11:

When Buffy heard Spike yell, for a second, her whole world froze.

It was like, she thought later, she was staring through one of those old-fashioned movie projectors, and it had gotten stuck on one of the slides. Motion, motion, motion—then none.

She swore she could feel her heartbeat falter, she was that shocked. Even though she’d told him he wasn’t forgiven, she still very much cared about what was happening to him, and currently, he was screaming in pain. The fact that her own face was being beaten by Veruca didn’t really register.

And then he hit the pavement, and something inside her snapped.

She jerked forward, not so much to free her captured arms as to give herself some wiggle room. When she’d flown forward about six inches, she lifted one of her legs and hooked her foot around the back of one man’s knee. She gave a mighty yank, and he dropped like stone.

She fell, too, but since his grip lessened when she went down, it was a small price to pay. Before he could roll over and crush her into the pavement, she dug an elbow into his ribs and wrenched herself free of his grip. A blow to the nose of the other man freed her completely.

Veruca was standing a few feet away, staring at her with a stunned look on her overly-made-up face. Buffy lunged at her.

She grabbed the tart’s hair and gave it a huge yank. Drawing back her fist, she looked directly into the girl’s eye and said, “This is for Spike.”

When her fist connected with Veruca’s nose, it drove the cartilage almost completely out of the flesh.

She would have loved to stick around and beat up Veruca some more, but there were four other men to deal with, and they weren’t exactly small.

She knocked Veruca out, a mercy that personally she didn’t think the skank deserved, and dropped her onto the driveway. As soon as she heard the thunk of her head hitting the pavement, she rushed the other men.

Actually, it was more like limped toward them. The fall had twisted her ankle just enough so that it really hurt, and she could feel her eyes swelling.

But to tell the truth, none of her injuries mattered. All she cared about was the fact that they had hurt Spike. For that, these jerks were so gonna pay.

She was pounding the face of her second victim, heedless of the little flecks of blood flying everywhere, when one of them snuck up behind her and drove a huge, meaty fist into her face.

For a second, she saw stars. Then she was tanked up by her shirt collar and brought face-to-face with one Officer Riley Finn.

She stifled a moan. If Riley was involved, then she was as good as dead. Why couldn’t this be one of those neighborhoods where people were always looking out their curtains, hoping to catch a drug deal in action, or whatever?

“Miss me, baby?” Riley sneered, grinning at the blood that ran down her forehead and pooled right above her eye. “I tried to send someone with a message for you, but I think he fucked it up.”

Angel. “Now, why am I not surprised?” Buffy asked. “Sorry your little rape-o-gram didn’t get through, but—“ she kneed him in the groin—“I’m really not a big fan of evil rapists.”

“Fuckin’ Christ!” he gasped, leaning over. Buffy grinned at him smugly, enjoying the effects of her handiwork.

“Actually, Riley, I doubt Christ fucks,” she informed him cooly. “After I kick your pathetic ass all the way to Hell, you can ask the devil, though.” She raised a fist, ready to pummel him.

Huh, why is he smiling? she wondered, before a blow to her temple told her why. She was knocked to the ground. Someone stepped on her spine, and she quavered as she felt the feeling leave her arms. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit... Riley was approaching her.

“Now, little slut,” he crooned, “If you beg real pretty I’ll kill you fast.”

“Fuck—you,” she managed to whisper as she fought to get control over her arms again. Dammit! She wasn’t even all that injured! Stupid spinal cord...

“I’m sure you will,” he sneered, leaning over. Buffy gulped: a knife was glinting in his hand. Oh God, this is it. They’ll be finding my body for weeks!

“OK, that was the lamest line I’ve ever heard. Do you actually find gaining orgasms from such things a rewarding use of your time?”

“What Anya means is, you are one fucked-up dumbass,” Faith announced with a grin, right before her right cross knocked him to the ground. Buffy craned her head just in time to see Xander calmly knock the other guy over the head with a thick stick.

Cordelia helped her up—or, actually, hauled her up, since her arms were still numb and tingly. “Are you, like, okay?” the brunette asked. “You went down like a shopping bag loaded with shoes.”

Buffy smiled at her comparison. “I think I will be,” she said, grimacing, “But Spike—oh my God!” Her horror renewed itself as she remembered. “Spike got hurt!”

“I’m on it,” Kennedy called. She and Willow were trying their best to carry Spike to his car. “Buffy, can you drive?”

“Drive? She’s so injured she can barely walk,” Anya said. “I’ll drive. Get in Spike’s hideous car, Buffy. Kennedy, you can come too. We need someone tough enough to carry Spike inside.”


Um—“ Buffy looked at the seven unconscious bodies. “What about them?”

Anya shrugged. “If they die, we’ll all celebrate,” she said flatly.

“No kidding,” Cordelia chimed in. “Like, who does that? Seven against two is so unfair!”

“I think that was the point,” Buffy said dryly. “Might as well grab their guns,” she added thoughtfully. Anya took up her suggestion, loading them all into the duffel bag she’d been carrying.

“Um, guys?” Willow called. “Spike bleeding, and I don’t think it’s serious, but we’d better get him home so we can patch him up.”

“Right-o,” Xander said. “Let’s get out of here.”

As Buffy slipped into the car, she heard Faith advise him, “Listen, stud, don’t ever say right-o again, or you’ll be a little less than five-by-five, get my meaning?”

“Um, no?”

Buffy grinned and slammed the door shut with her foot—a grin that faded into a worried frown as soon as she saw Spike. He’d lost so much blood! “Do you think he’ll...you know...be okay?” she asked Anya, ignoring Kennedy’s are-you-crazy? look.

“He might die,” Anya said cheerfully. “But Willow’s way too smart for any of our good, and she said he’d be okay, so hey, who knows?”

Wow. A mark of how tired I am that I went to Anya for comfort, Buffy thought dryly.

When she noticed them turning into downtown Sunnydale, she asked, “Um...aren’t we going to you guys’ house, Anya?”

“Oh, that’s not really Spike’s house,” Anya reported. “Since he’s the head honcho, we figured it would be good for him to have a cover house where he keeps stuff like taped transcriptions of his conversations, and then a house where he could live and orgasm and things. It’s quite convenient, and it keeps the LAPD off his tail. We’re going to his apartment.”

Buffy, having ignored most of what she said after the orgasm comment—Oooh, orgasming Spike...—, just said vaguely, “Oh. That’s nice.”

She missed the amused glance Anya and Kennedy shared.

They were at Spike’s house in almost no time. Kennedy, true to her word, dragged Spike indoors. Buffy wiggled her fingers as she followed the girl in—she was starting to get feeling back. Definitely a good sign, since she didn’t really feel like being permanently paralyzed by her jerk-off of an ex.

Kennedy laid Spike down gently on his (black) couch, and Anya busied herself trying to find bandages, muttering under her breath about stupid men who didn’t know to keep bandages around at all times.

Buffy walked slowly up to where he lay on the couch. He looks so peaceful she thought, reaching out to touch his scarred eyebrow. Almost like he’s sleeping. Her fingers ran, almost unconsciously, down his face, tracing his sharp cheekbones...his soft, full lips.

Anya’s strangely tactful throat-clearing alerted her to the fact that she really wasn’t supposed to be standing there tracing Spike’s lips and wondering what it would be like to press her own against them—while he was conscious, of course. No, she was actually supposed to be helping Anya clean up his wounds.

“So, I see you got your—oomph!—arms back,” Anya said, rolling Spike over on the couch.

“Well, I actually had them the whole time,” Buffy said wryly.

Anya gave her an exasperated look. “Well, duh. What I meant was, you got the use of your arms back.” She tugged her brother’s shirt off, and as one, she and Buffy sharply inhaled. Buffy was relatively certain that Anya was inhaling because of the nasty bullet graze running across his shoulder blade. She herself was worried about that, but at the same time, she couldn't help but notice how incredibly well-muscled his back was.

Wonder what his front looks like, she thought, licking her lips.

“Okay, I know most girls think Spike looks good enough to eat—or at least, that’s what Cordy told me the first time she met him—but can we get back to reality, please?” Anya’s voice was annoyed as she shoved an alcohol pad into Buffy’s hand. “Sterilize the wound.”

Anya’s words brought her sharply back to the here-and-now. She took the pad and gently cleaned out the gash, tears brimming in her eyes as she did. All this was for me, she thought, and had to choke back sobs. I told him he wasn’t forgiven, and he still risked his life for me.

“Um, Buffy? I think it’s clean,” Anya pointed out.

Buffy’s face leapt into flames. “Right! Sorry,” she muttered, yanking the pad away. “Um...where’s everybody else?”

“They’re gonna to clean-up and cover-up,” Kennedy reporting, coming downstairs with a handful of sheets. “It’s routine for these sorts of things.” She glanced over at Anya. “So, Buffy’s gonna sleep on the couch, right?”

“Yes. Just put the sheets there, and I’ll put them on after I clean Spike up,” Anya answered.

