation.

“You can’t barge in here telling me what not to do. I am not about to rearrange anything simply ‘cause it happens to stroke you the wrong way! If that’s a problem for you then you can run back to mommy dearest. Now, that’s my kitten. I won it almost fair and square and I’ll be buggered if I’ll hand it over to you without a fight. Give it here!”

She didn’t think she’d ever been so mad at anyone. She marched up to the bed, picked the kitten up and brought it over to him.

“Look at her,” she said. “Just take one second to look her in the eye and you’ll get what I’m talking about. She doesn’t deserve to die like that. No one does.”

He clenched his jaws together as the Slayer put the kitten in his hands before turning around and proceeding back up to the bed, onto which she crawled. He glared at her, irritated enough to want to wring her neck. He moved his hands up, parting his lips, about to bite the thing when it meowed meekly. He squinted at it, its gaze suddenly in his. He felt a twitch near his heart, not for the animal, but for himself. He had just now thought he had successfully blocked the Slayer’s words out, and here he was adhering to every one of them.

He growled, dropping the kitten to the floor unceremoniously and clamping up to the bed. Getting the duster off with irate movements he then lay down. He could feel her turn her head to look at him, but he ignored her. She got off the bed again and he heard her speak softly to the kitten.

“You bring that thing in ‘ere and you’re both sleeping upstairs,” he warned.

Buffy didn’t bother taking him seriously. She lay back down, keeping herself between him and the tiny cat. She smiled at it, gently stroking its little head, and soon it was nestled against her armpit, sleeping soundly.

“Wish you wouldn’t try so hard,” she murmured and just as she had given up hope for a response from him, it came.

“With what?”

“Being something you’re not.”

“I’m starting to think this whole amnesia gig is some means of getting me housebroken, pet,” he grunted. “We are who we are – nothing more and nothing less,” he added. “Why’d you think you were able to kill that vamp? ‘Cause it’s in you. Slaying is inside you.”

“And I suppose kitten killing is in you?” she scoffed. “The eating of the innocents; that’s your nature, right? Well, according to Giles sleeping beside you is something I’d never do. I guess we all can find ways to go around our own boundaries... if we want to.”

He paused, and then turned his head to look at her.

“And why would you want to, Slayer?” he mumbled, her gaze meeting his fleetingly before she glanced away again.

“I already told you that,” she answered.

“Right,” he said, voice still lowered and eyes still on her. “Well, live food in the bed makes me itchy.”

He rose and she blinked, wanting to sit up, but the sleeping kitten prevented that.

“You leaving again?” she asked.

“I know, midst all the bonding,” he sighed mournfully as he pulled the duster on again.

“I just...”

She trailed off and he stopped his movements long enough to take her in, then he smirked.

“You have Kitty there to keep you company. Night’s still young; I’ll see you at dawn.”

“Where do you go?”

“Why? Gonna come find me?”

“Spike.”

“Willy’s,” he replied simply. “Keep an eye over your shoulder if you go there, and bring Kitty along. She might come in handy if I’m losing.”

She wanted to throw a pillow at him, but kept the urge down and simply glared at him as he left.

Why do you care? she muttered in her head. Time to get practical, Buffy. Time to move on from slight obsession of the evil undead and find someone a bit healthier to live with. Time to... go home?

No, she insisted to herself. Not yet. Just not quite yet.

She scratched Kitty behind one ear and soon there was a contented purring coming from the small ball of fur.

¤

The sky was nearly light when he came back to the crypt. He shut the door tight and turned around, struggling to keep the room from spinning. He had finally reached some sort of buzz, tequila was good that way, but he didn’t want to fall down the ladder. He had done that enough times, woken up in odd positions on the hard floor beneath and walking around the next night stiff as a board. He descended clumsily, but with great care, and soon stood on both feet on the floor below.

He gave a nod of accomplishment and proceeded with walking further into the bedroom.

However, he felt as though he was quickly sobering up at the sight which met him.

Buffy was standing on her head, her feet in the air and her arms folded at the elbow at either side of her head, her body perfectly straight. Her balance was absolute and her back was to him, showing off a pair of flawlessly shaped, tanned legs ending in an ass that made his mouth water. He nearly slapped himself, but decided against it and merely cleared his throat.

No reaction from her.

She was wearing a tank top and tight little boxer shorts; something he thought was pretty unfair. What had happened to the covering clothes he’d brought?

He looked away from her and into the wall, suppressing every predatory as well as male instinct to pounce on her. He was shocked at himself and blamed it all on the alcohol. From this moment on he wouldn’t touch it, come the end of the sodding world he wouldn’t touch it for the life of him. He’d keep a clear mind through anything, especially this ordeal. Once the Slayer was the Slayer and out of his closer vicinity, then... maybe... he’d allow himself a sip of something not too strong.

He heard her move and when he glanced at her she was on all fours, stretching one leg back.

His mouth fell open and he let out a low-throated growl at himself before looking away again.

“Hi, Kitty,” she said and he noticed the kitten moving by the foot of the bed. “Don’t mind him,” Buffy added, and he had to turn around with a scowl.

She had just stood and now straightened her back, reaching her arms over her head before relaxing with an exhale.

“Good morning,” she greeted.

“Up a little early, aren’t we?”

“I rise with the sun,” she smiled sweetly, scooping the miniature cat up and walking up to the bed, beginning to pull on her jeans.

“Leaving?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

“Wasn’t worried,” he muttered, slipping the duster off.

“You stink of tequila,” she pointed out as she passed him on her way to the ladder, Kitty with her.

“Just trying to drown out that vamp stench,” he shot and she smiled broadly.

“Hit a spot with that one, huh?” she asked and he shook his head as he splayed himself on the bed. “Sweet dreams,” she said as she started climbing.

¤

She walked briskly. The morning air was crisp and cool and within moments she felt more aware of the world surrounding her than she thought she had for some time. The way her feet hit the pavement in perfect rhythm, the way Kitty was squirming against her chest, the way everything seemed on the verge of waking. The Slayer smiled to herself.

She was amazed she had been able to hold the position she’d just been in for so long without toppling over. She was amazed that she had actually succeeded in leaving the room right when he finally saw fit to show up. She was thrilled how she’d taken back a little bit of the control she’d felt slipping out of her grip.

It took her a while, but finally she arrived at campus. She searched for her dorm and of course it was locked. Luckily an early bird jogger let her in as he entered, even holding the door open for her. Security sure was tight at this place. She walked up the stairs to her floor and quietly made her way down the corridor. Reaching her room she tried the knob and was happy to find the door open. She peaked inside, but the room was empty.

She furrowed her brow at the untouched bed of Willow’s, and then shrugged; putting Kitty down on the floor she walked up to her closet, finding what she was searching for in the form of a backpack she began to stow some of her clothes in. She walked around the room, touching her things and grabbing a few items she thought might come in handy. Then she retrieved a towel, shampoo, conditioner, soap, and headed for the showers.

