Chapter 1:

~*~

Thunk.

Buffy turned to her Watcher, grinning. “See, Jenny?” she said triumphantly. “I’ve totally mastered the knife thing.”

“I’d kind of hoped you had.” Jenny walked over to the target, carefully examining the knife. “Now we can start with crossbow!” she said with a bright smile, turning to the teen.

Buffy’s triumphant smile instantly disappeared. “Come on, Jenny, you told me I could go to the Bronze,” she whined, picking up a knife and balancing the handle on her finger. “Besides, I could kill an elephant with a crossbow.”

“Which, given that an elephant’s eye is as big as Wesley’s head, would be such a difficult feat,” Jenny retorted, smiling slightly.

Wesley poked his head out of the stacks, where he’d been buried in demon mythology. “I say, did someone say my name?” he inquired. “Because if you’re in need of any assistance, I’d be delighted to help.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “Wesley, the only reason we’re here is because most kids on campus don’t even know the library exists,” she said bluntly. “We don’t need your help.”

He puffed himself up indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I’m a Council-trained expert on demons!”

“And I’m a Council-trained expert on killing them,” Buffy replied, rolling her eyes. “Go back to your books, Wesley.”

Luckily for her (or maybe him), he did, muttering about insolent teens. She really, really wished there was a different room they could practice in…but unfortunately, the library was the only place Jenny had found for them. It really kinda sucked, because they had to put up with Wesley’s whining every day. “You’re sure we can’t just practice in the computer lab?” Buffy asked, only half-jokingly.

“If you feel like replacing thousands of dollars of equipment, sure,” Jenny replied. “Now: crossbow.”

“Now: Bronze.” Buffy insisted. “Please, Jenny? A happy Slayer is a non-suicidal one,” she sang with a grin.

Jenny winced. “I really wish you wouldn’t talk that way.”

“Let me go to the Bronze and I won’t.” Buffy looked at her hopefully.

Jenny could tell that there was no way she was going to win this argument. “Fine,” she sighed, “Go. Have fun. But come to class tomorrow!” she yelled at Buffy retreating back.

“Will do, Miss Calendar!” Buffy called in a half-mocking voice as she left the library.

Jenny watched her go, sighing. Buffy was so young, so exuberant, that at times it was difficult to remember that she was the Slayer. Thinking that she was 17 and therefore had a maximum of eight more years left in her life made the computer teacher’s chest feel tight.

She was jolted out of her reverie by the phone ringing. “I’ve got it—aah!” Wesley yelped as he fell down the stairs, books tumbling with him.

Jenny rolled her eyes and picked up the phone. “Sunnydale High, Miss Calendar speaking...oh, hi, Rupert! What? And he just—okay. Yes, I’ll try to tell her. No, she just ran out a moment ago. Yes. Well, I can always try, can’t I? Why’d you let him—oh. That makes sense. then. Yes, I’ll talk to you soon. Rupert, if you want me to find her, I really have to go. Yes, I’ll call when I do. Okay, Rupert. Rupert! Drink some tea or something!...okay, bye.” Jenny hung up the phone. Her face was grim.

“Is there a problem? Something I can help with?” Wesley asked eagerly. He was covered in dust and his glasses were askew.

“No, Wesley. Now shut up. I’m going to find Buffy; we have a problem.” She grabbed her car keys and a cross and left the library. As she climbed into her car, she sent a brief prayer up to the heavens: Please don’t let me be too late.

A few minutes earlier...

“So, Rupes, remind me again why we’re in the States?”

“Business,” Giles replied vaguely. He was perusing a book he’d pulled out of his suitcase.

Spike rolled his eyes; trust Rupes to be more interested in books than in making their motel room even remotely more livable. “Well, ‘m goin’ out. I wanna kill something.”

“Don’t get hurt,” Giles advised him, not even looking up from his book.

“Right. ‘Cuz I always come back limping,” Spike said sarcastically. When Giles didn’t answer he snapped his fingers in front of the older man’s face. “’ey! Brit-boy! Wake up!”

“Hm?” Giles looked up, his face telling Spike that he hadn’t heard a word of what Spike had said.

“’m going out,” Spike replied in a slow, measured voice. “Bloody hell, Rupert, the least you could do is listen to me. Isn’t that what you Watchers are supposed to do?”

Giles pursed his lips. “Generally a Watcher’s Slayer isn’t half so disobedient,” he said primly, cleaning his glasses.

“Yeah, I know, I’m a bad boy, spank me,” Spike said impatiently. “Look, ‘f I have to stay in this fleabag motel much longer, I’m gonna piss myself from boredom. Talk to you later, yeah?”

“What? No! Spike, you need to know why we’re here first!”

“I can kill a few demons without a lesson, but thanks,” Spike said, shrugging into his leather duster. “You worry too much, you know that? Go get drunk or something.”

“Spike—“

“I’m going out. Honestly, when did you get this paranoid?” And with that, Spike opened the door and left.

Giles stared at the now-closed door, completely flummoxed, as he listened to the DeSoto drive away. They cannot be allowed to meet. That would spell absolute disaster. Luckily, there was a possibility that he wouldn’t meet her tonight...Giles hurriedly phoned Miss Calendar.

When he hung up his worry had increased tenfold. From what he’d heard of the girl, she’d kill first and ask questions later. If Jenny didn’t reach her Slayer in time, tonight could be absolutely catastrophic.

Giles didn’t waste any more time. Grabbing his keys, he ran outside and drove off.

~*~

Geez. Why was it that whenever something interesting was going on in her life, there were always a million vamps to kill, but the second she actually wanted to go patrolling all the vampires in Sunnydale were mysteriously AWOL?

“If I don’t find something to hit soon…” Buffy muttered, peering around what seemed like the thousandth mausoleum that night.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Slayer.”

She sighed in relief. Thank you, whichever God makes bad guys pop out of nowhere, she thought, turning around. “You know, if I had a penny for every time someone said that sentence, I could totally retire,” she quipped, grabbing a stake.

The vampire sneered. “Too bad I’m gonna kill you, you won’t get a chance to collect.”

“Whatever.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Can we just start fighting already? Because, you know, I don’t come to cemeteries for the social scene—and hey, what are you doing running away like that?” she yelled after the vamp. For some reason, he’d all of a sudden started running away during her little speech. “Get back here!” She yelled after him. Unfortunately, he was already out of sight—she’d been too surprised to follow him.

“Stupid evil,” she muttered, pocketing her stake and turning around. “You’d think they could stick around long enough for a—oh, crap.”

Standing in front of her were three very large, very ugly, very red demons.

“Okay,” she said slowly, backing away. “Maybe I should’ve stopped by home and gotten my axe.”

The demons did nothing but growl as they advanced towards her; apparently they weren’t the talky types.

“Do you think maybe you could, you know, wait here till I get back with an axe and chop your head off?” Buffy asked hopefully. “Because that would be really—ow!” she cried out as the nearest demon swung at her face. The force of his blow knocked her to the ground, but she leapt to her feet almost immediately. “Screw weapons,” she snapped, “You are so going down. I think that’ll leave a bruise!”

And with that last petulant remark, she leapt at them.

Unfortunately for her, three was two too many for her to beat when she was weaponless. They were so huge that no matter how many times she hit them or kicked them, they just bounced back, ready for more. Buffy had a limit even in her adrenalin-charged state, and she was starting to realize that she’d reached it.

Dangit! I wanted easy-to-kill demons…oh, God. I’m losing, she thought desperately. Two of them were cornering her up against a crypt. No matter how hard I fight they’re going to beat me! Her fist flew out; one of them caught it and bent her wrist back cruelly. Not enough to break it, but enough to force Buffy to do something she almost never did.

“AAAAUUUUGH!!!!!”