“Whoa. Wait—routine? And I am so not staying here!” She was practically shrieking by the end of her questions. Me and Spike, alone in an apartment, with him all sexy and wounded? No way!

“These things happen fairly often.” Anya cut a bandage and, surprisingly gently, placed it over the cut. As she taped it on she said, “Now, I think you can handle the rest. You know, ice on his black eyes, and so forth. If you and Kennedy can haul him to his room, I’ll make up the couch for you.”

”I am not staying!” she cried. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? I’m going home!”

“Are you crazy? That bitch and her cronies attacked you at home,” Kennedy snapped. “This is the most secure place we have. We’re an underground movement, remember? You’re staying here.” Her voice turned taunting. “Or are you scared?”

“Scared? So not. Who said I was scared? I am full of—not-scared-ness,” Buffy stuttered.

Anya gave her an amused look. “Good. Now, help Kennedy get Spike to his room.”

Buffy obeyed, grumbling and trying hard not to notice how warm and smooth his skin was. Hard. Hm, wonder how big he is when? Uh-uh. No way. Cut it out, Buffy...

They deposited him on the bed and Buffy high-tailed it out of there. By the time she got out to the living room, the couch was made and Anya was gone. “Um, Kennedy? Where’d Anya—“ she whirled around. Kennedy was gone.

“What the hell?” she muttered. The apartment was on the fifth floor—how did Kennedy get out with her seeing? There was just the one door. “I’m starting to think I’ve been set up,” she muttered.

And it was weird, but she wasn’t scared. A month, even two weeks ago, she would have been half-panicking by now. But she trusted these people more than she had ever trusted anyone in the LAPD, Riley included. Anyone from Jenkins’ could leave her hanging over a pit of lava, and she’d trust that they knew what they were doing.

Including, she realized, Spike. Especially Spike.

Which was good, she reflected wryly, since he was the one she was stuck with.

Okay. So, she was stuck in a small apartment, with a former enemy/boss, who also happened to be incredibly hot, for an indeterminate amount of time.

Wonderful. She was gonna get sooo bored.

Okay...I guess I can always snoop around, she thought. This was Spike’s personal apartment, right? There had to be something around here...mementos, maybe, or at least underwear.

She wandered from the kitchen into the living room. Both rooms were open to the door; the kitchen island acted as a barrier between them. A hallway off the living room led to three bedrooms. She hoped everyone didn’t end up having to stay here all at once. It’d be so crowded, they’d be at each others’ throats.

She wondered briefly why Kennedy and Anya had stuck her on the couch instead of giving her a bed. Comfyness would’ve been nice...but then, maybe they had a specific use for the rooms? There was too much she didn’t know.

And now, while Spike was asleep (and of course part of her mind spent a good deal of time dwelling on Spike all alone in that big, soft bed), would be the perfect time.

She went out to the kitchen. It was clearly Spike’s apartment; all the appliances were silver, and the cabinets were black. It should have been oppressive, really—Buffy had never liked black—but somehow, it just struck her as masculine. Almost sexy.

God, she thought in disgust as she opened a drawer, I’m getting turned on by the man’s kitchen utensils...ooh, photo! Major clueage!

She turned on the light and studied the photograph. To her not-so-great surprise, it was one of Spike, with his arms around a girl she didn’t recognize. She focused her attention on the young man in the picture. It looked reasonably recent—it was in color and all—but he was so incredibly different, she almost didn’t believe it was really him.

But there were the cheekbones, and the lips—with black lipstick on them. There were the brilliant blue eyes, but black eyeliner obscured their beauty. In all, the pair of them looked like typical badass punks just out of high school.

And even in a totally dorky-looking vest and that stupid hair all gelled up, he still looked completely hot.

She turned the photo over. On the back was a short note: To my Spike. Does puppy want to play? Dark Princess has a treat for him... The handwriting was loopy and written in blood red ink.

She set the photograph down quickly. Ugh. So didn’t need to know what sexcapades were connected with that picture.

Now that she’d done some exploring, she was hungry. She opened his refrigerator and started rummaging through it. There wasn’t much to eat—she guessed that keeping perishables at a secret hideout wasn’t such a bright idea—but there was enough for her to make a decent sandwich.

She did it, and stood at the counter, eating and staring at a blank spot on the wall moodily, that picture haunting her mind.

*

The first thing Spike was aware of as he returned to consciousness was panic. Complete, utter, blind panic.

The second thing was a rather large amount of pain that seemed to prevent him from getting up. Oddly enough, the pain wasn’t half as horrible as he thought it really ought to be, considering’ that he’d been shot and all.

Shot and...oh God, Buffy! He tried to sit up, and pain shot through him. Groaning, he sank back down onto the soft bed.

Wait...bed? Spike opened one eye tentatively and found himself staring at a ceiling. His ceiling.

He instantly relaxed. If the gang had gotten to them, then everything was fine. They must’ve saved Buffy from that bitch Veruca...or maybe Buffy herself had kicked some ass. He smiled at the visual. That’s m’ girl, he thought. All cute and deadly.

He almost wondered if there was something wrong with him, that visual was such a turn-on.

Arg. His shoulder was killing him, and his back was on fire, but God help him, he was hungry. And not just for Buffy.

He sat up, wincing at the pain, and then slowly, waveringly, stood up. He felt like hell, but he’d been in worse fights, so he slowly limped out to the kitchen.

To find the object of his lust leaning against the counter, eating a sandwich and staring into space.

Her feet were bare—she must’ve kicked off her shoes. One foot was dangling in the air, and the other’s toes wriggled. Her hair was tumbling down almost-bare shoulders: she was wearing that cute little dress-and-tank top thing she’d worn to her interview with Rayne. Despite his numerous injuries, he felt himself start to grow hard.

She glanced over at him. He got several moments of amusement when he saw her expression change from worry to gladness to lust to deep confusion.

He smirked. “Sorry, luv. Was so hungry I forgot to put on a shirt.”

“Um...” Buffy said, a piece of lettuce dangling from her lips.

He stalked closer, fighting not to wince. “So, Red left me with a nursemaid, eh?”

“Hey!” She set the sandwich down on the counter and scurried away from him. “I am not your nurse! It wasn’t even my idea to be here! It was all Anya, and Kennedy, and stop doing that!”

He’d been edging closer, watching with amusement and lust as her eyes began to slide from confusion to burgeoning passion. “’S matter?” he inquired. “Scared.”

“Yes,” she stated flatly. Spike stopped instantly and studied her with a frown.

“Why the hell are you scared of me?”

“Not of you...exactly,” she said. “Just—of this. Spike, I’m homeless. The only house I have is surrounded by evil cops, and if the fight was any indication, they’d rather I wasn’t walking right now. this apartment is all I have, and if I...if we...it’ll end up being icky badness, and then it’ll all fall apart, and I don’t want that!” Her eyes became bright with tears, and her chin quivered.

He moved closer, but this time his approach had less to do with seduction and more to do with a sudden, burning desire to comfort her.

She made a face and wiped at the tears. “I’m being such a girl,” she muttered, looking away from his warm gaze.

“I rather like you as a girl, pet,” he said softly, and cupped her cheek. She leaned into his touch, ever so slightly.

For a breathless second they stood just like that. Spike’s thumb caressed her cheek gently. She was so beautiful...God, he wished he could just ravish her right then, just push her up against the counter and have his wicked way with her.

His groin tightened, but he ignored it. Even if she would be a willing participant, which he doubted, he knew that he’d be five kinds of wanker if he tried to take her right now. She was scared.

He sighed and stepped back, disappointed. “Guess ‘d better get dressed.”

“Yeah.”

He heard his sigh echoed and glanced swiftly at her. Was that longing on her face? A slow smirk began to grow on his lips. “’F course, if you like me better without a shirt...” he trailed off suggestively.

She rolled her eyes. “God, you’re a pig. How Anya expects me to put up with you is so beyond me.”

“’M a sexy pig, though.” He eyes her lustfully. “C’mon, Summers, you know you want me.”

She edged toward him, and he felt his heartbeat pick up. Her perky breasts were only inches from his chest when she whispered, “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you go get a shirt on?” She grinned at his shocked look, whirled around, and walked away.

He stared at her as she sat down on his couch and turned on the TV. His erection was pounding almost unbearably, and all he wanted to do was press her into the couch and shag her into next Tuesday.

Instead, he headed for his room. Right before he closed the door, he heard her laugh at something on the screen. The sound slid all over him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

It was going to be a long day.

~*~
 

12:

After he got dressed—and he took his own sweet time about it, to give his erection time to deflate—he sauntered out to the living room. Buffy was sitting there, intent on the show.

He barely gave it a glance. “Look, I’ve gotta go out.”

“No,” Buffy replied, not even taking her eyes from the screen.

“No?” he repeated, staring at her disbelievingly. “You’re not my nursemaid, Summers.”

“Funny, you seemed to think I was a few minutes ago.” She turned off the TV and came to stand in front of him. “I said no, Spike, and believe me, I meant it.”