She let the water work as therapy, cleansing her mind as well as her body. She had so far been following her intuition, and it seemed to have worked in her favor since she was still standing. She did wish that she had someone to talk to, though. Just someone to vent to. Barking at Spike for behaving like a totally self-centered, annoying jerk didn’t really count.

She turned off the shower; drying off and getting dressed before heading back to the room. Just as she opened the door she caught the sound of Willow’s voice, but it was too late.

“Aren’t you the cutest?” the Wicca was cooing, looking up as Buffy entered with a trying smile on.

“Hi,” the blonde greeted and Willow raised her eyebrows. “Look, I’ve said I’m sorry a billion times and it doesn’t seem to cut it so what do you want me to say!”

“Nothing.”

“I can explain...”

“Don’t wanna hear it. Buffy, I know you. I know that you wouldn’t do something like this if you didn’t have a reason. I know that somewhere somehow this all makes perfect sense. You hanging out with Spike – whom you loathe and distrust more than anyone you’ve ever met. You distressing your mom to the point of her calling the police, worrying her for... what reason was it again? Oh, no, don’t tell me; again something that has to do with Spike. What is it with this...vamp? Has he gotten you to believe that he doesn’t want you dead? Because ever since he first set foot in this town, all he’s done has been to try and get you killed one way or another. But then, I told you this already!”

“Yeah, you did,” Buffy nodded, still tentative. “And he agreed to everything you said.”

“I see. And this... is a good thing?”

“At least he’s not a liar.”

“At least he’s not a liar!” Willow exploded, making Kitty, who had settled comfortably by the Wicca on the latter’s bed, jump with fright. “If I could I’d ram your head through that wall right about now! That might make you get it! Or at least knock you out long enough for me to figure out how to get through to you! I don’t know what’s wrong with you, I don’t know what happened to you, and I can’t seem to find a way to get you back to normal; but I’m telling you, this isn’t you!”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t!”

“Yes, it is! You just didn’t know me when I was this me! I’ve seen things that I can barely understand over the past week. I’ve seen stuff I only thought was reserved for specific nightmares had by specific people! I’ve learned things about myself I had no idea was even possible! And I understand that Spike and I have history, a heavy one, that I know virtually squat about. But, you know what? I don’t care about that. When you look at him you see a monster. I get that. He was about to eat that adorable thing over there right before I stopped him. He’s insane! Egotistical. And what’s with the hair? But... I know that’s not all of him. He’s an iceberg, okay? He only shows the tip. He’s so angry, Willow. And sad. And misplaced, somehow. And lonely.”

Willow merely stared at her, too shocked to say anything.

“Look, this is Kitty,” Buffy continued after a few moments silence. “She can’t stay with me because... well, it might be hazardous to her health. Could you keep her here for a while, you think?” Willow looked over at the kitten and finally smiled, nodding. “Great. And don’t worry about me. I’ve got it all under control!” the Slayer assured, grabbing the backpack and a brush before heading out the door.

¤

For A Dead Guy You Look Totally Alive

¤

“I’m worried about Buffy,” Willow stated five hours later.

She, Xander and Giles had gathered in Xander’s basement for an emergency meeting.

“Specifics?” Xander asked.

“She’s lost it!” Willow replied.

“It is a bit disturbing, isn’t it?” Xander agreed.

“There is nothing we can do,” Giles muttered.

“She doesn’t understand, Giles. She doesn’t know Spike. She doesn’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Except she does,” Giles remarked. “She trusts you, obviously, why else would she have told you so much of how she feels? And you have hammered it into her over and over exactly who she’s dealing with. Trust me, Willow, she does know. I just wish she could admit it!”

“She’s retracted into some naïve state of denial, that’s true. But what would the reason be, other than...” Willow trailed off, exchanging a look with Giles and then shaking her head. “No. No, that would be way too repulsive.”

“What?” Xander asked.

Willow merely gave him a glance and then said:

“What about the other problem?”

“The big, bad problem?” Xander asked in Giles’ stead and Willow nodded with a subtle smile.

“Well, as of now there has been no stagger of activity. Hopefully Adam will keep to himself for a week or two, give us some time to regroup,” Giles said.

“Regroup? I think that’s a slight understatement,” Xander remarked.

“Research, perhaps?” Willow offered.

“Well, wouldn’t that make you happy?” Xander said.

“Not really, under these circumstances,” she defended. “I don’t even know where to start. And if I did, I already started there about three times. Giles, I don’t know what other books I can look through.”

“It is starting to look rather dark,” he agreed, both youngsters adopting abhorred expressions.

“Don’t say that!” Xander exclaimed.

“Yeah! You’re positivist guy! You’re the one who has that bright idea just when we think it’s starting to look dark!” Willow filled in.

“That’s right. Shine on!” Xander nodded.

Giles looked at them, and then removed his glasses, polishing them in silence.

¤

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Buffy was carefully entering the kitchen of the Revello Drive home. She closed the door behind her and paused before finally making herself walk forward. She was just about to proceed into the living room when there were steps down the stairs and soon Joyce’s arms were around her daughter.

“Oh, thank God!”

Buffy hugged her back, but couldn’t do so with as much feeling and soon Joyce picked up on it, letting the other go and pulling away, her gaze growing questioning as she looked at Buffy. The latter put on an as apologetic expression as she could, and Joyce took a step back.

“You’re not coming home, are you?” she asked and Buffy shook her head slowly.

“I will. But not yet,” she said. “I love you, mom.”

Turning from Joyce’s stunned face and walking back outside was one of the hardest things Buffy had ever done, but she did it, and well out in the sunshine she brought out the newly bought pack of pink bubblegum and popped a piece in her mouth as she headed for her first goal of the morning.

¤

Four hours later she jumped off the truck holding the furniture she had picked out. The guy behind the wheel got out, still curious about the spot she had chosen to unload. He helped her bring the loveseat, the coffee table and the divan to the ground and she smiled, thanking him.

“Do you need help bringing it in?” he asked, glancing tentatively at the crypt behind her.

“No, thanks,” she replied. “I can pretty much take it from here.”

She waved good-bye and he drove off still wearing a wondering frown. Once the truck was out of sight she pushed the door of the crypt open and grabbed one end of the loveseat, beginning to haul it inside. She dragged it through the door, left it there and went to retrieve the rest of the stuff. Last she grabbed the five or so bags that were left and finally shut the door behind her. She sunk down on the divan and tried to get her head straight.

“Where to begin...” she mumbled.

The divan was dressed in soft, dark green velvet. The loveseat was in dark blue fabric and the coffee table was made out of almost black wood. They were all used, of course, and she’d gotten them for a bargain; but something told her he’d like them. She decided to put the loveseat and coffee table in front of the TV and move the armchair to the side. Then she went to work with what was inside the bags.

The first held three heavy candelabras, which she placed strategically around the room so they’d spread equal amount of light in it. The second held a myriad of different sized candles; and these she placed not only in the candelabras, but also on the vacant spots of the deep niches holding the windows. The third held a few new blankets as well as a set of fresh sheets – she had noticed he might need them. She left the two last ones on the loveseat and began to drag the divan over to the place of the ladder.