After that, several things happened all at once. She was knocked aside—by what, she wasn’t sure. Spots swam before her eyes and she struggled to stand, expecting at any moment to be killed by one of those demons. But when she turned around, she saw a sight that almost made her pass out.

One of the demons was making its way towards her, but two of them were decidedly occupied by a lean man who was hefting what appeared to be an axe with ease. The sharp metal swung through the air, making an odd whistling noise, as he hacked into one of the demons.

For a second all Buffy could do was stare. Who the heck was he and why was he helping her out? But when the demon aimed a whack at her, Slayer instincts took over, and the fight was on again.

Knowing that an armed ally was watching her back (or at least hoping that he was) made the fight go much more smoothly. Having only one demon to worry about, Buffy swiftly dispatched it, wincing at the crunch of bone that resulted from her driving her stake through the thing’s head. I am so never going to forget my knife again… she thought, doing her best to wipe her stake off on the grass.

Suddenly she froze. Her mysterious helper was still working on one demon—that wasn’t the problem. What had shocked her was that this guy, whoever he was, was making her Slayer senses go crazy.

No, make that whatever. Because this guy was definitely not human. She scrambled to her feet. The tingles on the back of her neck weren’t vampire, or not what she was used to, anyway, but she could never be too careful…she watched closely for a hint of fang as he swiped his axe at the demon.

Then it happened. He grabbed the demon’s arm, swung it, and threw the demon ten feet away. His axe followed, swishing through the air and embedding itself in the demon’s heart.

And just like that, Buffy knew. All the air left her lungs, and all she could do was let out a squeak.

Spike turned to the girl. He’d heard her scream and had come to help her, thankful that he was going to get some action tonight. He was actually rather surprised that she hadn’t run off; they usually did when he rescued—

Suddenly he froze, acutely aware of the way his neck was tingling like mad. His eyes widened, finally taking in the bloodied stake that she was clutching familiarly.

“Bloody—“ he began.

“Holy—“ the girl said.

“hell.”

“shit.
 

Chapter 2:
~*~

Buffy was staring—no, make that gaping—at him. He was a Slayer. Mysterious helper-guy was a Slayer. As in, the Chosen One—except he was a guy, and she was supposed to be the Chosen One!

This was so not fair...

Spike was staring at the tiny girl in front of him. How—what the bloody hell had just happened? His Slayer senses were still going insane, but now he could tell the subtle differences between her signature and the one that screamed vampire. His senses weren’t warning him that an enemy was near—they were clamoring in welcome.

“You’re a sodding Slayer,” he said, and though he’d meant for it to come out as a question, it ended up sounding more like an accusation.

Buffy’s hands balled into fists. “Your point being?” she said in a dangerous voice, her eyes narrowing. This guy might be a Slayer, but she’d be willing to bet she could take him...or at least try.

“M’ point being, you’ve got a slight case of being a girl,” he snapped. “An’ last time I checked, the Slayer was male. Me.”

Buffy took a deep breath. Okay. Calm down. There is probably some rational non-Hellmouthy reason why some guy is talking to me and claiming that I’m not supposed to exist because I’m a girl. She closed her eyes briefly, fighting for control—and then punched him in the nose.

“’ey! You bloody bitch!” he yelped, clutching his face. “See, this is why girls aren’t Slayers. You’re too damn moody!”

OK. That was it. “You’re trying to tell me that I’m not a Slayer?” she demanded. “I just rammed wood through a big red monster thingy!”

“Humans can do that,” he informed her, smirking past his swollen nose.

“Oh yeah?” Buffy said, advancing on him in what she knew was a dangerous manner. “So, bleach-boy, can humans do this?” She leapt forward, kicking him in the chest, putting her full Slayer strength behind the kick. He flew into the air; Buffy watched with satisfaction as he yelled futile threats at her before landing in a heap next to a tombstone.

Her satisfaction faded when he stood up. Holy crap, he looked pissed off. All of a sudden she was a whole lot less sure about her ability to take him in a fight.

Spike had passed the point where he was just pissed off—that kick had made him so angry he was starting to understand that there was a literal meaning behind “seeing red”. “You stupid bint,” he growled, advancing on her. “I oughta kill you for that.”

She rolled her eyes, sticking out her hips in a manner that all of a sudden made it very obvious that she was a tiny, delicate girl. A girl with the strength of ten men.

A girl who, he realized as she opened her plump lips to speak, was one damn hot little piece, especially with her hair all silvery in the moonlight and her clothes all rumpled from the fight…Spike shook himself. Come off it, mate. Crazy girl sayin’ she’s a Slayer, remember?

“Kill me?” she snapped, her green eyes flashing. “Please. I could so kick your sorry ass!”

Too bad she was a complete bitch.

“Is that what you think, Blondie?” Spike asked, advancing on her. “You think ‘d let you put your little hands all over my hot bod?”

“My fists,” she corrected. “And sorry, but I’d do as little touching of your hot bod as possible.”

He affected a hurt look, putting his hand over his heart. “Now that hurt, Slayer,” he said mockingly.

“See?” she said triumphantly. “I kicked you, and now you’re calling me Slayer. We’re making progress.”

Damn. He had, hadn’t he? Spike was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she was a girl, and a Slayer, and standing right in front of him. When he got his hand on ol’ Rupes…

“Doesn’t mean I think you are one,” he retorted, smirking, trying to ignore how badly he wanted to walk forward a bit more and touch her. “I just don’t know your name, is all.”

She pursed her lips. “Yeah, well, if you think I’m telling you, you are so off your meds,” she informed him.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Look, ‘f you’re a Slayer, you have a Watcher, right? So take me to ‘im.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re a Slayer, you should have one, too,” she retorted. “So why don’t you take me to her?”

Her? “Don’t think Rupes would like being called a girl, pet,” he said, grinning inwardly.

“Yeah, well, Jenny wouldn’t like being called a—“

“Wait! Stop! William!”

“Buffy! Hold on! Don’t hit him!”

Buffy blinked. Jenny was racing through the graveyard at top speed, dodging tombstones and gasping for breath, and on the other side of the cemetery, a man in tweed was doing the same. Buffy sent a quizzical glance toward the Slayer-guy. “Your Watcher?” she asked, nodding to the Wesley-esque man. The guy—William?—nodded. “An lemme guess,” he said, nodding at Jenny, who’d just screeched to a halt at Buffy’s side. “That bird there ‘s yours?”

“Um, yeah,” Buffy said. “What are you doing here, Jenny?”

“I need to tell you,” Jenny gasped. “Wiliam—he’s a Slayer. Slayers can be—“

“Bleached blonde, obnoxious and male?” Buffy snapped, not bothering to hide her state of extreme pissed-offedness. “Yeah, I’d kind of noticed. And I want an explanation. Now.”

“Well, you’ll get one, just as soon as we—can breathe.”

Buffy glanced over at William. Tweed-guy had caught up to them and was copying Jenny’s exhausted pose. He extended a hand to Buffy’s Watcher. “Rupert Giles. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Jenny Calendar,” Jenny said, nodding but not bothering to take the hand. “Likewise.”

“Finally?” Buffy exclaimed, at the same time as Spike said, “You mean you were plannin’ this?”

“William, all will be explained in due time,” Giles said, waving a hand. “Please, just calm down. Introduce yourself to Buffy—knowing you, you haven’t bothered yet.”

Spike smirked. Trust a chit like that to have an idiot’s name. “’lo,” he said, nodding to her. “Name’s Spike. ‘m a vampire slayer.” He added the last part just to taunt her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Spike?” she said, in the same tone most people would’ve said horse shit. “I thought your name was William.”

“That’s only what Rupes calls me. You call me that, an’ I’ll rip you into little bits, got it?”

“Hello, Slayer here. If there’s any ripping into little bits, it’ll be done by me.”