“Oh yeah? And just exactly how do you plan on stopping me?” He came a bit closer. If she wanted a fight, he was definitely up for it—in more ways than one.

Uh-oh. She had on a smug little grin. That couldn’t be good.

It wasn’t. She reached out and pocked his stomach, where a particularly painful bruise purpled his muscles.

Fire shot through him and he couldn’t restrain his yelp. “Bloody hell, Summers, that fucking hurt!” He reached out to grab her, maybe strangle her—he wasn’t sure. Fucking bint had made it so he couldn’t even see straight!

“And if I touched your back it would hurt even more,” she snapped. Fire was in her eyes; as with all things, Spike found it sexy.

He decided to cooperate, for now at least. He hung his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she grumbled in a slightly softer tone. “Just...go lie down.”

“Hurts to lie down,” he pointed out. “Bloody bullet grazed m’ back, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Now guilt filled her features, and it was her turn to look down. “Thanks,” she whispered, so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.

Almost. “No problem,” he replied, shrugging. he instantly regretted it, as pain from the very wound they’d been discussing shot through him. “Or maybe a slight one,” he added with a rueful grin.

A blush turned her cheeks bright red. “I feel horrible about that,” she confessed. “I mean, I tell you I don’t trust you, and I act all yell-ey and stuff, and then you go and save my life.”

“You sayin’ you want to thank me proper?” Spike asked, watching with glee as her cheeks burned. “’Cause I wouldn’t say no to that...”

“Oh, shut up,” she ordered. “Now, let’s see. It’s...” she checked her watch. “Almost noon. I ought to check your bandages soon.”

Buffy’s fingers on his back? That wasn’t something he was going to turn down. “Sounds good. What d’you want to do till then?”

“Dunno. Not much to do.”

“I know. Do you spend a lot of time around here?”

“Not much. Red comes up here, sometimes. One of those rooms is filled with all her books. Science and the like.” Spike made a face. He’d have died before he admitted it, but personally, he preferred poetry over the books Red liked. Give him a good Byron any day, and he’d be sittin’ pretty.

“Oh.” She sighed. Spike glanced at her; she looked frustrated. “So...what are we gonna do? I mean, it’s not like we can go all Blizzard Baby Boom, or anything.”

“Blizzard Baby Boom?” Was that what he thought it sounded like?

If Buffy’s face was any indication, it was. He grinned slowly. Predatorily. “Well, pet, if you’re offering...” he sidled closer, gripping her waist suggestively.

“God! No! I said cannot! As in, there will be no sex, of the unprotected—or protected!—variety,” she stammered.

He gazed down on her with amusement. He’d never known a chit to get all worked up over one little thing. And somehow, he couldn’t help but push his luck with it. Just a little.

He leaned in until his lips were almost touching her ear. “You sure about that, kitten?” he whispered, and darted out his tongue to just barely graze her earlobe.

*

Okay. That was it. End of the line for Buffy Anne Summers.

First she got all hot and bothered thinking about his cabinets, of all things. Then she went practically insane seeing him all shirtless and seductive-y while she ate her sandwich. Now he was coming on to her while they were supposed to be fighting, and since there was absolutely no chance of them ever actually consummating Buffy’s incredible lust for him, she was mad.

She pushed him away with all the cop-strength she had. He stumbled back a few feet. When the back of his legs hit the couch, he stumbled back and fell onto the leather cushions.

“AUGH! Bloody hell!” he yelped. “Jesus Christ, Summers, cut a man some slack!”

She actually felt sorry for him, but there was no way she was going to show it. “If you want me to cut you some slack, then back off,” she snapped. “I already asked you to!”

He didn’t answer audibly, though he muttered as he stood up again. She glared at him, a glare that faltered when he again began to stalk toward her. Stupid bleached wonder, why did he have to act all menace-y?

And sexy. Definitely sexy.

He halted his pacing when he was standing a mere six inches away from her. “You’re gonna regret that,” he informed her in a low (sexy) voice.

She raised her chin defiantly. “Oh yeah? Come another step near me and you’ll risk losing all your parts.” Her eyes did the flicky-thingy she’d learned from Kennedy, traveling down to his bulging pants before making their way back up to his face. She smirked.

Her smirk disappeared when he reached out and grabbed her around the waist. Yanking with surprising power, considering his injury, he pulled her flush against him.

Now that bulge was digging into her stomach. She felt wetness pool in between her legs as he stared at her with passionate eyes that, though they were far from angry, were just a little bit scary. “Now, what was that about my parts?” he asked in that same low voice.

“Um...” was all she managed to get out. God, he was so hot...

“Thought so.” His hands slid up to her shoulders, grazing her breasts ever so slightly. She moaned—and regretted it when she saw the huge grin that crossed his face. “You want this, don’t you, kitten? Want it just...as much...as I do.” His voice dropped to a whisper and he began moving toward her lips.

Her gaze was fastened on his mouth. As it descended, she closed her eyes, whispered, “Don’t want it...” and swayed into his embrace.

He stopped. Completely stopped.

She wrinkled her brow and opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his expression one of mixed shock and hurt. “What?” she snapped, more than a little ticked that he’d ruined the romantic moment.

“You don’t want it?” he asked with a slight catch in his voice.

And that was when it happened. She blinked as she heard the vulnerability in that statement—and then she saw Spike, really saw him, for the first time.

She’d always known the bad-boy thing was just a front, but now, there was real vulnerability staring out from his eyes. She’d thought that if it ever came to this, if she ever rejected him, she’d receive the chagrin of a guy who’d never been rejected in his life. But now she just saw someone who was tired of fighting and wanted some honest kindness. Maybe even...some honest love?

Whatever. She knew what she saw, and it wasn’t the thing she’d expected. Now that the naked hurt was there, now that she knew she’d been the cause of it, all she wanted to do was kiss him until it was all better.

Why not?

She smiled kindly and reached up on her tiptoes. Closing her fingers around a handful of soft bleached curls, she finished her sentence. “No, Spike, I don’t want it...I need it,” she told him, and at that moment, their lips crashed together.

A thousand, a million sensations raced through her. She felt like she was on fire, and she felt like she was being plunged into ice. It was amazing how that one melding of lips was making her feel like she was being ripped apart, while at the same time giving her an incredible impression of finally becoming whole.

She moaned again as his tongue skimmed across her lips. She instantly opened them, plunging her tongue into his mouth even as he did the same with her.

Heat engulfed them. She couldn’t decide if she was melting or bursting into flames. All she knew was that she never wanted it to stop.

Unfortunately, they both had an annoying habit of needing to breathe. After a few minutes their lips wrench apart. Buffy leaned against him, panting, only slightly gratified to hear his heart beating wildly beneath her cheek.

There was one thought and one thought only running through her head: Oh my GOD!

He found his voice first. “So...’ve you started regretting it yet?”

Just the sound of his voice sent the lust surging through her once again. She tilted her head up and smiled flirtatiously. “You know, I think the regret hasn’t quite set in yet. Maybe you could punish me a little more?”

He growled and attacked her lips once again.

Somehow, they made it over to the couch. They fell onto it, lips still locked. Buffy felt the cool leather press against her back and Spike’s heat warming her front. She gasped at the contrast. Spike took advantage of her shock, grinding his now fully aroused groin into her hips.

He left her lips and kissed his way down her neck, eliciting sensations from Buffy that made her almost cry out in pure pleasure. “Spike...”

“Wanted you. Wanted this,” he told her in whispered tones, “Right from the first time I laid eyes on you, ‘ve wanted to have you...right...here.” His right hand, which had been wandering over her stomach, suddenly plunged downward, grazing her core.

“OhGodOhGodOhGod!” Buffy cried, arching into his caress. She felt him smile against her neck.

“D’you like that, luv?” he inquired, caressing her with a single finger. She arched into it.

“Yes,” she managed to gasp out. His wonderful, talented fingers were making her barely coherent.

“Good.” He pressed down just a little harder, making her clit throb intensely. She clutched at him. “Spike...want you now...”

“Want you too, baby,” he told her, before he planted a gentle kiss on her lips and...



Stood up and walked away!?

Buffy blinked at him, utter fury rising in her stomach. She pushed herself up, running a hand through her tousled hair, fighting to gain control of her racing body, and stolidly avoiding looking over at him.

As soon as she had control, she glanced over at him and completely lost it again.

“What the hell was that?” she screeched, coming over to him and standing in front of him with her arms placed protectively in front of her chest.

“What was what about?” Spike asked. His hair was tousled—Buffy’s fingers itched to run themselves through his hair again.

“You got me all, you know, and then you just leave!”

Ooh, now he was smirking. He was gonna get it. “’M still here, aren’t I?”

“I mean the couch and you know it,” she half-yelled. He flinched, but she ignored it. If he was going to be a big jerk, he could deal with the consequences. “Is this you trying to make me regret what I did?”

As soon as she said it, she wanted to take it back. Pure, unadulterated fury roared through his eyes. “You idiotic, half-brained chit. Have you gone completely carrot-top??