She shifted it carefully down, her strength coming in very handy when struggling not the break the heavy thing, and once it was down she climbed after. It was standing on end and she brought it onto its legs, pushing it further into the room. She found a good spot for it and turned her head to look at the still soundly asleep Spike.

She cocked an eyebrow and then approached him, blowing a bubble with her gum and letting it pop as noisily as it possibly could.

It was a no-go.

She smirked, having a seat on the edge of the bed and observing him where he lay. She bit her lower lip as a thought occurred. She waited for a few more moments, to make sure there was no reaction from him, and when she felt convinced there wouldn’t be she reached out a hand and tugged at the sheet covering one shoulder and most of his torso. She moved it carefully down, her eyes widening a little as his bare chest came into view.

She smiled crookedly, letting the sheet come to rest by his hips as she simply didn’t dare to take it further than that. She was flushing without really noticing it, and her heart beat was elevating. Her hands were growing clammy.

She swallowed, then moved one arm forward and let her hand place itself right beneath one of his collar bones. Her heart was beating even harder as she gently slipped her fingers over the taut muscles of his chest; moving down to his stomach she was nearly trembling with both the act of doing something so intimate and something that felt absolutely forbidden.

All of a sudden he eased his eyes open.

She was on her feet so fast she almost lost her balance, backing away from the bed making stuttering noises that were supposed to resemble speech, but did a poor job at it. Her head was reeling from trying to think of a good enough excuse for her to even be down there.

“I was moving some stuff into... here, and I’m... I’m sorry I woke you and... and... sorry,” she finally got out, smiling at her idiocy and already backing toward the ladder.

He had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching her departure part quizzical, part bothered and part humorous. As she finally reached her escape route she climbed it quickly and stood in the crypt on shaky knees, clamping her hands before her face, not knowing whether she should laugh or cry.

Spike blinked, still not all convinced that it had actually been her hand he’d felt touching him. He found it more probable that he’d been dreaming. Not about her, of course, but of... someone. She wouldn’t have been...

His eyes landed on the new piece of furniture and both eyebrows rose. He got up and pulled on a pair of jeans before heading for the ladder.

Buffy was sitting on the loveseat, rummaging through bags four and five, as he reached the crypt. She kept her gaze down and away from him, seemingly completely immersed in whatever it was she was doing. He looked at what she was seated on, and then at the table.

“What’re those?” he finally asked and she brought a hand out of one of the bags, holding up a folded sweater.

“Clothes,” she said. “Some color won’t stake ya,” she added with a fake-coy smile and her eyes met his for a few seconds, her posture stiffening as well as the smile before she looked away again.

He studied her profile, and he got hit with the truth that it hadn’t been a dream. She had been... He was no fool; he’d noticed the signals she’d been sending out. Hell, ever since their first encounter she’d looked at him in a certain way. But this? He’d thought it was a simple attraction, something about him that mystified and made that brain of hers work overtime to try and solve him. A curiosity, just like she’d said. Since nothing else that was supposed to fit, did – she clung to the one thing that wasn’t supposed to, and made it.

And then again with the “but this?”

She was placing sweaters and shirts on the back of the loveseat.

He couldn’t think.

“What’re you doing?” he got out, a sudden anger irrepressibly growing within him.

“I’m unpacking the...” she began, but he was by her and tearing her to her feet before she could finish.

“Get out,” he said and she stared at him in surprise.

“You said that I could...”

“Bloody well leave!” he burst, turning her around and shoving her to the door. “Go on. Go!”

She spun around, putting her hands against his chest and pushing him off her with a glare of fury.

“What’s your problem!” she exclaimed. “You said I could try and make this place into a... place! You said as long as I kept away from anything pastel-ish! Do you see any pastel in here! You said I could stay as long as I kept out of your way!”

At that she grew silent, her words catching up with her and he nodded a little.

“So don’t wake me up in the middle of the afternoon,” he emphasized.

“Hey, I was in here for half an hour shuffling furniture around, I even brought that piece downstairs and you didn’t move a muscle! How the hell was I supposed to know you’d wake up just ‘cause I sat down next to you?”

“That’s not all you did.”

“Well... I said I was sorry! Why are you freaking out on me?”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and so he kept quiet, his hands in fists.

She wore a frown, but it soon smoothed and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I know I shouldn’t have done... what I did,” she said, forcing her gaze not to drift down to his still bare chest, ignoring the slight unfamiliar suction she felt in her stomach at the memory of how his skin had felt underneath her hand. “I dunno why I even did it! I guess, maybe, it was ‘cause I’ve never seen any living dead asleep before.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Without clothes on,” she admitted. “I was curious!” she defended at his other raised eyebrow.

“Seems to be a lot of that lately,” he remarked.

She tried a smile and he rolled his eyes at her, which made the smile widen. Glancing at his torso and then back into his gaze she said:

“I was a little surprised... Not that I didn’t expect... Not that I’d thought about it... Oh, boy.” He furrowed his brow, small smirk on as he observed her interestedly. She blushed. “It’s just you look so... healthy. I mean, for a dead guy you look totally... alive.”

He contemplated that, still smiling slightly, and then reached out a hand to take hold of her wrist, bringing her palm up to the place of his still heart.

“Don’t feel alive, though, do I?” he murmured.

She stared at him, caught completely in his eyes, and then she smiled in return before pulling her hand out of his grasp. She took a step backward and turned, walking back to the project she had been in the middle of. She began putting the sweaters into a pile and he came up to her, looking at what she had chosen for him.

“Buffy,” he said, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

“I thought you might like red,” she said. “And blue goes well with your eyes, so...”

“Buffy, what are you doing here. Really?”

She met his gaze at that, a smile soon spreading over her lips. He couldn’t interpret it, and he couldn’t return it, it unsettled him too much.

“I’m going back to bed, stay away from there ‘til I’m bleeding well awake again,” he warned and she gave a nod; observing him as he walked up to the ladder and descended.

Once he was out of sight she leaned against the piece of furniture before her and drew a slow breath. She wished she didn’t have to be such a jabbering ditz whenever he was near her. She wished she knew exactly what to say and exactly what to do in the exact moment it needed to be said and done for him to look at her and... see her.

He didn’t see her.

She sighed, looking at the sweaters and shirts and feeling young and silly. What had she thought? That the road to a vampire’s heart lay through cotton?

What’s the use...? she wondered. Soon I’ll be outta here anyway. Back with Andy, and what exciting things will ever happen to me then? I’ll forget all about this. Won’t I?

¤

Spike woke with a start; sure that it had been from a nightmare but unable to remember it. He got off the bed groggily, wiping sleep out of his eyes and stretching as he walked up to the ladder. A spot of blood and then he’d head out. He climbed up and was met by candle light. He wondered what time it was. Seven, maybe. He had to admire the candelabras. They reminded him of an epoch of his life long since passed, when the women had been dressed in gowns and the men had been true gents.

He looked around the crypt, seeing no sign of her but for the TV being on.