What is just her, or was he leering? His tongue was all curled behind it teeth…and it was not sexy, Buffy decided firmly. “You’re forgettin’, luv, that I’m a Slayer, too.”

“No, I’m not,” Buffy retorted. “But you’re in no way ever going to get close enough to me to touch me.”

He stepped closer. Dammit. She couldn’t pick a fight in front of the adults! And now he was close enough that he was looking down on her, too, and she felt about as tall as a bug with his eyes on her. “You mean, like this?” he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders.

Screw the adults. Buffy flipped him onto the ground and placing her heel as his throat. “Yeah, like that,” she said coldly, before smiling and saying, “By the way, I never introduced myself. I’m Buffy—the Vampire Slayer.”

*

She was tiny. There was no denying that. But damned if she wasn’t just as strong and maybe quicker than he was.

And apparently even less patient. Spike watched Buffy closely as she alternated between tapping her foot and sighing impatiently. The adults had dragged their respective extremely reluctant Slayers to the library after Buffy’s little display and had sternly admonished them to stay put. That had been twenty minutes ago.

“I say—who is the young man?”

Spike damn near jumped out of his skin. A tweed-clad man who looked rather a lot like a younger Giles was standing in front of him, peering at him closely.

“His name is Spike.” Buffy sounded incredibly scornful. “He claims he’s a Slayer.”

Spike felt a growl rumble in his throat. “I am a Slayer.”

“Are you really?” Now the man was polishing his glasses. “How very curious. I had no idea that there was a male sect of the Slayer line!”

“That’s because the Watcher’s Council kicked you out, Wesley,” Buffy reminded him coldly. “Apparently, every real Watched on the face of the planet knew about it.”

Well, at least he wasn’t the only one who was a little pissed off that they’d been left out of the bloody loop. “An’ yet they didn’t bother to tell us,” he grumbled. “Stupid buggers.”

“You know, it’s kind of scary how much I agree with that,” Buffy said, before letting out yet another impatient sigh. “God! What are they doing, boinking in the supply room?”

Wesley blinked. “I say, Miss Summers, isn’t that a bit untoward?”

She just sneered at him. Spike grinned and said mockingly, “I say, Wesley, shouldn’t you be up there in your dusty piles of books?”

Wesley pursed his lips. “Given that Miss Summers uses the library as her headquarters, I have every right to inquire after her well-being—“

“But not my behavior,” Buffy interrupted, glaring at him.

“What the blonde bird said,” Spike said, not bothering to spare the “blonde bird” a glance. “So sod off, mate.”

Wesley drew himself up. “I will not permit a guest in my library to—“

Spike stood up. It was all he did, but he was deliberately trying to look very menacing and Slayer-like—and apparently it worked, because the man’s eyes widened.

“Ah, right then,” he all but squeaked. “I’ll just be—up there.” And he ran up the stairs and disappeared into the stacks.

“Um—thanks,” Buffy said awkwardly.

“Any time, Slayer.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” Buffy snapped. “I have a name, you know!”

He probably should have apologized, but making her mad was too much fun—he wasn’t the type of bloke to resist it. “Yeah, a right dumb one,” he replied. “An’ anyway, ‘f I don’t call you that, I’m liable to forget it.”

“Augh! You stupid, self-centered, stuck up sonofa—“

“Hey, guys, how’re you doing? Getting all Slayerey with each other?”

Jenny and Giles entered the library at what Spike privately thought was a rather inconvenient time—he got the feeling he and the other Slayer had been about to fight. Trust Giles to deny a fellow a spot of violence, he thought, stretching languorously. “We’ve been honing our skills,” he said with a grin.

“They were arguing!” Wesley piped up from his station deep in the stacks.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “It was productive arguing,” she told Jenny.

“And here I thought arguing was meant to be a means in itself,” Giles said, sitting down. “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Miss Summers.”

“Um, yeah. Likewise.”

She was pretty when she blushed, Spike noticed.

“So, you’re both probably pretty confused,” Jenny said, looking from one Slayer to the other.

“Um, yeah!” The embarrassed flush in Buffy’s face was replaced with an angry one. “It’s not everyday you run into a bleached idiot—“

“’ey!”

“—who claims to be a Slayer!” Buffy finished, ignoring her fellow Slayer’s indignation. “What the hell is up with that, Jenny?”

Jenny sighed. “Originally, only females—girls, really—could be Slayers.”

“Ha!” Buffy said triumphantly. Take that, you bleached doofus!

“However,” Giles interrupted, throwing a quelling glance at his Slayer before he could say anything rash in response, “About a thousand years ago, that changed. I suppose you both have heard of King Arthur?”

Spike gave him a look. “Everyone’s heard of King Arthur.”

Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Perhaps we could do this tomorrow?”

“Or perhaps you could explain now before I make with the disembowelment!” Buffy hadn’t raised her voice, but her tone was threatening enough.

“Um, Buffy? Am I interrupting anything?”

Spike stopped contemplating the lovely blush tinting the girl Slayer’s cheeks. At the entrance to the library stood a woman who looked to be about Giles’s age.

Buffy colored even more. “Why didn’t you tell me my mom was going to come?” she hissed at Jenny.

“Because I didn’t know!” Jenny whispered back. “If I had I would’ve stuck you in a closet or something!”

Spike grinned at the exchange before turning back to the woman. “So, you’re Mrs. Summers, then?” he asked, getting to his feet and ignoring Buffy’s gasp. “’m Spike, the Vampire Slayer. Nice to meet you.”

Joyce frowned at him, clearly puzzled. “I’m sorry—I thought Buffy was the Slayer. You didn’t die again, did you, honey?”

Buffy sighed impatiently. “No, mom, I managed to stay in the realm of the living. It’s complicated.”

“Oh.” Joyce frowned for a second before shaking her head slightly and saying, “Well, all the same, it’s a pleasure to meet you—er—Spike. Are you in town long?”

Spike shrugged. “You’ll have to ask m’ Watcher,” he said. “But ‘f I have my way we’ll be out of that fleabag motel we’re staying in soon enough.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re staying in the motel by the highway!” Joyce exclaimed in dismay.

“It’s quite all right, we’re accustomed to—what was that?” Giles bent his head to hear what Jenny was whispering in his ear frantically. He gave her a speculative look before saying, “Mrs. Summers—“

“Call me Joyce.”

“Right. Joyce, Jenny has just had a rather interesting idea. If you don’t mind a boarder, could you take Spike on for a few days? It would be lovely if he and Buffy could get better acquainted, I believe they’re both having difficulty accepting that the other is a Slayer.”

“I’d love to!” Joyce said, smiling. “Our home is always open to guests. Buffy, honey, you don’t mind, do you?”

Buffy scowled. Her mom was wearing that look that said if Buffy protested, she’d be in for a world of pain. “No,” she ground out.

“It’s settled, then!” Jenny grinned. “Spike can stay with Buffy, and Rupert will crash at my house.”

“Wonderful!” Giles said, smiling just as much as Jenny was. “Well, it’s late. I suppose we’d better finish this in the morning.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at Jenny. “You haven’t gotten out of explaining why the Council of Bastards didn’t tell us there were two Slayers,” she said darkly.

Jenny just grinned wider. “I know. Joyce, can you swing by the motel and pick up Spike’s bags?”

“I’d be delighted.” Joyce smiled back at Jenny, which made Buffy’s scowl deepened. All three adults looked way too happy. Why did she get the feeling that there was more to this than just her getting used to Spike?

“See you in the morning, then!” Giles said.

“See you, Rupes.”

Buffy looked at Spike suspiciously: he was smiling too. What was this, a conspiracy? Was Ashton Kutcher going to pop out and say she’d been punk’d? Although she doubted Ashton knew about Slayers. That is, unless he is one, she groused. God, this night was turning out to suck so bad...