She stared at him. “How dare you,” she began in a low, deadly voice, “Accuse me of being crazy when you’re the sonofabitch who thinks he has the right to just reject me like that!” By the end of her speech, she was shouting, and he was staring at her with open shock in his eyes.

“Buffy, you don’t understand, I didn’t—“

“You kissed me and then you sprung halfway across the room. That’s rejection, you British moron!” God, how could she say these things? She saw the hurt in his eyes, the hurt she herself was causing, but still her mouth kept running, like it was on a motor or something.

“Listen, you annoying little chit, I—“ Spike stopped himself, running a hand through his already-tangled hair. “Fuck,” he muttered, before saying in a surprisingly gentle tone, “Buffy, you’re homeless. Everyone you know, including me, recently betrayed you, and you had a nasty run-in with some of your former friends.”

She couldn’t believe he was saying all that. “Well, duh, Sherlock. I kinda know all that stuff since it happened to me.”

“That’s my sodding point! You’re in a delicate emotional state, and I shouldn’t be taking advantage—“

“Delicate emontional state? Taking advantage?” Buffy repeated his words with complete and utter contempt. “Are you insane?” she yelled, waving her arms in his face.

He caught her wrists in a firm grip. His eyes met hers, and she gulped. She’d never seen such pure intensity in his eyes before. She struggled to hold his gaze when all she wanted to do was look away and hand her head in shame.

“No.”

It was a quiet, almost gentle syllable, but it rang with feeling. All of a sudden Buffy realized what she was doing, what he’d done. She realized that if she’d gone all the way with him, if she’d let him pound her into the couch until they both passed out like she’d wanted, then she would have hated herself, and him, until the end of time for it.

And she realized that in pushing himself away, he’d done more for her than anyone who came before him.

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I—“ she began to whisper. God, she was so stupid. Stupid, and selfish, and to tell the truth, the absolute most cold-hearted jerk ever to walk the face of the earth.

She sank back down onto the couch, her eyes staring at nothing as her mind recalled the last few minutes. Spike had bared his soul to her, let her see his vulnerability, and then saved her from her impulses. And in thanks, she cruelly stomped on him.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

He sat down next to her. She felt his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she relaxed, she was instantly pulled against a hard but immensely comforting chest. Large, warm hands ran up and down her arms as she began to sob, not so much because of their fight as just because of the sheer, overwhelming emotionality of the whole stupid day.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he whispered, hugging her tight. She sniffled and burrowed into his embrace.

“I’m such a bitch.”

She felt him stiffen. When he spoke, his voice was stern. “Don’t you say that,” he ordered almost harshly. “You’ve just had a rough time of it, is all.”

“I was so mean!” she whined miserably.

His cool fingers reached under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Buffy, you’re a wonderful person. You’re fiery and passionate and that’s one of the things I love about you. But it’s got a price, you know. Everything does. ‘ve got just as much fire as you do. If’ we’re gonna do this, then we’ll have to accept that when we get mad, there’ll be fireworks of the non-friendly variety. Got it?”

She stared at him. He had an ungodly gift of putting everything she was thinking about into simple words. “Um...I think so.”

He smiled and brushed her tears away from her eyes. “Good. Now, I was gonna go out to the store and grab us some grub. Wanna come?” He stood up and offered her his hand.

“Sure,” she said, and smiled a bit. Somehow, in just a few minutes, he’d made all the hurt better.

“Great.” He smiled gently and pulled her to him, giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “After we get back, then we’ll talk, a’right?”

“Yeah.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for being protector-guy.”

”Was my pleasure,” he informed her. He shrugged into his duster, wincing a bit, and escorted her out of the apartment.

As he drove them to the store, Buffy rested her head on his arm contentedly. She couldn’t help but wonder, though: Just what, exactly, am I getting myself into?

~*~

 

13:

“You actually like Raman noodles? Are you insane or something?”

“Thought you’d already made up your mind on that one,” Spike said, smirking as he tossed the small box into the cart.

“Well, yeah,” Buffy admitted. “But now I’m positive. No one eats Raman noodles. The Ramans didn’t eat Raman noodles!”

Spike chuckled. He was so glad he’d brought her to the store. Pickin’ up grub was turning out to be much more entertaining than usual. “Pet, I don’t think there’s any such thing as Ramans.”

She pouted, sticking that delectable lower lip out. Spike glanced quickly away.

“If there aren’t Ramans, there should be,” she announced, before pointing and squealing: “Oooh, Spike, Chocolate Lucky Charms! Let’s get those!”

He eyed them disdainfully. “That’s kiddy food!”

“It’s chocolatey goodness,” she corrected, grabbing a box and dropping it in the cart.

“’ey, just wait a second,” he protested. “’M not buyin’ a bunch of junk food, ‘ve got a limited budget...bugger,” he groaned as she stared up at him with those huge green eyes. How in hell was he supposed to resist her when she looked like that? “Fine,” he growled, scowling.

In an instant, a brilliant smile took over her face, and Spike found himself again fighting the urge to press her up against the cereal boxes lining the wall and kiss her senseless. God, he’d never be able to refuse her anything if she kept it up with the lip and the eyes. he could see them as old people, her begging for flavored dentures, and him trying to say no but not being able to...

He froze when he realized just what he’d been thinking about. He couldn’t possibly think that he and Buffy would last till old age, could he? They hadn’t even made love yet.

But when he glanced over at her and saw her surveying the shelves with just as much enthusiasm as other girls would have used when gazing at the Grand Canyon, he could picture spending the rest of forever with her. He really, honestly could.

And that made him wonder: just exactly how insane was he? He hadn’t thought he was completely insane—but with all the thoughts of Buffy and spending eternity with her, he was starting to wonder.

Buffy glanced over at him. “What’cha thinking about?” she asked, sliding in between him and the cart and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He smiled down at her. “You, kitten.”

“What about me?”

Now her fingers were tracing the scar on his eyebrow. Bloody hell, he could barely think when she did that. “Nothin’ much, just wondering what ‘m gonna do now,” he told her, grabbing her fingers and bringing them to her lips.

“Do about what?” she asked.

Spike opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment his cell phone rang. He must have made a face, because when he flipped it open, Buffy was giggling.

“What?”

“Wow. The day must have sucked more than Anya told me.”

“Bit.” He relaxed and shot a frown at the still-giggling Buffy, though he didn’t really mean it. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Well, everybody else is practically having an apoplectic fit ‘cuz you’re not at the house,” Dawn told him. “Where are you, anyway?”

“At the grocery store,” he told her. “Pickin’ up some food for when me and Goldilocks get hungry.”

“Ew, pet name,” Dawn groaned. “What? Willow, I can’t—Xander!” Spike heard a few thumping noises, and then Dawn was yelling something about eating skin in the background.

“Spike, man, where are you?” Xander yelled.

Spike winced, pulling his cell phone away from his ear. “’ey, quiet down,” he ordered Xander. “And gimme Dawn again, we were talkin’.”

“You were chatting,” Xander corrected. “Look, I have no idea why Ayn let Dawn be the one to call, but there’s a big problem. Why aren’t you at your apartment?”

Spike scowled. Concerned, Buffy mouthed, ‘What’s going on?’ Spike shook his head at her.

Which caused her to pout and start nibbling on his earlobe. When he spoke again to Xander, his voice was choked. “Look, ‘ve got the bare necessities, so we’ll be back soon ‘s possible, a’right?”

“Something wrong, Spike?”

“Wrong. no. Why would anything be wrong?” he issued his denial quickly, his voice high-pitched.

“Dunno, but you sound kinda...out of breath,” Xander said. Then, in a moment of surprising cleverness, he asked, “Hey, didn’t you say the Buffster was there with you?”

“’ll be there in a few, Xander. Bye.” Spike hung up as quickly as possible, ignoring the whelp’s indignant yellin’. As soon as his phone was safely in his pocket he scowled down at the woman in his arms.

“You tryin’ to give all the kiddies here a show?” he demanded, sweeping an arm out for extra emphasis.

“Did you enjoy it?” she countered with a sly smile.

He had her wrapped in his arms and was kissing her deeply in less than a second. God, but she tasted so wonderful. She was so strong, so amazing—even as she melted into his arms, she returned his kiss with passion enough to rival his.

After a few breathless moments, Buffy pulled away. Spike looked up to find that this time, they’d garnered quite a large audience. Three tots were standing in front of the cart, staring at them with open mouths.

One of them, a small girl with wispy brown hair, spoke up. “Mister, are you and the pretty lady married?”

Buffy smiled down at them. “No, we’re just—“

“My mommy says you shouldn’t do that unless you’re married,” a blonde boy announced, deep disapproval on his face.

Spike glared at him. Stupid little bugger. “Well, your mum’s bug-shaggin’ crazy,” Spike snapped at him. “Now, run along!”

Apparently he was more menacing than he’d thought, because they ran out at high speed. Buffy turned to him with a frown on her pretty little face. “That wasn’t very nice,” she informed him flatly.