Walking up to the loveseat he stopped behind its back and looked down at her, sleeping with one of the new blankets spread over her.

He tilted his head a little to one side as he watched her. Slowly he walked around to be able to see her face better, squatting down beside her.

She’s a child, he thought to himself. But that fire she has... it’s there, even now. Even at this young.

He watched her for a little while longer, then reached out a hand and shook her hard.

She sat up with a yell and he straightened into a standing position.

“Said you wanted to come,” he merely stated at her disoriented expression and she frowned, an incensed pout appearing on her mouth.

“Guess we’re even,” she muttered and he smirked at that.

Going into the imitation-of-a-kitchen part of the crypt he brought out a fresh bag of blood and tore it open, drinking greedily. Still seated, Buffy observed him with her frown deepening. Then she shuddered, making a disgusted noise as she stood.

“I can’t see how you can do that,” she said, grabbing her backpack and beginning to bring clothes out of it.

“I just showed you,” he shot and she gave him a look.

“It’s so gross! That has to be the worst part about being a vampire. Speaking of – how can you choose to become a vampire when you know that you’ll have to suck the living dry to stay on your feet? Personally it would take a lot for me to even consider it, and in the end I don’t think I’d go through with it. Immortality and all that... sounds like it might get boring in the end.”

“In the end is when it starts to get the most intriguing,” he assured.

She smiled.

“You wanna see what happens? That why you became a vamp? Embraced the forever? Jumped into the clutches of undeath and no-liveliness?”

“Hey, there’s plenty of liveliness left in these bones, don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

“You’ll get a chance to prove it tonight.”

He smirked once more, throwing the bag away and walking up to the ladder.

“So, what’s this place like?” she called after him.

“Classy crowd. Good beer. You’ll like it,” he called back.

“Anything like the Bronze?”

There was a moment of silence, and then he replied:

“It is what you make it, pet.”

“Just figuring what I should wear.”

Another silence, then:

“Something small and black.”

She gave the ladder a glance, her eyebrows rising slightly, then she shrugged and thought she just might take his advice... Or should that be request?

“Are you telling, or asking?” she called down, but this time there was no answer.

She raised one shoulder in a shrug and decided on a killer black dress she had dug out from some forgotten corner of the closet in her dorm room. She changed, beginning to brush her hair as he ascended again, now wearing not only a black T, but also his duster. She smiled at him, holding up one hand and spreading her fingers as she said:

“Five minutes.”

He didn’t look as though he believed her, but she ignored it and kept brushing, starting the search for the shoes she knew would go perfectly with the outfit.

Spike eyed her from across the room. How she moved, how the low-cut dress exposed her back – showing off just how gently it bent as she leaned forward to pick something up from the floor, how her locks easily swept themselves behind her shoulders as she straightened her posture. He realized his mouth had fallen agape and he closed it with a snap, forcing himself to look away from her.

“I’ll... wait outside,” he grumbled, stalking up to the door and nearly tearing it off its hinges before stepping into the chilled evening air.

Half an hour later she finally saw fit to join him, wearing a black thigh-length coat and black shoes.

He began to walk as she closed the door, flicking away the cigarette he’d been smoking.

“Aren’t you gonna lock up?” she inquired.

He merely glanced over his shoulder and she looked skyward, shaking her head at herself before she followed, catching up with him. He turned his head to her, looking her over and she raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“What?” she asked.

“Did it really have to take all that time to...? Yeah, exactly what did you do?”

She stopped, hands on hips.

“Hair, make-up, moisturizing – it takes a surprising amount of effort to look this effortless!” she argued and he faced her, once again looking her over.

“Honey, all you needed was the dress,” he shot, beginning to walk again and she narrowed her eyes.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” she asked and the swagger in his step seemed to falter slightly, but then he merely signaled for her to come along.

She did, again walking beside him, though this time she was smiling.

“Stop,” he muttered and she wanted to kill it off, but couldn’t.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s just... the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!” she added with a quick hug to the arm of his which was closest to her.

“No really – stop,” he protested.

“Oh, lighten up!” she laughed.

They walked on in silence, her smile remaining. Him wanting to feel more uncomfortable in the situation, and failing. Finally they reached the bar and he could breathe a fictional sigh of relief. At least now he’d be surrounded by his own, in a space he knew. Having the upper hand completely. Finally.

He held the door open for her without thinking, but she didn’t seem to think any more of it either, simply giving him a smile as she passed inside. He grumbled to himself as he followed her.

She looked around the room, dimly lit and occupied by creatures she could scarcely fathom were real. She kept her cool, heading for the bar as she slipped her coat off her shoulders. Pretty much every single pair of eyes was now being directed at her and she jumped up on a stool just as Spike joined at her side.

“Should you be in here?” Willy asked the vampire.

“Bygones,” Spike smirked, remembering exactly why he appreciated his designated company for the evening, turning his head to Buffy. “What’ll you have, darling? Anything you want, ‘s on me.”

“Sweet! I’ll have a daiquiri,” she told Willy.

“I’ll have the usual,” Spike stated and was soon served a glass of blood.

Buffy curled her lip in dislike.

“Oh, lighten up,” he smiled, taking the glass and walking up to an empty booth.

She mirrored his smile, bringing her drink and getting off the stool to follow him.

“Slayer,” a voice said behind her and she turned to face a large demon sporting horns and fangs galore.

“Oh, ew,” she said, then smiled brightly. “Sorry about the last part... I think. And... yes?”

The demon furrowed the part of its brow that it could furrow and then said:

“Shouldn’t you be running with your own crowd?”

“Firstly – it’s none of your business. Secondly – can’t run in these heels.”

She proceeded up to Spike and sat down, taking a mouthful of her drink and meeting his gaze.

“What the sod am I doing with you?” he murmured and she smiled brightly.

“We’ll see,” she answered.

Lie to Her

¤

“So tell me,” she said as Spike ordered in his second beer and she got her third drink, this one being nameless and carrying a distant scent of tropical fruit.

“Gonna need specifics,” he replied, bringing out a fag and lighting it.

“Where were you born?”

“England, pet, thought the accent gave that away.”

“Oh, I see, you need those sorts of specifics. The I’m-too-dumb-to-answer-simple-questions-so-ask-me-even-simpler-ones. Fine, then; where in England – what city or town or province or whatever the hell you have over there?”

“Whatever the hell? You want me to answer your questions, don’t mock my home country.”

“Proud to be a Brit, then?”

“Bloody right I am.”

“Miss it? Your home country, as you so elegantly put it.”

“Reckon I do, sometimes.”

“So, what’re you doing here?”

He leaned back, resting his head against the hard wood of the booth wall behind him and then he shrugged, flicking some ashes from the cigarette.

“Guess I would’ve gone by now, if I hadn’t been chipped.”

She had to smile at the phrasing and he smirked, though it carried a touch of melancholy.

“Is that all that’s keeping you here? I mean, Riley and I seem to be pretty tight.” Spike stared at her as she continued: “Maybe I could talk to him for you. You know, see if he...”