Suddenly she realized that everyone was staring at her, apparently expecting her to make some kind of happy hospitable remark. Instead she just snapped, “Whatever. Can we go now?”

Spike stepped back, still closely resembling a Cheshire Cat. “After you, Slayer,” he said with what Buffy was beginning to think was his trademark smirk.

Buffy stuck her nose in the air and flounced off after her mother. Spike caught Giles’s gaze long enough to wink before following the blonde girl out of the library, his eyes firmly affixed to her wriggling little ass.

This should be fun.

~*~
 

Chapter 3:
~*~

He was looking at her. Well, it wasn’t really looking, it was more like little glances...but still, his eyes were on her...and it was weirding her out!

They’d already been by the motel and picked up Spike’s two small bags. Silence had reigned in the car as soon as the three of them got in, and it hadn’t lifted yet. Buffy was kind of surprised that her mom hadn’t tried to make polite conversation yet—but then, the whole point of this stupid Spike as a guest thing was that she was supposed to get all buddy-buddy with him.

Buffy snorted. Like that was ever going to happen.

“Bloody hell. Did you just snort?”

“What? No,” she said quickly. “I, um...harumphed.”

“Harumphed,” Spike repeated. “Right, then.”

Silence.

“So...when’d you get all chosen?” Spike asked, shifting in his seat. Well, at least he was as uncomfortable as she was.

Unfortunately not uncomfortable enough to avoid talking to her....”When I was fifteen,” she said stiffly, not looking at him.

“So you’ve been slayin’ for...how long?”

“Two years.”

“Oh.”

And the award for most awkward conversation of the year goes too... Buffy sighed, all the manners her mother had pounded in her head taking over. “What about you? When did you get chosen?” Chosen. He was weird guy she’d met tonight, and he’d been chosen—because he was a Slayer. Buffy’s tired brain was still having trouble processing that information.

“When were you chosen?” Buffy blurted out, trying to keep both her hostility and her awkwardness out of her voice.

“When I was sixteen,” he mumbled. “Three years ago.”

So he was nineteen, then? Good. That meant he wouldn’t have to go to school with her...”It sucks, doesn’t it?” The words popped out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Stupid mouth!

“Hell—er, yeah, it does,” Spike said with a quick look at the seemingly oblivious Joyce. “Definitely not m’ favorite gig.”

“You’ve had others?” God, why was she still talking to him?

Spike shrugged. “I was in a band b’fore. Didn’t really have time after Giles showed up, though.”

In a band? She guessed she could see that, what with the hair and the sexy leather and all.

Wait—no. The leather was not sexy. The leather was dumb, just like the hair, and it was only luck that made him look really hot instead of just idiotic.

She eyed him again. Luck that came in the form of one really gorgeous body...

“You in there, pet?”

“Huh?” Oh, great, now she was being a dumb blonde. “Yes, I’m in...wait. In where?”

Spike sighed. “I asked you what you did before killing things was your fun new hobby. Guess you spent your time bein’ an airhead, right?”

“No, I was a cheerleader—and I wasn’t an airhead, was I, Mom?”

“Of course, honey,” Joyce replied absently.

Buffy scowled as Spike chuckled. So much for hoping her mother was paying attention. “I wasn’t,” she repeated firmly.

He grinned at her. “Oh, I believe you, kitten.”

“What? No, you don’t!”

“Sure I do. ‘cuz you’re so very focused, now.”

She slumped down in the seat. “Shut up, Spike.”

The only sound in the car for the rest of the drive was Spike’s amused chuckling.

~*~

It was funny how, up until the second he stepped into her house, she’d mostly been able to ignore the incredible hotness that was Spike and his body. But when he stepped over the threshold and her mom flipped on the lights, there he stood—and she was all of a sudden gulping like some kind of possessed fish.

Well, she couldn’t really help it. His eyes, she suddenly noticed, were very blue, and his hair and cheekbones only made them seem more intense. And the leather...it was stupid and Buffy knew it, but the leather only increased his hotness tenfold.

And he was going to be staying in her house for an indefinite time.

Damn.

Spike smiled slightly when he saw Buffy gulp. They were standing in the doorway, staring at one another, and ordinarily he’d have made some kind of snide comment about it—but things weren’t exactly ordinary, so instead he turned his attention to the girl standing in front of him.

The lights in her house were rather a lot stronger than those of the library, and they were certainly brighter than the moon. Under these lights, her hair seemed to shine like a halo around her face, all golden and silky-looking. Her tank top showed off both nice cleavage and a trim form, and her pants hugged her legs like a second skin—and they were very, very nice legs.

Spike felt himself smiling slowly. When he slid his eyes back up past her full lips to her hazel eyes, he asked, “See somethin’ you like?”

“Huh? Um, no.” She did a pretty damn good imitation of not caring. “Duh. I was just wondering where the hell we were going to put you.”

“Spike? Buffy?” They both looked up. Joyce was standing in the living room, looking at them curiously. “Are you two planning on coming in?”

“Un, yeah. Sorry, Joyce. Was just admiring your porch.” He sent Buffy a sly look and entered the house. “Nice place.”

“It was nicer without you in it,” Buffy muttered, but Joyce beamed at the compliment. “

“Thank you! We’ve only been here for a year, so I’m still making it homey—would you like the grand tour?”

He figured it would probably be out of line to ask if the grand tour included the other Slayer’s bedroom…”Sure,” he said. “Lead the way.”

“Well, this is the living room, obviously,” Joyce began. I re-upholstered that couch myself—and it was some job, let me tell you!” She laughed. “That’s Buffy’s weapons chest.” She pointed to a large wooden object Spike had taken to be some kind of weird Eastern excuse for a table. “Feel free to rummage around in it.”

“Mom!”

“What’s the matter, Slayer?” Spike couldn’t help but grin. “Scared I can beat you with your own weapons?”

Buffy narrowed her eyes and glared, but she couldn’t seem to think of a good comeback. Finally she just said, “Mom, why don’t you show Spike the kitchen?”

“Excellent idea. This kitchen has a lot of history—a vampire almost drained me here once, in fact!”

And so it continued through every room in the house until Spike was upstairs, looking at the door of Buffy’s room. “Do I get a tour in here, Mrs. Summers?” he asked, taking delight in the shade of red that Buffy’s cheeks turned.

“Well…Buffy? Would you like to show our guest your room?”

“Um, no!”

“Oh, c’mon, Buffy,” Spike whined. “I wanna see how the other half lives.”

“The other half? Could you get more corny?”

Spike pointed at her. “’m a guy Slayer, you’re a girl Slayer. That makes you the other half.”

Of the three people standing in the hallway, Buffy was the only one who was extremely unamused. “Whatever. You’re still not seeing my room.” She did that little thing where she turned up her nose before sweeping off, headed for the downstairs again.

Joyce gave Spike a rueful look before hastening to follow her daughter; Spike was slower, giving Buffy’s door a long look before going back to the living room.

“Couch ‘s fine,” he said cheerfully, noting with glee that Buffy did not seem happy with that arrangement.

“Mom! What about midnight TV time?”

Joyce pursed her lips. “It’s an unhealthy habit anyway, Buffy. You might as well break it now.”

“But I don’t wanna,” she whined, sounding for all the world like a petulant child.

“Buffy.” Joyce again gave her The Look. Buffy wilted under it. “Whatever,” she muttered. “I’ll go get some sheets.”

When Buffy left the room, Joyce smiled apologetically at Spike. “She’s very stubborn sometimes,” she said by way of explanation. “Don’t worry, she’ll come round.”

Spike grinned. “’m sure she will. She seems a sensible bird—you’re raising her well.”

He grinned inwardly when Joyce gifted him with a grateful smile. First win over the girl’s mum, then win over the girl, he thought smugly.