Spike shrugged. “Tots shouldn’t question their elders. ‘Sides, I was enjoyin’ our little interlude.” He bent his head and kissed her again, drawing her lower lip into his mouth and groaning. He could stay with her like this all day...

After a moment, though, he pulled away. “Whelp said something ‘bout an emergency,” he explained when his girl started to pout.

“Oh,” Buffy said, and they exited the supermarket quickly, holding hands.

~*~

They were jumped on as soon as they entered the apartment—a horrible event to Buffy’s way of thinking, since they were both loaded down with bags.

Anya plopped her hands on her hips and accosted them as soon as the door opened. “Where the hell were you? I know I couldn’t trust you two to not have many orgasms if I left you in the house together!”

“Ew, Anya!” Buffy squealed, though actually, that many orgasms thing was a nice visual. Mm, orgasm-ey Spike...

“We were just shoppin’,” Spike informed his sister, and set the bags down on the table.

“Hey, the stud’s gone all domestic.” Faith grinned at him, and for some weird reason, Buffy felt like growling and clawing Faith’s eyes out. It was probably the fact that the sultry brunette wore a shirt that showed an absolute ton of cleavage, and she was currently shoving it in her man’s face.

“Wow, Buffy, chill,” Cordelia advised, coming up to stand next to her. “Faith’s, like, a complete slut, but she’d not going to try to move in on Spike.”

“How do you know?” Buffy grated out, staring daggers at Faith.

“I’m psychic,” Cordy shot back sarcastically, then tugged on Buffy’s arm. “Come on, Buffy, there’s a really big problem and we’re all going to die if we don’t talk about it! And hello, if we die and my hair gets messed up all because of you, you’re so gonna pay!”

Buffy just cocked an eyebrow at her friend, an expression she’d picked up from Spike. “Wow, Cordy, stick one more like in that sentence and you’ll start sounding like Harmony.”

“What? I so do not!” she fumed. “Willow!”

The redhead poked her head out of the kitchen. “Yeah, Cordy?”

“Tell Little Miss Buffy that I am nothing like Harmony!” Cordelia demanded.

Willow’s eyes looked about ready to pop out of her head. Buffy fought the urge to giggle. Poor Willow couldn’t lie if her life depended on it. “Well,” she stuttered. “You have very different...um...hair, and, and you were way more popular than she was in high school, and you probably don’t have the same bloody type—oh! or the same molecular construction, so that’s good, and—“

“Oh my God, you’re so not helping.” Cordelia turned to Spike. “Can we just get on with this whole meeting thing? I’ve got a spa date with Lorne coming up.”

“Lorne goes to spas? Oh, bad visual!” Dawn wrinkled her nose.

Buffy just surveyed the scene, laughing. There probably was an emergency going on, but everyone treated it as a day-to-day thing. There were no gloomy faces, no heroic statements. These people were just doing their job. It was a big change from the LAPD, where everyone was always all West Wing-ey. She decided she liked it.

Their banter was interrupted when the phone rang. Tara, who’d for the most part been staying out of the mini-argument, grabbed it. “Hello?”

Everyone in the room fell silent as Tara’s eyes grew wider and wider. “I’m not—sorry—I-I th-think you may have the wrong number,” she stuttered into the phone.

Kennedy narrowed her eyes. “I’m betting they don’t.” She grabbed the phone and snapped, “Look, you fucking bastards, I don’t know how you got this number, but stay away, or the pointy end of a knife is going to do some serious connecting with your ribcage. Got it?” Without waiting for an answer, she slammed the phone back down in its cradle.

“Fucking LAPD,” she said in response to everyone’s questioning glances.

“And I’m thinking that’s not good,” Xander said.

“They know it’s us, and they were threatening Tara.”

“Guess it’s time.” Willow came out of the kitchen. Buffy looked at her in surprise; her old friend’s face was grim and purposeful.

Everyone followed her, except Buffy. She stood stock-still in the foyer, staring at the suddenly dangerous-looking people in front of her.

Spike passed her, a smirk firmly in place. She fought the urge to smack it off—or maybe kiss it...

“’Smatter, pet? Scared to learn the nice, fluffy corporation’s got claws?”

She scowled at him. “More liked shocked. Half the time you guys seem like a joke.”

“Well, ‘m not playin’ now. The lap-dancers’re serious business.” Spike’s face was grimmer than she’d ever seen it.

“Good, because I’m about ready to make with the seriousness.” Buffy put on a stubborn face.

“Let’s go, then.”

They sat down on the couch together. When Xander opened his mouth to speak, Buffy could sense the new tension in the air.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Apparently someone followed us here, or maybe Veruca heard something on those tapes. I don’t know. What I do know is that the LAPD knows where we are, that we’ve got Buffy, and they’re not backing down until they get us, once and for all.”

“So what, we’re talkin’ war?” Faith’s eyes were troubled, but Buffy was surprised to notice that among the disquiet there was a hint of excitement.

“Yep.” Xander’s one syllable should have sounded flip, but somehow it made shivers run up and down Buffy’s spine. Spike wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed tight; she smiled happily. Somehow, even the tough cop part of her appreciated having someone to lean on.

“But, we’re still safe, right? I mean, the LAPD have never, never actually tried to hurt us, because that would make everyone know that they’re evil, which isn’t there goal...right?” Willow’s voice turned upward, ending on a pleading note.

“Actually, I think Xander’s trying to tell us we’re doomed,” Cordelia said helpfully.

Anya sent her a dirty look. “I was going to say that,” she grumbled. “It’s my job to state the painfully obvious that no one else wants to say.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve just been replaced,” Cordelia shot back. “Because hello, I went out with Xander first, I should be able to—“

“Oh please, like that matters.” Dawn rolled her eyes.

“Thanks for the backup, but since you’re fifteen and therefore extremely inexperienced, I’d rather fight with Cordelia without your help.”

“Guys, you’re losing focus!” Kennedy’s annoyed voice added to the increasing noise. “Am I the only one who remembers we’re about to be killed by an evil police force?”

“Pipe down, Kennedy, we’re not gonna get iced just yet,” Faith snapped.

“Hey, here’s a novel idea. Why don’t you pipe down?” Kennedy yelled.

Buffy stared at them in disbelief. Wow. Maybe West Wing-ey-ness was to be preferred. They were totally out of control.

“Blondie?”

“Yeah?” Ooh, she loved all the pet names he had for her. She couldn’t believe they used to annoy her.

“You might wanna cover up your ears.”

Buffy obeyed, wondering what he was going to do. She’d seen him pull some pretty wiggy stuff, but what could he possibly do to make everyone shut up?

She got her answer a second later, when Spike let loose the loudest roar she’d ever heard from a human being: “SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP AND SIT YOUR ARSES DOWN BEFORE I KILL YOU ALL MYSELF!”

She’d have sworn there were crickets chirping in the silence that followed his bellow.

“Good,” Spike said, a moment later. Buffy noticed with surprise that he didn’t seem the least bit hoarse. “Now, pay attention, because ‘f I have to repeat m’self, you’re gonna regret it.

“Obviously the LAPD has decided to stop playin’ nice. So, we’ll stop too. We’re not gonna go into LA, that’d be stupid. But I want all of you packing ammo at all times. We can’t make the first move ‘cuz if we do we’ll get arrested by Captain bleeding Rayne. Soon ‘s he starts movin’ against us, though, he’ll find out just exactly what we’re made of.” He looked around at everyone. Buffy was surprised to see that the usually quarrelsome group was tranquil and completely agreeable to Spike’s non-plan.

Well, she wasn’t. “That’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard.”

Eight pairs of eyes affixed themselves on her. “Excuse me?” Spike asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I said, stupid plan. Because hello! No matter how much ammunition you guys have, if Rayne decides to take you out, he’ll be on you like that.” Buffy snapped her fingers. “People who wait for the enemy to make the first move are the people who lose.”

“That what they told you in the LAPD? It doesn’t work like that here, pet.”

“Hate to say it, Buffster, but Spike’s right,” Xander admitted. “We’ve gotta lay low or we will all die.”

“Hey, I’m with you, B.” Faith flicked her lighter open and shut, open and shut. “I don’t play nice and I don’t lie low.”

“Which is why you’re going to die young,” Anya pointed out. “Spike’s plan is good,” she informed Buffy. “And even if it wasn’t, you’re not supposed to say anything, because he’s our leader.”

Buffy’s anger was rising. Spike came up with the most asinine plan in the history of the planet and everyone except skanky Faith takes his side? “Well, he’s not my leader,” she snapped before anyone else could try to tell her what to do.

She realized instantly what a mistake she’d made. Everyone in the room gasped, and Spike turned to look at her with narrowed eyes. “If ‘m not your leader, then exactly who are you working for?” he asked in a dangerous voice.

“I’m not working for anyone! I work with people, Spike, and if you can’t accept that—“

“Um, Buffy? You kinda have to accept that Spike’s the boss, not the other way around,” Willow cut in tentatively.

Buffy stared at her best friend—former best friend, now. She couldn’t believe it. First Spike tried to make her fall in line, and now Willow!? Were they all against her?