“You’d do that, wouldn’t you?” he interrupted softly, his gaze warming so suddenly it made her need to take a breath.

“I would,” she then assured. “But...”

She trailed off, self-conscious.

“What?”

“Well, then you’d... leave. Right?” He nodded slowly. “Don’t know if this place would be the same without you.”

He smiled, killing what was left of his smoke and leaning forward.

“True,” he agreed, a smile spreading over her lips as well.

“And what if I’m stuck here forever and... no good nemesis’s ever comes along again? Then I’d have to grieve over ever helping you go away and there would be weeping and wallowing and destructive behavior and an all around bad. Not too sure I’d want that.”

“No,” he said silently, “wouldn’t want that.”

She felt naked under his studying gaze and looked at the glass before her, containing her present drink. The liquid was tainted yellow with lime green at the bottom. It looked quite tasty and when she took a sip the pineapple was a welcome distraction from anything not fruity.

“So, where were you born?” she finally picked up the conversation.

“London,” he answered.

“When?”

“October 17th, 1856.” He grew quiet, then said: “Haven’t thought about my birthday for... for a bleeding long time. Wouldn’t have thought I’d even remember it. Funny things: memories.”

“I agree,” she nodded, continuing: “Like, I can’t remember my first day of school except for this one thing; the way the sun fell on my mother’s hair when she took me inside the building and we waited outside the classroom for the bell to ring. I remember I looked at her and I thought she was so beautiful, and how I wanted to go to school and learn all these great things so I could grow up to be just like her.”

He observed her face, how her eyes lit up when she spoke of her mother, and he had the strongest memory of his own mother come into his mind; it make him speak even before he could consider whether he should or not.

“When I was five I sat in our drawing room and painted a picture for my father... Can’t remember what it was, but I do remember that I’d spent all morning on that stupid thing. My mum came in once in a while to check how far along I’d gotten, and she’d say something nice... encouraging. Then she’d smile at me. At tea she brought it in to me and we sat together while the paint dried... waiting for my father. He was late... it had been raining and he was wet... his hair was damp... He took one look at the picture... and asked who the artist was. Said whoever it was should be paid handsomely. That we should frame the picture and hang it over the mantelpiece – which was an honorary spot in our house. My dad died a year later, but in that moment I remember feeling...”

He trailed off, his gaze in hers as he was brought back into the now.

“Feeling?” she asked and he shook his head. “Spike...” He didn’t want to talk about it, though, and since she could so clearly see it she left it at that, instead saying: “When were you...?”

“Turned?” he filled in. “I was... twenty-four. 1880.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “I mean... it’s really real. And you’re... Wow, you’re almost a hundred-and-fifty. Years. Old. I can’t even begin to try to imagine what that’d be like. To live and to see the world change and evolve and... Has it been worth it?”

“Every single second, love.”

“Why were you bitten?”

“Why? Not sure if that’s the right way to ask it, but I’ll humor you this once. Dru found me. Took pity on me. Changed my fate, she did. Delivered me. Saved me.”

Buffy eyed him for a few seconds, then said:

“I don’t believe that. I think that the only one who can really change your fate is you. In the end, it’s your choice, right? Who you are, what you do. You chose to change into a vampire. You chose to leave mortality, and all that came with it, behind.”

“But without her there wouldn’t have been a choice to make.”

“So what happened? My God. She was the one who bit you? In 1880? You were with her for over a century?” She paused, letting it sink in before she finished with: “What could possibly have come between you?”

He shook out another cigarette from their box and flicked on his lighter, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out before answering:

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head with, pet.”

“You must have loved her.”

He stared at the Slayer for a brief moment, his face going from astounded at hearing those words out of her mouth, to serious.

“I did,” he then confirmed. “More than... myself, at times.”

She smiled a crooked smile at that.

“That’s what love is,” she said. “What it’s supposed to be. I bet you Andy wouldn’t do anything for me.”

“Andy?”

“This guy I’ve been... not seeing. Not yet. But trying to see. Was supposed to see, right before I was sent here,” she explained. “Not that I’m complaining,” she added with another smile and he returned it, not entirely sure why.

“Welcome to the dark side,” he then said, holding up his beer bottle.

She raised her glass and clinked it against the bottle’s neck.

“Let’s see if we can brighten it up,” she countered and he smirked.

¤

“I really don’t have anything to say,” she stated, finishing her fifth drink.

An hour had passed, not that they’d taken any notice.

“Come on, you cannot not have a sodding opinion about this,” he pressed. “Lord knows you have one about everything else,” he added under his breath.

“What was that?” she asked, squinting at him and he smiled, swallowing down a mouthful of beer and faking innocence. “I just don’t think that it’s really for me. All that walking and never knowing if you’ll have a place to sleep.”

“You’ve clearly never traveled.”

“Hey!” she pouted. “Just so happens I’ve been to Miami. Twice.”

“Really? Vacation?”

“Family,” she muttered. “On my dad’s side,” she added. “And if you laugh...!”

He wiped the grin off as well as he could.

“What I’m saying,” he then said, “is that backpacking isn’t about the walking or the place you stay, it’s about seeing stuff that’s not in the guidebooks. Going somewhere no one else might ever have been. It’s about discovering, experiencing. Culture and people and a world that isn’t your own. ‘Course, it helps if there isn’t an angry mob on your bloody heel threatening to burn you into a pile of ashes, you get to see more if you don’t have to rush it.”

She gave him a half smile.

“I dunno if I’d like it,” she confessed. “I’m Give-Me-Comfort girl. Don’t really enjoy slumming it.”

“Then why are you staying with me?” he asked and she smiled another bright smile.

“You’re far from slumming it,” she replied, her gaze soft in his and he blinked before looking away, pushing back the very real sense of pleasure traveling up his spine.

Across the room he spotted a familiar face, smiling at the woman just as Buffy’s eyes followed his. She raised her eyebrows, taking in the skin tight leather the woman was wearing, her flow of red locks and the wicked twinkle in her gaze as she rested it in Spike’s. Buffy soon decided she didn’t like the stranger. At all. Thankfully the latter was soon out of sight and didn’t seem to be reappearing.

“So, I take it you’ve traveled?” Buffy asked and had Spike’s eyes in hers again.

“I’ve seen everything I’ve ever wanted to see. Twice.”

“Hah-hah. You know, I’ve been wondering – why did you stick around here after Drusilla left you? I mean, I take it you didn’t have the chip in your head when she broke it off, right?”

“No, I didn’t. But... we weren’t in Sunnydale when Dru left.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Where were you?”

“...Brazil.”

She looked disbelieving.

“You were on the other side of the world? Without a chip?”

“Yup.”

“Without a chip and still you decided to come back here?”

“Yes, without the buggering chip! I heard of this old legend that could help me... That would’ve, if you hadn’t... Bollocks.”

“I’ll go get us a new round of drinks and then you can tell me all about ‘If I hadn’t’,” she said, rising and walking up to the bar.

He ran a hand over his face, massaging the bridge of his nose and wondering where all this truth was spilling from.