“I knew you were a fine young man,” Joyce said, satisfied. “You and Buffy will end up getting along well.”

“Says who?” Buffy asked, reappearing downstairs.

“Your mum, apparently. Not that ‘m arguing, or anything.”

“Oh, you’re not, are you?” Buffy threw the sheets down on the couch and advanced on him.

“Well, look at the time!” Joyce said brightly, clapping her hands and effectively breaking the tension that was humming between the two Slayers. “I’d better get to bed or I’ll be a mess at the Gallery tomorrow morning. Buffy, honey, why don’t you come upstairs, too? I think Spike can manage down here.”

Buffy glared at her mom, but reluctantly followed. Spike watched her go with a grin—it was more than a little funny, how this powerful Slayer was bossed about my her mum like she was a tiny child.

“Sweet dreams, kitten,” he called, laughing when Buffy glared at him.

When both Summers women were upstairs, Spike grinned and started to make the couch. Sharing living space with the hottest li’l thing I’ve come across in years...yeah, this could definitely be worse.

~*~

Buffy was bored. In a big way.

Being the Slayer—or being a Slayer—had meant that she kept some really strange hours. Strange enough that she was usually up at midnight, either making with the slayage or, if there were no evil baddies, getting her dose of latenight TV. But having a really hot guy downstairs who just happened to be a Slayer? Seriously cramping her style.

Buffy scowled at the ceiling. Stupid Spike, being all nice to my mom...I bet he’s only doing it because...um...whatever. I bet he as an agenda!

Wow. Even in her head that sounded totally lame.

So...hot guy downstairs, invading her territory. And unfortunately she couldn’t get scary and threaten him, because he was a Slayer too, so he’d at least have a change when it came to kicking her butt.

So, Buffy, what’re you gonna do?

Buffy’s face suddenly became full of resolve. She was not going to let some big, dumb, bleached Slayer mess up her life. Maybe it was petty—in fact, her inner almost-grownup was telling her that it definitely was—but she was not going to let Spike get away with being such an asshole. Now was a time for action, something Buffy was very good at.

She slipped out of her bed, careful not to make any noise—she herself knew that Slayer hearing was really good. She crept silently across her floor and opened the door, careful not to let the hinges squeak—mom-hearing was almost as good as Slayer-hearing was. Still walking like a cat burglar in a cheesy movie, she slipped down the stairs and into the living room.

Unfortunately for her, the lights were on the other side of the room, near the kitchen. Barely breathing, Buffy tiptoed past the male Slayer on the couch and flipped the lights on, letting her gaze instantly fall on the bleached menace who’d stolen her couch.

Oh, my God! She’d had a sarcastic wake-up line ready, but it disappeared from her head when she laid eyes on Spike. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head, displaying his bare chest. That would’ve been bad enough, but the blanket that reached to his hips did absolutely nothing to disguise the fact that he was sporting a huge erection. Spike! Erection! I am so dead...

And when she met Spike’s very blue, very awake eyes, she knew that there wasn’t a grain of falsehood in that panicked thought.

His lips curled upward in a sly smile. “Hello, pet,” he said. “Fancy a bit of fun?”

~*~
 

Chapter 4:

“F-fun?” As soon as the quavery word came out of her mouth, Buffy berated herself for it. God, pathetic much? She’d faced vampires, demons, Principal Snyder—and now she was losing it over some half-naked guy.

A half-naked guy with an erection, who just happened to be sitting on her couch.

Okay, so maybe this was worse. Still, as his grin widened, she was berating herself for her girlyness.

He held up the remote. “Yeah. Thought it was midnight telly time? ‘course, midnight was a good hour ago, but I knew you’d be down sooner or later.”

“Oh, you knew, did you?” Buffy retorted, trying to ignore the fact that her brain was still on sensory overload—it couldn’t get over the fact that the male Slayer was lying almost naked on her couch.

“Yeah, sure did.” He shifted so that there would be room for two on the couch. “So what ‘bout it, Goldilocks? Too scared to share space with a Slayer?”

“I am a Slayer,” she snapped angrily.

He smirked. “Right. But ‘m a Slayer too, an’ I think that’s scaring you.”

“What? It is not!” Oh, wonderful. Now her voice was all squeaky. “I’d be glad to watch TV,” she added haughtily, sticking her nose in the air. “Just do us both a favor and make Spike Junior there behave.” She snatched the remote out of his hand and sat down primly on the couch.

Spike watched her discomfort with amusement. “Teenage guy here, pet—m’ dangly bits have a tendency to pop up without me tellin’ ‘em to,” he said, knowing damn good and well that he was lying. Hell, his dangly bits had gotten all excited in the first place because he’d been lying on the couch, imagining what sort of stuff the other Slayer might have in her underwear drawer. Not too bright, that.

Funny how the pajamas she was wearing now were almost as sexy as some Victoria’s Secret togs would’ve been—to him, at least. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something about the girl that really drew him.

Now she was rolling her eyes. Christ, even that was sexy. “Please,” she said derisively. That’s what all guys say, and it is so not true. It’s just an excuse for them to let their thingys out to play.”

Spike couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You call ‘em thingys?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Buffy asked, then flipped on the TV. “No—no—no—really no—ooh, look, My Fair Lady!”

Spike glanced at the channel she’d stopped on and just barely restrained a groan. All the good stuff that was on in the middle of the night, and she chose Turner Classic Movies? The bint wasn’t right in the head.

But when he glanced over to tell her to change the channel, he found himself unable to speak. She was—well, he didn’t really think there was a word to describe the attention she was giving the telly. She was staring at it like it was the Second Coming and Judgment Day all rolled into one glowly little package.

And really—what kind of tosser would tell her to change the channel when she looked that happy? Spike sure as hell couldn’t.

So Buffy watched My Fair Lady…and on the other side of the couch, Spike watched her.

~*~

Wow. Had she fallen asleep in the graveyard again?

Buffy yawned, stretching a bit. Her pillow seemed to be extremely hard, which lead her to believe it was a headstone…she began to feel around, not bothering to open her eyes. Suddenly she frowned. A headstone with…arms? Oh God! Spike! Nearly naked Spike on my couch—me on nearly naked Spike on my couch!

She almost screamed—but then she opened her eyes and looked up. They were lying lengthwise on the couch, her head having fallen onto Spike’s chest sometime during the night. His face was inches from hers, and she couldn’t believe what she saw.

He looked peaceful. More than peaceful; he looked…happy. He was so tense when he was awake—he looked ready to kill anything, anytime. It was a good attitude for a Slayer. Buffy knew she could looked like that, too. But somehow, seeing him looking so different when he was sleeping had her heart doing a flippy thing in her chest.

And the flippy thing? Not of the good. Because she was the Slayer, so generally, flippiness was discouraged. There was also the tiny fact that Spike happened to be a Slayer, too, so that was doubly bad.

There was also the small, not so insignificant fact that she didn’t like him…

“Buffy?”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she shot up so fast that her entire body actually lost contact with the couch for a second. Her mom was standing just a few feet from the couch, looking at the two Slayers lying on it with an incredulous impression. “Mom!” she blurted out, standing up hurriedly and smoothing her pajamas, praying that Spike would have the sense to keep himself covered with the sheet. “Um…good morning!”

Joyce regarded her beaming daughter skeptically. “Buffy, what in the world—“

“It’s not what it looks like! Really!” Buffy interrupted hastily.

Joyce raised her eyebrows. “It had better not be, honey, because it looks like you two are—“

“Mom! We weren’t doing anything! I came down to watch TV and Spike was here so we watched My Fair Lady and I guess I fell asleep,” she finished sheepishly, hating the smug little smile her mother was currently wearing.

“Well, then, I suppose I don’t have anything to be angry about,” Joyce said, still smiling. “Spike, sweetie? Are you awake?”