She looked around helplessly. Part of her acknowledged that no one looked really mad at her, just a bit mystified because of her seeming rebellion. Most of her was still reeling from the events of the day, though, and what she was a room full of people who didn’t know her and didn’t trust her.

They didn’t trust her, that was it. They thought she was still all buddy-buddy with stupid Captain Rayne. Well, she’d show them. She didn’t need any of them, not Willow, not Xander, not Dawn...not even Spike. She leapt up off the couch.

“I have to get out of here,” she said wildly. “I can’t—this is—“ she took a deep breath before speaking the one thought on her mind: “This isn’t where I belong.”

It was a long time before she realized what those words meant to everyone in the room except her. To her, they just meant escape. Getting out, getting some air so she could make sense of the whole Spike-is-the-boss thing. Before anyone could gainsay her, she ran out of the door.

She leapt down the stairs at top speed. She wasn’t actually planning on leaving forever, just long enough to sort some things out. Hearing Spike in there, not even talking about violence against her former boss, only advocating passive resistance—just that had made her crazy.

And then she’d wanted nothing more than to just crush the LAPD, once and for all. Something inside of her, the little voice that never really stopped telling the truth, knew that her response had been completely illogical. Spike’s plan was the good one. They couldn’t just destroy the LAPD. It was too dangerous.

And now she was running, not really trying to get anywhere, just dying to make some sense of the confusion whirling through her.

Spike lusted after her. The events of that morning made it plenty obvious. But at the same time, he was willing to be Mr. Commando-Guy and give orders that she didn’t really want to obey. She was used to making her own rules. That was what cops did.

Could she reconcile her independence with the fact that her would-be boyfriend had every right to order her around sometimes?

She reached the park and sat down in a swing, moving back and forth disconsolately. Nothing inside her would settle.

The moon shone brightly, washing everything in silver, but at the same time creating impenetrable shadows.

And as Buffy stared off into the distance, one of those shadows detached itself from the others and floated toward her.

“The dark moves around you. It twists, hissing, cah, cah, cah.” The voice was female, and more British than Spike’s.

Buffy leapt off the swing and pulled out her gun. “Who’s there?”

“Tsk, tsk,” the figure scolded. “Not polite, shattering the night with fire. The moon whispers in the night. Doesn’t like the sunshine. Doesn’t like the pretty glowing girl.”

Okay, Buffy didn’t know who the hell this woman was, but she was starting to get really annoying. “Show yourself. Now!”

“The sun is angry. It doesn’t like the darkness.” The shadowy woman took a step forward into the silver light. Buffy inhaled sharply. She knew this woman. She’d seen her before—in the picture she’d found in Spike’s drawer.

She wore a filmy white dress that somehow fit her, though it would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Her dark hair and dreamy features only accentuated her seeming insanity. “Who are you?” Buffy demanded.

The woman smiled. “A friend of Spike’s,” she whispered. “Naughty, naughty Spike. Leaving me alone for the stars and the moon, swimming about...” She began to sway. “Swimming all around, like a little fishy...have you ever seen a fishy? I had one once, but it died. And then I cried, and my Spike...but he doesn’t love me anymore. He loves the light now, the light and all that is saintly and pure.” Suddenly her insane gaze focused on Buffy. “Take me to him,” she ordered, abruptly regal. “Take me to my Spike. He’s been a very bad boy, and now Mummy shall have to punish him.”

It was settled. This was one—what was that phrase Spike always used? Oh, yeah: This was one bug-shagging crazy chick. “How about we...um...get you inside. You must be cold, right? And then you and Spike can talk and maybe figure out all the naughty-boy weird stuff, okay?” Buffy spoke quickly, trying to get some sense into the crazy woman’s head. Actually, she doubted the wisdom of bringing her to Spike, but really, what the hell else was she supposed to do? The woman had obviously known him, so it wasn’t like she didn’t know about the so-called secret headquarters. And even if she did, well, that cat was already totally out of the bag anyway.

She ignored the voice in her head that said she was only helping Miss Insane-o because she wanted to have an excuse to talk to Spike without him yelling at her.

“You’ll take me to my Spike?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Buffy tried hard to smile.

“How very kind of you. Such a nice piece of sunshine.” The woman smiled at her vacantly and allowed Buffy to take her arm.

“Um, his house is this way,” Buffy told her, and began to lead her back to the apartment.

She was so distracted trying to figure out what she’d say to Spike that she didn’t notice the knife that Drusilla slipped back into its sheath in the folds of her dress.

~*~

 

14:

Spike was off the couch and pulling on his duster before she even made it out of the room. They heard her footsteps slowly receding down the stairs as he turned to the rest of the gang. “All of you, stay here. Get weapons and the lot, and when I get out little defector back, ‘ll fill you in on the rest of the plan. Got it?” Everyone nodded.

He tried to stride out of the room all manly-like, but unfortunately his bullet graze got in the way. Scowling, he hunched his shoulders—the fabric didn’t rub as much that way—and slunk out the door.

He didn’t know what the hell had gotten into her, acting like such a lunatic, and to tell the truth he didn’t really care. She wasn’t going to get away with trying to flout his authority like that. No one did.

OK, who the sodding hell was he tryin’ to fool? He cared more about how she was feeling than he could ever care about the idiot struggle with the LAPD. God, he was half-convinced he wanted to spend forever with her. She meant more to him than anything.

He was about halfway down the block when he heard voices. Slipping into an alley, he listened to them approach.

He recognized Buffy’s voice instantly. “Come on,” she urged whoever was next to her. “It’s just a little ways more. Then you can see Spike.”

He stiffened. She was taking someone to his apartment? Was she off her bird? Who in the world could she possibly think it was safe to lead to his apartment?

His blood ran cold when he heard the other voice. “No need for that. I can feel him. Come out, come out, my Spike,” she sang, weaving toward where he stood in the shadows. “Show yourself, or Mummy shall have to be very cross.”

“Drusilla.” He stepped out, staring at the woman through narrowed eyes. Bloody bitch. Why the hell had she come back? Just looking at her made him sick. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. Just like old times.” Her eyes sparkled. “The stars told me you were here.”

“Did the stars tell you I’d shoot your pathetic ass if you came to me? You work for Rayne now, remember?” Personally, he didn’t understand why the man employed her. Bloody bint was an absolute loon. He’d known that even when he dated her.

“I didn’t like him.” She pouted. “He made me do all sorts of nasty things.”

”Um, Spike?” Buffy cut in. “How do you know her?”

He stared at her, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. There was his dark beauty, practically come from the dead, she’d been so lost to him—and here, in front of him, was the woman who was rapidly becoming the center of his hopes and dreams.

He sighed. There was no way he could lie to Buffy. “She’s an ex. Well, actually, the ex. Only girlfriend ‘ve ever had.”

“And the best,” Drusilla said, smacking her lips. “Come now, my Spike. Don’t you want to make Princess happy?”

He ignored her. “She’s on Rayne’s payroll,” he told Buffy.

Buffy scowled and he instantly felt sorry for her. It had been less than two days ago that she herself had been on Rayne’s payroll. Meeting yet another crazy person whom Rayne employed couldn’t be easy for her.

“Not anymore. He rejected me. Please, my Spike, make Princess happy? Give Princess a home?”

Bloody fucking hell, it had been years and that look could still melt him. “If I find out that you’re still working for that motherfucker...” he threatened, but he began to lead her home.

“Princess will be good,” Dru promised, leaning into him.

Shit.

Everyone was still waiting when they got back. Spike opened the door with a bang, not in the mood to get almost-shot by friends who thought he was a member of the LAPD tryin’ to break in.

“’m back,” he called. “And I’ve got two traitors, not just the one.”

Buffy glared at him. Spike winced; it was a definite ‘I’ll kill you later’ look.

“Hey, Spike, we’re glad you’re—oh my God!” Willow stopped dead when she saw Drusilla.

“Spike, are you insane? She’s a nut! And hello, also completely style-challenged!” Cordelia reminded them.

Spike rolled his eyes at her. “Pipe down, all. According to Dru here, she’s cut ties with Rayne.”

“And you believe her?” Xander said disbelievingly. “Oh, hi, Buffy,” he added. “I’m guessing you’re okay now?”

Buffy looked at the floor, a mannerism Spike found incredibly cute. “Sorry. I kinda lost it for awhile there.”

“It’s all good, B.” Faith grinned at her. “We’ve all done it.”

“Even I’ve rebelled, and you know I’m not much with the—well, rebelling.” Willow gave her a tentative smile.

“I know that now,” she admitted.

The scene was interrupted by Drusilla’s growling. “The little girl wants my Spike,” she hissed, glaring at Buffy. “But she shall not have him.”

Spike winced. Bloody females. “Dru, there’s a spare bedroom at the end of the hallway. Why don’t you take that.”

She smiled at him. “Mummy shall be very happy with you come morning, William,” she purred, before sashaying off.

“Wonderful. She gets a spare room and I crash on the couch?” Buffy narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re not stayin’ out here, you’re sleepin’ in my room.” Spike had the very great pleasure of watching her facial expression change from mild irritation to absolute horror.