Lie to her, dammit, he told himself. Just lie to her.

¤

Two hours later those words still had difficulty sinking in, and since he rarely got drunk on mere beer he couldn’t blame any sort of outside influence. He hated how she kept asking questions he couldn’t resist answering. He hated how he kept asking questions wanting to know her bloody answer. This wasn’t how he had pictured the evening, at all. Where had his upper hand gone? Where had his goddamn self-respect disappeared to?

Now she was giggling at a story she had been telling of Shawna something trying to hook up with Gary something and what a mess their children would be.

“Not that I judge,” she said, still chuckling. “But between her frizz and while we’re on the subject, who does your hair? I mean, doesn’t it hurt bleaching it that white over and over and over... Because it grows, right? And you’re... dark? Ever thought of changing it back?”

“Don’t dis the blondeness, little one,” a female voice said, its owner – the disgusting redhead – soon leaning her upper body against Spike’s arm, one of her hands snaking around his neck, burying her fingers in his short strands. “Makes him stand out in a much too dull crowd.”

He smirked, eyes in Buffy’s until he turned his head to the other and his mouth met hers in a deep kiss. Buffy felt the blood drain from her face, her heart practically stop in her chest and her gaze slowly grow darker. Finally the kiss was ended and the woman smiled at the Slayer before giving Spike a final peck atop his head, then moving off.

Buffy wasn’t completely sober, but the jealousy tearing through her was too poignant to miss.

Spike tilted his head a little to one side, observing the scathing look the youngster was giving the back of the lady moving away. Vampiress, of course. Happy little playmate, whenever he felt the need for one. He hadn’t in a while, but wasn’t about to confess that to the Slayer.

The latter now moved her gaze into his.

She easily read the smugness on him.

Bastard, she thought, knowing she didn’t have the right and still getting madder and madder at him.

She rose, focusing all her energy on keeping herself from swaying, and then she proceeded to the bar. The place had filled quite nicely, she had to be able to find some sort of catch in there. Something to show that vampire that she didn’t need him. That he could walk off with whatever trollop might stick her tongue down his throat if he wanted to.

She slipped herself gracefully up on a stool and slammed her hand onto the counter.

“Cosmopolitan,” she said, Willy raising an eyebrow and then complying.

Buffy scanned the faces closest to her.

“Do seriously no humans come in here?” she asked as Willy handed her the drink.

“They come in and turn right back around,” he winked; then checked himself and moved away from her nervously.

She frowned, about to take a sip when her eyes met the gaze of a young man across the bar. He smiled gently and she returned it. After a few more smiles and a subtle tossing of her hair he was on his way up to her. He was pretty handsome; dark eyes and broad shoulders.

“Hello,” she greeted.

“Why, hello, there,” he said smoothly, leaning against the counter next to her.

“I like your hair,” she said, moving her fingers into his black locks. “Mind if I touch?”

“I’d mind if you didn’t.”

“Oh, cute,” she smiled.

Spike watched the debacle, mildly amused. It was a vampire she was buttering up, did she even realize that? He observed her body language, the approving twinkle in her green eyes and the smile on her mouth and finally came to the conclusion that she didn’t, getting to his feet he was soon at her side.

“Party’s over,” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her off the stool.

“Spike!” she exclaimed. “Let go! ...I’m so sorry,” she added to the dark haired. “He’s in impatience management. Only he’s not managing it very good yet.”

Spike walked them back up to the booth, grabbing her coat and throwing a few dollars on the table before dragging her with him outside. Well there he almost ripped the coat in half putting it on her and then he grabbed her wrist again.

“That’s it!” she yelled, tearing loose. “You really don’t have to do this. I know you don’t really want to. You only don’t want to get staked later. Oh, yeah, I can get smartened up too! It’s not like everything you say just whoosh go right by me! I don’t need you to protect me from the scary, scary vampires. I don’t want you to! Understand? Is it getting through! So go. I’ll stay. Think I’m afraid? Watch me!”

He let her get halfway through the door before he caught her and lifted her into his arms.

“Put me down!” she screamed, kicking her legs.

“You can tantrum all you bloody well want, Slayer,” he said, carrying her down the sidewalk and into the alley behind the bar.

He put her down, leaning her against the wall. She was breathing from fury, glaring up at him.

“I wish I had a stake right now,” she stated and he smirked.

“Do you?” he asked, leaning closer.

“I do,” she murmured, her eyes drifting to his lips and then jerking back up into his again, her annoyance as intact as ever.

“No, you don’t,” he said, voice lowered as he stepped into her, hand sliding to rest on her hip.

She swallowed, the suction occurring in her stomach once more and she frowned lightly, her hands slipping up his arms, her fingers finding their way into his hair as his mouth hovered less than an inch away.

“You’re just jealous,” he mumbled, her fingers becoming fists as she pulled down hard, getting his head away from her. “Ow,” he protested and she let him go. He rubbed his neck, wearing a slight smile. “You good and ready to go?”

She walked passed him, buttoning her coat and shaking her hair to lay behind her shoulders as she continued on her way. He looked at her back, still smiling as he followed.

She didn’t speak two words to him, merely marched on ahead.

“Where are we going?” he called out, but she only walked faster.

They arrived at the cemetery hosting his crypt and he caught up with her.

“Buffy, stop. Buffy!”

She twirled to face him, quizzical and demanding.

“It’s still early,” he said. “If you wanna go back there – do. But I’m not coming.”

“Why are you telling me? Thought it was your style to skulk off into the shadows without so much as a whistle! And if you’re going back to Willy’s I’m not coming, ‘cause... ‘cause I don’t believe in leaving a place and then all of a sudden showing up there again! It isn’t... my style!”

“Why are you so bleeding upset! You’ve had fun tonight, right?”

“Have you?” she bit back, but her eyes told how real that question was and he contemplated it before giving a shrug.

“Wasn’t the worst time of my life,” he muttered and her anger seemed to melt away slightly. “Wasn’t the best either,” he added quickly. “Are you coming or not?”

“Where?”

“The Bronze, I guess.”

“Fine,” she said, beginning to walk again.

He came up beside her and once more silence reigned.

Her mind had cleared slightly of alcohol after their quick promenade, and she kept telling herself that it was a test, he was testing her. And all she really wanted to know was if she was passing, or failing.

Pick a Word

¤

It was Saturday and the Bronze was happening. The dance floor was packed and there wasn’t an available table in the place. Buffy looked around, wondering if she might see Willow. Since there was no obvious sign of the Wicca she followed Spike up to the bar.

“Beer,” he said, turning his head to her.

“Tequila.”

“Slayer...”

“Tequila,” she repeated firmly, seeing a group of people rising from their spot and signing to Spike that she was going for the table.

He gave a nod and she left his side, arriving half a moment before another girl and sinking down on a chair as the other had to head back to her disappointed friends.

“It’s a tough world,” Buffy philosophized to herself, having her drink be put down before her and she smiled her thanks to Spike.

He watched her as she downed the liquor, suckling on the piece of lime that had come with it and looking out over the crowded room.