Sweetie? Buffy thought incredulously. What, is Spike mom’s son now? Are we supposed to be siblings? If so, the police had better get the handcuffs out, because she was pretty sure incest was illegal in California.

Not that there was going to be any incest-type doings with Spike. Because she didn’t like him that way. Nope, not even the tiniest bit.

Still, she watched with great interest as her mom shook Spike’s shoulder, saying, “Spike, wake up. Spike? You’re supposed to meet Giles and Jenny at the library. Come on, Spike, wake up!”

He remained dead to the world.

Buffy sighed, exasperated, and stomped over to the couch. “Spike!” she yelled. “Wake the hell up!”

“Buffy!” Joyce scolded. “Watch your mouth!”

“What? It’s not like he can hear.” She poked the other Slayer’s chest. “Look—he’s totally dead to the world.”

“Maybe you should shake him,” Joyce suggested. “I don’t have all that Slayer strength. I might not be getting through to him.”

Okay. She really didn’t want to touch Spike. But given that her mom had just seen them doing what could only be called snuggling, Buffy decided that a certain amount of blind obedience might be a good thing.

She reached out and gripped his upper arm—God, he has nice muscles!—and shook him hard. “Oh Spikey,” she sang, grinning in spite of herself. “Wakey wakey!”

“Bloody hell!”

Buffy jumped back quickly, finding herself suddenly looking into a pair of extremely blue eyes. “Um—good morning?” she said lamely.

“Good morning? That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself? Jesus Christ, Slayer, give a man a chance to wake up before you go shakin’ him like the world’s ‘bout to end!”

She should have had a snappy retort ready. Ordinarily, she did. But instead of putting him in his place, she just pointed at Joyce and said, “You’re really hard to wake up.”

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he said, “Uh, right. G’morning, Joyce!”

“Good morning, Spike.” Her mother’s voice was extremely dry. “Would you like me to get you two breakfast?”

Okay, this was getting just a little too cozy and domestic for Buffy’s taste. “Actually, we’d better run,” she cut in. “We promised we’d meet Giles and Jenny at the library in an hour.”

“Does it take an hour to get to the library?” Joyce asked. “Gracious, you’d think—“

“Mom!”

Joyce took one look at her daughter’s face and her expression became instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, honey,” she apologized. “I’m just being a mother. Why don’t you run upstairs and take a shower?”

Buffy took the opportunity to dash for the stairs. As she started up them she heard her mom ask Spike, “Will you need a shower, too?”

“Nah, I took one b’fore we left England yesterday,” Spike replied. “’ll be okay.”

“Ew!” Buffy yelled back down the stairs. “I am so not going to be around him if he doesn’t bathe!”

Joyce smiled at the bleached blonde. “I think you’d better take a shower, too.”

“Right.” Spike’s eyes drifted to the stairs. He could hear the shower starting, could picture in his mind Buffy’s naked, golden form, with water running down it…get a hold on yourself, mate. You’re talking to the girl’s mum!

He smiled at Joyce. “Soon ‘s Buffy’s out, I’ll hop on in.”

Joyce smiled at the boy she was rapidly thinking of as her son. “In the meantime, how about some eggs and bacon?”

“Got any Weetabix?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. The store was having a sale on cereal, and I’m afraid I went a bit insane…”

Spike smiled as he followed the chattering Joyce into the kitchen.

~*~
 

Chapter 5:
~*~

“Giles is late.”

“How many times am I gonna have to tell you, Giles is never late? And anyway, ‘f he’s late, then that bint who calls herself your Watcher is late, too.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Do you always have to be so insulting?”

“’s more fun than being polite all the time.”

“Some people might judge you on your manners,” she replied pointedly. Spike, however, didn’t seem to take the hint; that smug, high-handed look stayed firmly in place. Stupid annoying bleached Slayer…

The smug voice in her head shot back, Right, just like he was stupid and annoying when he was half-naked on your couch last night, right?

Luckily she didn’t have time to follow that particular train of though, because Giles and Jenny both came half-running through the library doors, clothing disheveled, just as out of breath as they’d been last night. Buffy and Spike raised an eyebrow in an identical expression as the two adults collapsed in chairs on opposite sides of the table.

“So sorry,” Giles said, sounding extremely English. “We overslept.”

Spike muttered something that Buffy couldn’t hear. Judging by the expression on Giles’s face, though, it was something dirty. “Kindly keep your lewd speculations to yourself, William,” the tweed-clad man said, his lips pressed together.

Buffy looked askance at Jenny. Spill, the blonde mouthed.

Her Watcher shook her head. Later, she mouthed back, before saying, “Yes, Spike, we’re late, but I think we have better things to do than talk about it.”

“Bloody right we do.” Spike, with his what Buffy was coming to think of as characteristic abruptness, said. “Why the hell did no one ever tell me there’s another Slayer—a girl Slayer—out there, an’ what does King Arthur have to do with it.”

Giles sighed deeply. “It’s rather a long story…”

“Which we are both prepared to hear.” Buffy glared at Giles in a way that she hoped was menacing. It wasn’t like she’d had a lot of practice; generally when she wanted someone to be scared of her she just hit them.

“Right, then.” Judging by the nervous throat-clearing, she’d succeeded. Yay team me. “I suppose you all have heard of Merlin, the king’s sorcerer?”

Buffy and Spike both nodded. “Stuck in a save by that freaky chick Nimue,” Buffy said, at the same time Spike remarked, “Killed by some little trollop, right?” Their voices overlapped and halted simultaneously; they glared at each other.

Jenny was grinning slightly when she said, “Right. Well, Merlin liked playing around with magic.”

“It was more than just a hobby to him, however,” Giles added, looking faintly disapproving at his colleague’s lack of intellectual preciseness. “When he discovered the Slayer magic, he—dabbled in it.”

“Wait—how’d he find out ‘bout Slayers?”

Jenny grinned faintly. “That ‘freaky chick Nimue’ was one.”

“Ha!” Buffy exclaimed triumphantly, relishing the look of chagrin that passed over Spike’s face, “Girl Slayers were first!”

“Yes, well, that hardly matters now, does it?” Giles said. “The fact is, while researching and experimenting on the Slayer bond, he inadvertently split it.”

Spike shook his head. “Bloody stupid bloke.”

“Pretty much,” Jenny agreed. “He died never realizing what he’d done. It was Arthur who discovered it.”

“Wait—Arthur? How’d he—was he chosen?” Buffy said incredulously.

Giles shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. He discovered when, even after being given protection from the Lady of the Lake, his nephew and son Mordred was able to kill him.”

“Mordred.” Spike’s voice sounded just as astonished as Buffy felt. “That pissant little rat was the first male Slayer?”

Buffy couldn’t help herself; she smiled smugly. “Looks like the line hasn’t improved much,” she said. Jenny and Giles hid their smiles.

“Anyway,” Jenny continued, “what we’re getting at is that after Mordred let the figurative shit hit the fan by killing Arthur, the Council of Watchers recognized that they needed to appoint Watchers to the new male half, too. They decided to keep the two separated—“

“To maximize efficiency,” Giles cut in.

“And here we are today,” Jenny finished.

Buffy blinked. She was having trouble distinguishing her emotions right now, mainly because they were a fucked-up tangle of fury and disbelief. “So what you’re trying to tell us,” she said slowly, furiously keeping a handle on her anger, “is that during King Arthur’s time, the Slayer was a complete slut, and her bajillion-year-old boyfriend decided to screw around with the Slayer line, and then after the first male Slayer—who was a victim of incest and a truly bitchy mom—killed his dad slash uncle, the stupid Council of Watchers decided not to tell anyone, including the Slayers, what had happened?” By the end of her speech, she was screaming.