“What? I am not!”

“Um, Spike? Why exactly will she be sharing your room?”

For some odd reason, Spike felt his groin tighten at those words. Hearing someone else say it seemed to make it more real. “Because,” he ground out, his voice husky with arousal, “I don’t trust Drusilla. She’s a loony bint, and she wants to hurt Buffy because she knows that Buffy’s special to me. The logical place for her to sleep is with me.”

“Spike, that’s lamer than some of the pick-up lines I’ve gotten, and I’m fifteen,” Dawn told him scornfully.

Spike glanced over at Buffy. She was watching him with a slight grin on her face. “So, Spike, you trying to hit on me?” she asked playfully.

A scowl blackened his features. “This is serious,” he growled.

Good, he’d been convincing. Everyone immediately wiped the grins off of their faced. “Right,” Xander said, “Serious. So, where are the rest of us sleeping? I mean, I’m guessing this just became a giant sleepover since the lap-dancers are on to us and all.”

“Some ‘f you can take Willow’s room, and the rest can sleep out here,” Spike said, trying hard to ignore the implication that he wanted privacy with Buffy. It wasn’t exactly a lie, after all...he glanced over at her tight little body and felt himself harden a bit more. Just the thought of her in his bed was driving him insane. He was probably going to explode when it actually happened.

“Isn’t there room for anybody else in there?” Tara asked, seemingly innocently.

Spike scowled at her. “No.”

For a second, about five different kinds of tension hummed in the air, among them the almost tangible sexual tension between Spike and Buffy. Spike’s eyes met his girl’s and for a second he thought he might burst into flames at the passion and anticipation that burned there.

Bugger. He’d worried about what would happen if he didn’t behave, but he’d never given a second thought to what would happen if she decided to be naughty.

And wouldn’t you just love that, mate? a nasty voice inside him whispered. You know you want her.

Yes, he did, but he couldn’t have her—not right now, anyway. Not when she was so unsure of herself that she was cuddling with him one moment and running two blocks away the next. Him fucking her into his mattress until neither of them had the energy to stand would just have to wait awhile.

Buffy ran her eyes up and down his form before smiling and licking her lips.

Fuck. He quickly shifted his duster to cover his now roaring erection. After that, he cleared his throat. “Right then. Let’s all get armed, and then we’ll go to bed.”

“We’re sleeping with our weapons?” Buffy said disbelievingly.

Spike shrugged. “Some evil nasty comes creepin’ in the night, you’ll be glad you’ve got ‘em,” he replied matter-of-factly.

He heard her gulp. “Oo-kaay,” she said slowly.

Jesus Christ. She sounded the tiny bit nervous, and now all he wanted to do was cuddle her until it was all better. This was getting ridiculous.

After they’d all been given three guns and twice as many knives, they set up sleeping arrangements. Both Spike and Buffy were helping the others with what Spike viewed as clearly overly-enthusiastic attitudes. Looks like ‘m not the only one a bit worried ‘bout sleepin’ in the same room, he thought with a smirk.

Unfortunately for him, his smaller head was still very much looking forward to having Buffy all to itself when they were done setting up.

“Well, that’s it!” Dawn chirped, grinning mischievously at Spike. “You and Buffy can go to bed now. You guys must be really tired.”

He scowled at her. “You’re a little devil-child, you know that?”

“Hm. Guess I know who my real dad is now,” Dawn teased.

He swatted at her, but secretly he was pleased that she could joke about it. Time was she’d have burst into tears if he’d even mentioned her parentage—or lack thereof.

“C’mon, Spikey,” Buffy said with a grin. “Let’s go to bed.”

Bleeding, buggering, sodding fuck.

~*~

Buffy was actually a lot more nervous than she let on. Just the thought of sleeping in the same room as Spike made her feel all weird and mushy inside. Not exactly scared, and not entirely nervous, either. She was actually pretty excited—she had been the one practically demanding that he fuck her earlier that day.

But somehow, she knew that wasn’t going to happen tonight, and not just because Drusilla occupied the room next to his. During the day, something had changed. It had been subtle, but sometime in between her tears and finding Drusilla, a new layer had been added to their whatever-it-was relationship.

And she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or big-time badness.

So, when she entered his room, all she could do was shut the door and stare nervously around. Posters—Sex Pistols, the Ramones, and a bunch of other bands she’d never heard of—decorated the dead black walls. The furniture was also black, and the carpet was a washed-out grey that looked like it had formerly been black. The sheets were—Buffy blinked.

“Why in the world do you have rubber ducky sheets?”

Spike groaned. “Shoulda changed those. Gag gift from Red couple years back.” He grimaced as he looked at them. “Bloody bint.”

Buffy grinned and sat down on the bed, bouncing happily. “Well, I for one approve. Rubber duckies are cute.”

“Hey! I am not cute!” Now he looked annoyed. Ooh, sexy...

That thought reminded her that this was Spike’s room. Spike, whom she had lusted after for pretty much forever. Spike, the guy who practically made her melt into a puddle when he so much as looked at her. What she did when he kissed her, Buffy wasn’t even gonna get into.

Her nervousness came back, only this time it was ten times as huge.

She cleared her throat. “So...um...you wanna take the floor, or should I?”

“Buffy.”

His serious tone gave her pause. She glanced at him and pasted a smile on her face. “It’s okay, I know you’re delicate. I’ll take the floor.”

“Pet, do you really think we have to sleep separately?” His face was open, honest, like it had been before she’d kissed him. Buffy decided right then and there that it was a big-time dangerous look.

“Um...I don’t know,” she stuttered. “Are you gonna try to like cop a feel, ‘cause that would be big-time gross, and ungentlemanly, and really really mean, plus also if Drusilla suspects she might like stab me, and—“

“Buffy. Just answer the question.”

He didn’t sound annoyed, exactly. Actually—anger began to rise in her. He sounded amused! He was laughing at her!

She narrowed her eyes. “If you’re willing to risk me strangling you, then sure, we can share.”

He rolled his eyes. “You can be such a pain, you know that, Summers?”

That hurt more than she was willing to admit, but she just stuck her nose up in the air. “I’m going to go change. You stay here,” she ordered.

Spike just rolled his eyes.

She came out of his bathroom (black tile—he was insane) a few minutes later, dressed in her traditional girly boxer shorts and t-shirt. She stopped dead when she saw Spike already under the covers...and if the pile of clothes on the floor was any indication, he was stark naked.

And smirking as he ran lust-filled eyes up and down her body. Buffy barely stopped herself from growling. This was just too much. Did he have to act like such a stupid horn dog? “Spike!”

Oops. That was supposed to sound all in-charge-ey. Instead it came out more as an I’m-a-frightened-virgin squeak.

“Problem, luv?” He was still smirking. She was gonna kill him.

“Nope. No problems here. Absolutely none.” She bent over and picked up her clothes. “Except the fact that you’re a slob,” she added, dropping the stuff in the hamper.

Oh good, the pile was minus the boxers. He at least had some underwear on. Unless he didn’t wear underwear...

Ew.

“You think ’m a slob?” He sounded mortally offended. “I’ve seen your desk, you annoyin’ chit. You’re not so neat yourself.”

“Oh, shut up.” She slid in next to him, staunchly ignoring the fear fluttering in her belly. “At least I don’t have rubber ducky—eep!”

Her foot brushed against his, and the shock was so great that she thought she may have actually levitated. She did scoot about two feet to the left and come dangerously close to falling off the bed.

And that bastard was just lying there, grinning. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Are you naked?”

Okay, that was beyond wiggy. She hadn’t even been thinking that...well, she had, but it wasn’t supposed to come out of her mouth!

“Would you like it if I was?” he asked in a low, husky voice.

It should have scared her. It should have made her realize that she was lying in bed with a potentially dangerous man.

Instead, it made her feel sexy. Powerful. Powerful and sexy enough to answer, in a voice equally as soft, “Maybe.”

He grinned, apparently liking her courage. “Sorry to let you down, but ‘m not.” He leered at her. “Wish I was, though, such a pretty thing like you right next to me.”

She flopped down on the pillows. “Just shut up, okay?”

His voice was instantly gentler. “Sorry, luv. ‘d forgotten how long a day it’s been for you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, sighing. “Although I wish you put some clothes on.”

He chuckled at her disgruntled voice. “Never said I didn’t have any.”

Buffy squealed when she felt his hands around her waist. The shriek turned into a gasp when she was pulled against underwear-clad hardness—no, make that rock-solid-ness. “Oh,” she said weakly.

“’m not doin’ this because I want you—well, not right now, anyway. I just want—I want us to be close. Just for awhile. Please?”

How in the world could any sane girl resist that soft, pleading voice?

Buffy sighed and melted against him, doing her best to ignore the wonderful hardness that made her want to jump him. “Okay,” she breathed softly.