“Where’d you get the money?” he asked and her eyebrows rose. “For the furniture,” he elaborated.

“College fund,” she replied and his eyes grew wide. She had to laugh. “Relax,” she smiled. “Totally joking. I wasn’t completely broke and it wasn’t expensive.”

“I could’ve...”

“No, you would’ve chosen a bright red couch that would’ve been too big and a chandelier for the ceiling just for the hell of it and oriental rugs for the floor. My way’s better.”

“Hmh, kinda like the oriental rugs bit, though.”

“Dream on.”

“Whose home are we decorating here?”

“And the spider...”

“You can’t touch the spider.”

“Actually, that’s spiders, and... oh, my god, I love this song!”

She was on her feet in the next instant, heading up to the dance floor where she easily began to move with the rhythm of the music. He reluctantly let his gaze find her, and was transfixed. So transfixed that he didn’t see the fist being swung at his jaw until it was too late and he was tumbling out of the chair. He spun around, coming face to face with a furious Riley.

“I’m surprised you’d dare show your face here,” the human stated, the vampire getting to his feet easily.

“I’m surprised you care to show yours at all.”

Riley grabbed him by the collar of the duster.

“If you hurt her...”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mate! Well, I would, but...”

“If you touch her I swear I’ll...”

“What? You’ll what? And what if she starts it?” Spike asked just as Buffy’s voice rang to the side of them:

“What’s going on here? Riley. Let him go.”

Riley stared at her, slowly doing as she asked and taking a step away from the vampire. The human looked from the Slayer to the Vamp and then turning, almost colliding with Willow before heading to the exit. The redhead fastened her gaze in Buffy’s, and the Slayer sighed.

“Hi,” she then said and Willow smiled slightly.

“Hi,” she said back.

“Care to join us, Red?” Spike asked and she gave him a black look before saying to Buffy:

“I need to talk with you.”

“I’m coming,” Buffy replied, the Wicca leaving and Buffy stopping before Spike.

Her fingertips lightly brushed his hand as she looked up at him.

“You okay?” she asked and he wondered why his mouth was going dry.

“Takes a bit more than what Soldier boy’s got to dent me,” he murmured and she smiled a small smile at that, turning and heading in Willow’s footsteps.

His eyes didn’t leave her back until it was completely swallowed by the crowd.

¤

Buffy had a seat on the couch, which also hosted her two best friends, or so she supposed. Xander’s right leg was shaking, and he was twisting his hands. He looked like he was about to have a meltdown. Willow was calm, though, and Buffy chose to focus on her.

“We may have found something,” she said and Buffy had her breath catch in her throat. “We need you to stop by Giles’ tomorrow.”

“Alone, if that’s possible,” Xander muttered.

Buffy gave him a look, then smiled at Willow.

“Sure, I can do that,” she said.

“So, how are things?”

“Fanged, bleached and spinning totally out of control?” Xander added.

“Alright, what! What’s up with you?” Buffy asked.

“What’s up with me? Right now, nothing’s up with me. Everything about me is brought down by the fact that this spazed out version of one of my best friends has inhabited her own body and now is wreaking havoc with the work that she herself has built over a long, long period of time!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you shouldn’t be appearing in bars and swaggering about and dancing for and living with that... that...”

“Yes, what? What is he? You can’t even pick a word, can you? So save it.” She rose. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said over her shoulder to Willow as she left.

“Evildemonicsadistichatefulfiend!” Xander grumbled and Willow gave him an empathic look.

“You needed to pick one.”

“Yeah, I know, I just pulled them together into one big, long one.”

¤

Buffy walked aimlessly around the room, feeling weighed down by the mistrust from the people who were supposed to know her the best. She saw Spike speaking with a pretty girl who was seemed completely lost in his gaze and without thinking she headed for the backdoor. Slipping into the alley she leaned against the brick wall and closed her eyes.

Why wouldn’t he only be toying with her, she asked herself. Why should she think, for even a second, that the time they’d spent together had had some sort of impact on him? He’d made it pretty clear that he could care less whether she stayed or left, whether she was nearby or...

“Hear only misfits hang around in darkened alleyways,” his voice sounded beside her and she jerked, turning her head to him.

He flicked his lighter shut, having just lit a new cigarette.

“Then you heard right,” she murmured, though the satisfaction pouring through her at seeing him was quickly beginning to light up her sullen features.

“Friends ragging on you?”

“Or something like it,” she answered, exasperated. “They seem to have lost all faith in me... Then again, that faith wasn’t in me... it was in her. And she’s not here, so they’re wigging. I’d be too, so I can’t blame them. Though, I wish they’d stop making me feel like I’ve done something wrong, just by...”

Her gaze met his and she trailed off.

He blew out the smoke, eyeing her.

Finally she looked away, wrapping her arms around herself.

He dropped the cigarette to the ground and reached out a hand. She furrowed her brow, gaze back in his; then she carefully slipped her hand in his. He offered her a small smile and then pulled her with him inside.

They made their way up to the dance floor, the music being soft, slow. He linked their fingers together, getting her to take a step closer. She tilted her head back to look up at him, enjoying the way the dim light of the room played with his features, threw shadows over his paleness and gleam in his blue eyes. They began to move together, swaying, her gaze not leaving his.

His free hand moved up to her cheek, pausing before he let his fingertips gently run down it.

“Let’s show them what they’re missing,” he whispered into her ear.

She smiled slightly, wishing she didn’t feel special or selected or any of the things he made her feel. It was a great ride, but what happened when it stopped or broke down or fell apart? She put those thoughts aside and decided to enjoy this moment, hoping that at least this she would be able to remember.

With both hands free she slowly moved them up and around his neck, getting herself even closer to him as his palms slid to place themselves at the small of her back. Her coat had been left at the table, forgotten, and so his fingers with no effort rested directly against her skin.

She was nearly trembling, but her unwillingness to show it won out and she was able to control it.

Her gaze was locked with his again, but she couldn’t infer the expression in them. She felt a longing, but was sure that it was only wishful thinking when she thought she saw a reflection of it in his eyes.

¤

“No!” she exclaimed. “No, you can’t seriously dub ‘Braindead’ a valid motion picture! All it has in it is blood and... blood. Hmh, I can suddenly see why it’d appeal to you.”

“It’s funny!” he defended.

“It is not funny spitting up a whole dog! That’s gore, and gore is not valid! I’m telling you, a movie should have a plot!”

“The plot is that there are zombies who bleeding well try to eat the... Oh, forget it,” he muttered.

She giggled, taking another mouthful of the coffee she was drinking. They were walking back to the crypt. It was nearly four o’clock and Buffy was happy. She was happy he had stayed by her after her run-in with Willow and over-protective-much Xander. She was happy the vamp had danced with her, and then shared a few drinks with her and then had danced with her again, and then had talked with her and then it had been a little bit of a blur until she was outside with the coffee in her hands.

“What’s your favorite movie?” she asked.

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s. The ending makes me cry.”

She boxed him on the arm and he smirked.