Oops. So much for not showing her anger. Jenny was just looking at her in abject surprise—she’d never had an outburst like this before—Giles was staring at her like she’d lost her mind—which she might have—and Spike?

Spike was amused.

Buffy scowled at him. “Is there a problem?”

His grin widened. “Not at all, Slayer. Carry on.”

“You’re making fun of me!” she exclaimed, clenching her hands into tight fists. Bastard!

He snorted. “Not bloody likely. I rather think you’re right. Don’t you, Rupes?”

“I’ve told you not to call me that, William,” Giles said crisply. “But yes, I’m rather inclined to agree with Ms. Summers. It was the fact that Jenny and I so disapprove of the situation that we allowed you two to meet.”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to look sarcastically amused. “You allowed us?”

“The Council of Wankers did buy the tickets, pet,” Spike told her.

“I’m not your pet!” Buffy rounded on him. “My name is Buffy, you bleached-blonde freak!”

“Okay, much as I’m enjoying the reenactment of last night’s Osbournes rerun,” Jenny cut in hastily, earning herself confused looks from the two Englishmen, “You two really need to stop being at each other’s throats all the time. OK?”

Buffy’s anger was still rolling around in her. If she didn’t get away from Spike soon, she was going to pop. “Fine,” she snapped. “I know how to solve that problem. Bye.” She grabbed her coat and stalked towards the library’s exit.

Spike was in front of her in an instant. “Now, now, luv,” he said tauntingly, “Let’s not be naughty. Don’t think the Watchers gave you permission to leave.”

She sneered at him. She didn’t sneer often, but right now everything seemed sneer-worthy. “I don’t need their permission. Now get the hell out of my way.”

That was when he said the shortest—and most infuriating—thing in the world: “No.”

Buffy lost it. That was the only way to describe what happened. One minute she was a (reasonably) rational person just trying to storm off in a huff without interference, and the next she was an uber-bitch who’d dealt the male Slayer such a forceful punch that he’d flown out the library doors and into the deserted hallway.

And the weird part? She wasn’t even sorry. The few times she’d hurt a human before, she’d always been horrified…but apparently her conscience had taken a vacation, because as she ran out the doors and watched Spike spring to his feet, she didn’t feel even remotely guilty. She felt, if possible, even more pissed off than before.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh?” Spike wiped blood off his nose. He didn’t seem too upset, either.

“Yes. That’s how it’s going to be,” Buffy said, surprising herself. Wow. For someone who wants to rip his head off, I sound really calm…

“Right, then.”

Buffy didn’t have time to react before Spike lunged forward and copied her blow, slamming his fist into her face.

She went down hard, and it hurt. And it wasn’t just pain on her nose—no, there was pain all over her body. Dammit. He hit harder than she did!

Fortunately, she had the Slayer instincts that had kept her alive all these years. She leapt to her feet, pivoting smoothly and dealing him a kick to the chest. He grabbed her heel—she executed a flip—he threw a punch—she dodged it and threw her own—

They fought for a solid twenty minutes, both of them furious and silent. Buffy had never met anyone, human or vampire, who matched her so completely. And it wasn’t just that he was as skilled as she was. Their styles were damn near exactly the same. For every punch she threw, he dodged it the same way she would have. Given that they’d been taught by two different people on opposite sides of the planet, it was freaking Buffy out.

When their fight was nearing the thirty minute mark she finally managed to get a punch in. Panting and grinning, she straddled him, pressing his hands to the ground.

“You bitch!” Spike growled, fighting to get up. Buffy held him firmly to the ground, reveling in the feeling. They’d hardly known each other for half a day, but he was so damn irritating that she’d wanted to beat him up from the second he opened his big dumb mouth.

She grinned in triumph. “Give up?”

He sneered at her, still jerking his hands up, trying to get free. “Not on your life.” He jerked his torso, trying to unseat her.

She pressed herself down, a wicked smile curving her lips. “What about on yours?”

A similar smile graced Spike’s lips, tugging them upward, showing a tiny bit of his tongue—

And the world turned upside down.

Suddenly, winning the fight wasn’t the most important thing. The most important thing was lying beneath her, and all of a sudden she was fascinated with it.

She was straddling his chest. His hard, muscular chest. His hands rested on her waist. A second ago their position had seemed strategic, but now? Now it just seemed sexy.

And his lips…dear God, his lips. They were thin and sexy and just a few inches from hers. All of a sudden, the hallway seemed a whole lot hotter. And smaller.

Buffy was a logical person. She had to be, seeing as she was the Slayer and all. But what she did next wasn’t logical. It was the opposite of logic. It was dark-side-of-the-moon logic.

Because the next thing Buffy did was bend down and kiss him.

~*~
 

Chapter 6:

~*~

Spike had been enjoying the fight. Despite the fact that every time the bint’s fists hit his face it felt like a load of cement crashing into him, it was one hell of a dance.

But it became a thousand times better when she pressed her sweet, plump lips to his.

His hands immediately grew tighter on her waist, pulling her down, forcing her legs to part as far as they’d go. One hand skimmed up her back, stopping at the nape of her neck to cup her head as he kissed her back, fiercely.

It was like the meeting of fire and ice, like the clash of thunder. Overblown, clichéd metaphors they might be, but it was exactly what it felt like. A second ago he’d been ready to kick that hot little body of hers halfway across the school. Now all he wanted was to keep it firm against his, forever.

And the best part about it—aside from the eager way her lips moved over his, as though she wanted to swallow him whole—was that he didn’t have to be careful. He didn’t have to make sure that she was okay with how hard he was gripping her, didn’t have to worry that he was hurting her when he crushed her to him, his hand digging into her back. She was a Slayer, same as he was. She could match him strength for strength.

And God, she was doing her damnedest to surpass him. He didn’t think he’d been in quite such a violent kiss before. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, he mused as their tongues clashed and twined together, matched in their frenzy.

Like all incredibly passionate kisses, he had no earthly idea how long they lay in the hallway. What he did know was that he hadn’t had near enough when she suddenly wrenched away and stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Oh, God.” Her eyes were wide, her legs stiff where they imprisoned Spike’s torso. “Oh God oh God oh God—“ She lurched back, scuttling across the floor like some kind of demented crab.

Spike was not happy. “Why the bloody hell did you stop?” he demanded angrily.

She stared at him in disbelief. Funny how even when she was sitting on her (rather dirty, actually) school floor, looking at him like she hated him right after they’d shared the hottest kiss of his life, she was still completely adorable. “Are you kidding? That was insane!”

“But fun,” he countered, trying to ignore the fact that fun didn’t exactly cover what he’d been feeling a minute ago.

“Fun?” Buffy repeated. “You call that fun? What about, about responsibility, and duty, and God I’m such a slut!”

“’s not like you’re the only one,” Spike pointed out, fighting to keep calm. “Bleeding hell, Slayer. Shit happens. Doesn’t make it the end of the world.”

“Shit happens? So me kissing you was shit?” Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”

Spike was starting to recognize this as one of those times when no matter what he said, it would be the wrong thing. Not that I can ever say anything right ‘round this bird, he thought, annoyed at the whole situation. “Not shit, exactly,” he said finally, “Just…a mistake.”

“Wait.” Her brow furrowed. “I thought you said it was fun?”

“Mistakes can be fun, pet,” Spike pointed out, trying to keep from smirking. He may not have known the other Slayer for long, but he knew that the smallest sign of smugness from him would make them start fighting again.

“This wasn’t fun! This was bad. Very very bad.” Buffy licked her lips; Spike’s gaze was instantly drawn to them. Whichever ponce decided it was smart to make Slayers teenagers was a sodding idiot, he thought, standing up before he lunged at Buffy again.

“Look, I don’t really give a piss whether ‘s right or wrong,” he informed her flatly. “I came out here t’ stop you from bein’ an idiot an’ running away from our Watchers. You gonna come back inside or not?”

Luckily she seemed to grasp was he was trying to. She nodded. “Um, yeah. Sorry for the outburst.”

Curtly, he replied, “Apology accepted.” He was just a few feet from the library door when she added, “And the thing back there? The kissing thing? Totally hormones.”

So that was the game they’d be playing, eh? Spike was smiling when he replied, “’course love. It’d have to be a pretty damn heavy dose ‘f hormones to make me wanna touch you.”

He had the pleasure of seeing her eyes light up with fury. “You stupid, nasty, idiotic, Billy Idol wannabe!” she snapped before, quite literally, tackling him.

They fell through the library door together. Buffy’s little fists were punching at him, and Spike couldn’t help himself—he was laughing uproariously.

They were both so occupied that they didn’t notice Jenny and Giles spring apart, guilty looks on their faces. “Well—I suppose they haven’t resolved much,” Giles commented, running a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristically Spike-like gesture.

“Really? Looks like they’re getting along fine to me,” Jenny joked, smoothing her own hair down and surreptitiously wiping the corners of her mouth.

“I am going to kill you!” Buffy yelled, her hand flying toward Spike’s face for what felt like the thousandth time that morning.

Spike’s laughter only escalated when he caught her wrist, holding her fist inches from his nose. “Now, now, Slayer, none of that,” he teased, giving her a lascivious look. “Don’t wanna damage the merchandise, do you?”

“Ooh!” Now she was kicking him. Dammit. Spike’s laughter faltered when one of her flailing feet made contact with his shin. Could’ve just let her have the last word, but no, had to start a fight again…nice job, mate.

“Little help ‘ere!” he called over his shoulder to the Watchers.

“Actually, I rather think this is a valuable part of your training,” Giles replied, a slight smile on his face.

“Yeah, you guys need to learn to get along,” Jenny called.

“If he keeps being such a butthead, I’ll kill him!” Buffy declared, emphasizing her declaration with yet another swipe at his face.

“Right,” Spike drawled. “’scuze me for thinkin’ you’re only fighting me right now to get your hot little hands all over my body.”

Both adults rolled their eyes in tandem—but the insinuation made Buffy freeze. Spike watched in amusement as her face turned magenta, then crimson, and then a rather interesting shade of maroon. He knew heads tended to explode with alarming regularity around the Hellmouth, but this was a phenomenon he hadn’t foreseen. “Sorry.” She rolled off of him for the second time that day, but this time she stood up and walked over to the table the Watchers sat at, taking a seat resolutely.

Spike took his own sweet time getting up, careful to make a show of straightening out his duster and running a hand through his hair. When he was done he sat down opposite of Buffy, smirking triumphantly. Granted, he had quite a few bruises from the morning’s insanity…but damned ‘f it hadn’t been interesting. His leg brushed up against the table leg, and he winced. Well, it’d been interesting when she wasn’t kicking him.

“Right, then.” Giles sounded weary. “Are we quite finished with the morning’s hormone-driven insanity, or do you two need to have it out again?”

“Nah, I think we’ve fulfilled out violence quota for the—bloody hell, Rupes, is that lipstick?”

Giles’s reddening face was his answer. Spike’s and Buffy’s eyes met in a display of mutual disgust. It was fine for them to kiss, but their Watchers? “Teenage hormones, my arse,” Spike said, at the same time Buffy exclaimed, “God, Jenny! That’s gross!”

Jenny just raised an eyebrow at her Slayer. “The library door has windows, you know.”

Buffy looked down, chastised. “Right. Sorry.”

“Anyway, if the morning’s insanity could kindly be forgotten, we could get back to the matter at hand,” Giles said pointedly. “I would like to point out that the two of you are still Slayers, and as such, you have certain responsibilities.”

Spike snorted. This was an avoidance maneuver if he’d ever seen one…but he could play along. “Right. What does Sunnydale’s own Slayer generally do with her Saturdays?”

Buffy shrugged. “Torturous training for, like, ever, and then Bronzing with Wills and Xander at night.”

The life of a California bimbo cum world-class warrior, Spike thought wryly. It was truly odd how well she blended the two personas. “Doesn’t fightin’ for a half hour count as enough training?”

Jenny raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know how they do it in England, but over here, training isn’t just beating on each other. Now that you two have gone completely insane over each other, you need to meditate.”

“Jenny? Really not following the logic of that,” Buffy informed her. The small blonde’s nose was wrinkled; Spike could tell she didn’t like the idea of meditating anywhere near him.

Well, neither was he. So they were even, in a third-grade, immature sort of way.

“Sorry, Buffy, you know the rules. You lose control, you have to regain it through meditation. That’s the one part of the Handbook that I’m sticking to.”

“I’d like to throw the frickin’ Handbook at your head,” Buffy muttered.

“What was that?”

She sighed. “Nothing. Fine. I’ll meditate.” She got down on the floor, barely sparing Spike a cursory glance. “I’m guessing you know how?”

Spike copied her position. “You kidding? Rupes has made me do this shit for hours.”

“I think I actually feel sorry for you,” Buffy said lightly, their earlier animosity apparently forgotten.

“Same here.” He closed his eyes. They sat very close together, their knees almost touching, mirror images of each other. He placed his hands palm up on his knees and inhaled deeply, clearing his mind of the various thoughts and emotions that currently clogged it.

Buffy couldn’t help herself—she peeked. She knew it was a bad thing to do. Meditation was almost if not just as important as having good fighting skills, as a Slayer she needed to maintain internal balance, blah-bitty-blah and a bag of chips. But seeing Spike sitting still, inhaling deeply, with that serene, oddly Buddha-like look on his face? So more interesting than uniting herself with the universe.

Unfortunately, Jenny was smart enough to predict her Slayer. “Buffy,” she said in a warning voice.

Spike didn’t even twitch. Wow. Had Giles hit him with a cane or something until he learned how to meditate?

“Sorry,” she said hastily, and closed her eyes.

Breath in, breath out. It was a pretty simple routine, one that she’d gotten used to a long time ago…stop, Buffy. You’re supposed to be clearing your mind, remember?

In, out, in, out…clear you mind, steady your emotions, open yourself up to the world outside….in, out, in, out…endless rhythm, swinging, singing, rhythm of breath, rhythm of the stars….in…out…in…out…

Out…

And all of a sudden it gripped her. One second she could feel her mind opening, could feel her soul melding into her surroundings—and then she was falling, falling through endless time and space. She wasn’t sure if she was screaming, or if the sound was just air rushing past her—wasn’t sure if there was any air, or sound, or her, for that matter…

Blackness. Deep, terrifying blackness. And then images that made her wish for that unadulterated evil dark again.

Teeth. Tearing into her, tearing into him…blood spurting, screams echoing, death, terror…smoking structures, worse than destroyed…desecrated…touched with evil, unable to ever be rebuilt again…

A moment of horrible hopelessness overwhelmed her, made what was left of her sob. What she was doing, what she’d done, it was all useless in the face of the inexpressibly terrible maelstrom that now beat down upon her.

A sharp keening sound—her own voice, gibbering in utter terror. And then the unrelenting shower of images began to waver, shaking—shattering—

Suddenly her ears existed again, and she could hear screaming—no, she was screaming, and someone was yelling at her, screaming her name…Jenny…Jenny was screaming for her…

Buffy opened her eyes—and the illusion, or vision, or whatever it had been disappeared. She was sweaty, terrified, and lying on the floor of the library. Jenny was staring at her; the older woman had stopped screaming when her Slayer’s eyes opened. A few feet away from her, Giles was doing the same to Spike, just staring at him, trying to understand what had caused the two Slayers’ mutual screaming fits.

Spike was the one who got his voice back first. “What the bloody hell was that?”

~*~
 

Next