“Do you have any idea how many movies I’ve seen? Think I can actually pick one and say: this?”

“Fine. My favorite movie is Serpico.” He raised his eyebrows. “What?” she wondered. “I love Al Pacino, alright?”

“Alright.”

They slowed as they neared their goal, the cemetery resting peacefully around them. Buffy smiled to herself at nothing in particular as they stopped in front of the door which would bring them into their makeshift home.

“So,” she said.

“So,” he agreed.

He held her gaze for a dragged out second and then simply turned and walked inside, leaving the door open for her. She stood stumped for a moment or two, then snapped out of it.

“What was I expecting?” she mumbled as she entered, shutting the door behind her.

He had already gone downstairs and she put the coffee down on a sarcophagus before walking up to the loveseat still hosting most of her clothes. She changed into a top and pajama pants, wrinkling her nose at the smell of smoke still clinging to her hair and deciding on a shower the next morning; which meant another trip to UCS...

I’ll deal with that then, she thought to herself.

Climbing down the ladder she yawned, walking up to the bed and sliding in beneath the covers.

“A pillow never felt this good,” she mumbled contentedly. “...Spike?”

“What?”

“Thank you... I really had a good time tonight.”

He didn’t answer, merely shifted position.

“Spike?”

“What?” he muttered and she smiled at his impatience.

“Sleep tight.”

Again he shifted.

“Spike?”

“Slayer.”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry... if I make you look bad. I don’t get the whole demon thing, but it seemed like you aren’t their favorite vampire right now.”

“Well, that’s their prerogative,” he muttered, shifting once more before adding: “And you don’t make me look bad. If anything you make me look...”

He trailed off and she turned on her side, opening her eyes and being rather surprised as she rested them in his; his head turned to her.

“Good?” she offered and he smiled.

“I was gonna say ‘leashed’.”

“Ouch.”

He smirked.

“Gotta sleep,” he said and she nodded. “Good night, Slayer.”

“Can’t you call me Buffy? Slayer sounds so terribly impersonal and to be honest – it still creeps me out a little.”

His smirk widened.

“Good night, Buffy,” he complied silently.

“Good night, Spike,” she said, curling up before closing her eyes.

He didn’t though. He couldn’t, for some reason. He lay there, and watched her fall asleep.

¤

“And then that should break the spell,” Willow finished her presentation.

It was close to ten o’clock in the morning and Buffy wasn’t feeling too hot. Granted, the shower had perked her up for about twenty minutes, but those twenty minutes had then been used to get to Giles’ place and now she was quickly sinking. She needed about eight more hours of sleep and twenty-five cups of coffee. How those two were supposed to mesh was another matter. She kept down a yawn and nodded.

“So... all I have to do is read a poem?”

“It’s a chant,” Willow said. “Tara thinks it might be powerful enough, and I agree.”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

“Buffy, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! I’m not going to risk myself ending up in another different thingy where people might walk upside down and the cows might speak French and who knows what else! I don’t want to try anything if it’s not absolutely, one-hundred percent safe. And proven. Proven to safely bring me back to my year. I’m sorry. Thanks for all your hard work and... keep at it. Or whatever I’d say. I’ll see you later.”

She put her sunglasses back on and got off the chair.

Giles watched her as she left, leaning against the kitchen counter as the door closed.

“Bugger,” he muttered.

¤

“Calor, you have had your fun. This may prove dangerous for her friends, you do realize that. You cannot tamper with Fate. If she is not where she is supposed to be...”

“Another few days, Ath. And Fate does not let anything mess with it, if the Slayer is supposed to be somewhere, she will be there.”

“She will be killed.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Your vanity will be your downfall.”

“The lesson is yet to be learned. Even the Powers would recognize that.”

“I will have no more of it.”

“You’ll miss one grand finale. Pity.”

“You are ill.”

“I respect the Slayer, do not ever say that to me again! This is for her own good. She must understand that the truth of her has never been what she can do, but what she can feel. What she can see.”

“You have done a fine job at rendering her blind, Cal. You are not a fitting teacher in matters of humanity. Leave them be now – I beg of you.”

“You should probably leave.”

“Indeed.”

She left the room in a huff, but he didn’t mind it.

“Soon the veil will be lifted and we shall see if you have passed or failed, Slayer. We shall see.”

¤

“Forever young. I want to be forever young. Do you really want to live forever? Forever, and ever? Forever young. I want to be forever young...”

“Bloody hell, I’ll bite you myself just to make you shut up!”

She turned her head to him with a smile, standing on a chair as she tried to find some way of fastening the curtain rods, which she had bought, to the thick stone wall beside each niche that was the prelude to the windows.

“You’re awake!”

“You’ve been chanting those lines incessantly for fifteen sodding minutes! They were bound to wake me up.”

“Thought my voice did that,” she remarked, still smiling. “Since you’re here, mind helping me with this?”

“What is it?”

“It’s for the curtains.”

“Curtains?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want them.”

“But they’re marine. They’ll go with the couch. They’ll keep sunlight out of here during the day.”

“Usually, if you can remember, I’m not up much during the day.”

“You need curtains.”

“I don’t need anything of the sort!”

She raised her eyebrows, about to move the rod down when the chair wobbled and she let out a yell as she lost her balance. She was caught by his strong arms, his hold tightening slightly to steady them both before he placed her on her feet. She looked up at him, heart still racing in her chest.

“Thanks,” she mumbled; her hands on his arms and he moved a little away from her, eyes holding hers and a puzzled expression drawing over his features before he shrugged.

“Don’t do it again,” he merely said. “And leave the bleeding curtains where they are. Don’t care if they go with the couch. Understand?”

“Gottcha,” she nodded and he narrowed his eyes.

“Weren’t you supposed to meet with Red?”

“I did. They were all there... telling me how they had this plan for getting me back to the way I was. Or am supposed to be or... whatever.”

He tilted his head slightly to one side and she could have sworn he was holding his breath. Then, of course, she remembered he didn’t have one. But that look in his eye... Was it disappointment? Anticipation, more likely, at getting her out of there once and for all. Why would he be disappointed! Gosh, she was so silly.

“But it didn’t work?” he now asked and she was brought out of her musings as she blinked wonderingly. “Well, you’re here, right? So whatever it was they’d planned didn’t work.”

“No,” she agreed. “I mean, I didn’t try it. It was some strange spell or other and I didn’t feel cool with the whole deal. God knows where I might’ve ended up! They weren’t even sure, and they wanted me to read it!”

“Doesn’t sound like the bleeding poof not to be sure,” Spike mumbled almost to himself, then he seemed to be back with her because he met her gaze and added: “But it was good that you didn’t do anything you didn’t think was right. Spells are tricky, you know? Not to be fooled around with. As far as I know Red’s not even a real witch yet. ‘S good you went with your hunch.”

He gave her a nod as underlining and then headed up to the ladder, climbing down it. She stared at the hole for a long moment, then smirked. The smirk soon turned into a frown.

“Willow’s a witch?” she asked out loud.