His arms instantly wrapped around her, pulling her until she was snugly spooned against him. She sighed in contentment as she felt his chin come to rest on her head. He had such hard muscles, but somehow, in his arms, she felt like she’d just found the most wonderful sleeping place in the world.

“Goodnight, Spike,” she sighed.

She felt him smile. “G’night, luv.”

And that was the word that she went to sleep thinking about.

Love.

~*~
 

15:

Though he felt Buffy’s breathing become even after only a few minutes in his arms, Spike couldn’t go to sleep. It might have had something to do with the hell of a day he’d just had, not to mention the fact that his loony bint of an ex was in the next room over, or perhaps it was the definite pain he still felt from that bullet graze...but he thought it had more to do with the girl in his arms.

She was so soft right now, so utterly adorable as she slept. Who’d have guessed that when she was asleep, his little spitfire turned into a cuddly kitten? When she was awake it was clear as day that she had an attitude. She was one of those bronze-balls types. But now that sleep had taken her, she looked so bloody vulnerable that he just wanted to hold her and never let her go.

And her hair...God, he loved her hair. It shone even now, in the moonlight, and it felt so very soft under his lips. For a moment, and image flashed through his head: Buffy, naked, with her hair down all over her breasts and back, riding him for all she was worth.

He shivered and felt his erection grow even stronger—which made him scowl. How the sodding hell did she make him so vulnerable? Just the thought of her could get him raring to go, which was pretty damn awful, since she was lying in his arms as trustful as a babe. There was absolutely no way he’d be takin’ advantage of her in the position.

And there was another thing. When had he become so chivalrous? Last time he’d checked, he’d been a wham, bam, thank-you-ma’m type. Sometimes not even botherin’ with the thank you. What was it about this girl that made him so different from how he usually was. So...

Better, mate? that voice in his head whispered. No, not better. More like infinitely confused, he thought. She’s turned me into a complete ponce. Got her in the bed, admitting she’d like to be naked with me, and what do I say? I tell her I’d like to just be close to her! I’m acting like—

Suddenly his thoughts screeched to a halt. Slowly, unsurely, he traced back through his line of thought: Buffy made him a ponce. He was a ponce because he had a girl in his bed and told her he just wanted to sleep. That meant that he was acting like...shock raced through his system as he inevitably came to the same conclusion.

“Like I’m in love,” he said softly.

Buffy stirred in his arms, and for one terrifying second, he thought he’d awakened her—but no, she was just turning over in her sleep. Now she was nuzzling his chest in a manner that made him almost lose his breath.

God, she was beautiful. From those incredible eyes, currently closed to showcase long lashes, to her luscious lips that he knew from experience tasted like heaven—everything about her was absolutely perfect.

Damn it.

He hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t even really wanted it. He’d fallen in love with a cop—well, former cop—who also happened to be his secretary, and who had just gotten over a bout of hating him so much she wished the most painful death possibly upon him. If you were to look up the definition of ‘unattainable’ in the dictionary, you’d see her bleeding picture.

“Spike, you are one buggered-up puppy,” he muttered to himself.

“Mmph,” Buffy muttered in her sleep. Her hands scraped his chest gently, finally coming to settle on his shoulders. “Mine,” she muttered, presumably still asleep.

Spike’s heart felt like it was about to stop in his chest. Had she meant it, or was she dreaming about something else? There was no way to tell, and realistically, Spike knew that even if she had been thinking about him, she might not even remember the dream when she woke up. Hell, she might not want to.

There was nothing he could do about this new condition—yeah, that’s what he’d call it, a condition—of his ‘till at least morning. He sighed and grumbled before pulling Buffy into his arms and falling into an uneasy sleep.

~*~

It was the sunshine that woke her. Warm, beautiful sunshine that, though it seemed weird in the black-painted room, made Buffy feel warm and happy inside.

The first thing she saw was the rubber ducky sheets. That made her smile. The second thing she saw was the man cradling her in his arms, which made the smile melt into a soft, happy sigh.

It was funny, but she hadn’t pegged Spike as the cuddly type; he seemed to her to be more love ‘em and leave ‘em. But the whole night long, he hadn’t tried anything.

If it was possible for hearts to melt, Buffy’s was going like chocolate in the sun.

She reached out a finger and traced his features. The sun warmed his usually pale skin to the palest golden honey. His features, always so hard and uncompromising when he was awake, had softened. He didn’t look cute, exactly, but he did look vulnerable and almost childlike, lying there.

Buffy grinned suddenly. He may have looked childlike, but he was sporting stiffage that would have put many a man to shame.

She traced his eyebrow, wondering for about the billionth time where he’d gotten that scar. Had it hurt? She hoped not. The thought of Spike hurting made her tummy twist inside.

And therein lies the problem, she thought with a mental grimace. Stupid heart. Stupid body. They’d both teamed up against her brain in an effort to get her to trust Spike. Her body wanted his, even now, and her heart was insisting that he could be trusted. Her affection for him was getting to the point that she found even his dumb habits, like smirking and raising his eyebrows, incredibly endearing.

Jeez. What was her deal, anyway? Half the time she couldn’t stand to look at him, he bugged her so much, and the other half he was driving her up the wall with the need to kiss him. She was starting to think she was insane.

The eyes that she’d been gently tracing around opened and stared at her. Buffy gulped. Good God his eyes are blue. And the expression in them...so soft, so wonderful.

“Thinking ‘bout something, pet?” he asked softly.

She felt herself frown. “Actually, I was thinking maybe I’m insane.” As he started to chuckle, she pushed on his chest a bit and said, “Hey! I’m not kidding. I mean, yesterday I was hating you one minute and then I was kissing you and then we were all cuddly...I went totally schizo yesterday.” She hung her head. “Sorry.”

It was actually kinda hard to hang your head when you were all snuggly with someone. Her forehead ended up resting against his chest. She wasn’t the only one who shivered at that contact.

“’S okay,” he said, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “One thing that’s good ‘bout that is, ‘m never gonna get bored.”

The way he said it—like that was the absolute worst trait in the world to have—and the fact that she knew he was exactly the same way made her giggle, alleviating some of the tension in the room. He laughed along with her. When they began to calm down he said, “Reckon we’d better get up.”

“Hmph.” Buffy pouted. “Comfy.”

Wow, was it just her or did his morning stiffy turn into something a little...stiffer? She fought not to laugh—an urge that was completely quelled when his mouth swooped down upon her own and kissed her urgently.

She gave as good as she got, and when they broke apart, they were both gasping for breath. “What—the—hell?” Buffy managed to get out.

“Don’t pout,” he advised her, reaching round and squeezing her ass. “Makes me all hot and bothered.” He leaned down and kissed her again. This time, she managed to keep enough of her sense to wriggle closer, pressing her soft stomach against his erection. He moaned into the kiss.

“Tch, tch, tch.”

An insidious clicking noise cause them to leap apart. Looking up, Buffy saw Drusilla standing in the previously closed and locked doorway.

“Naughty Spike, sleeping with sunshine. She’ll burn you.”

“Drusilla, what the bleeding hell are you doing in m’ room?” Spike demanded more than a little angrily.

“The sun has come up,” Drusilla replied innocently. “Princess wanted breakfast, but the other won’t give it.” She swayed forward and made it suddenly very obvious that she was wearing nothing but a sheer nightgown. “You can get me breakfast.”

Okay, this was just a little much. Buffy could handle it when she was all insane and slutty. That was okay, because she could handle crazy slutty chicks. But right now, the girl was perfectly sane, and she was still slutty. Worse, she was throwing herself at someone who was definitely not available.

So, accordingly, she sat up, leaned down, and gave Spike a quick, passionate kiss. Before the world had a chance to do the spinny thing, she looked into his eyes, said, “We’ll finish this later, baby,” and stood up to face Drusilla with what she hoped was a scary face.

Drusilla herself looked pretty freaky. She was staring at Spike with narrowed eyes, and Buffy could have sword she was hissing.

Well, Buffy had never been big on the whole common sense thing. She took a step forward, eyeing Drusilla contemptuously.

When she was about two feet away from the girl, she stopped dead and smiled sweetly. “We get our own breakfast here, Dru,” she said in a high, innocent-little-girl voice. “Why don’t you run along and do just that?”

“Ssss. Don’t want food if naughty boy won’t give it to me.” She pouted, looking over at Spike with huge eyes.

Wonderful, now she was going to make with the craziness again. Fine. Buffy could deal with that, too.

“Sorry, Princess, but the naughty boy’s busy being naughty with me. Scoot.” When Drusilla still didn’t move, Buffy snapped her fingers in front of the woman’s eyes.

”Get the hell out of here, you crazy-ass bitch!”

Okay, so she wasn’t exactly good at the whole temper-holding thing.

Drusilla, though, didn’t even blink. “Spike? Don’t make Princess go,” she begged in a quivery voice.

Buffy didn’t even bother looking back at him. He didn’t count (her jealousy-addled brain refused to admit that maybe she was being a little irrational). The only thing that currently counted was getting Drusilla out.

So, accordingly, she planted herself directly in Drusilla’s line of vision—or at least, a little below it. “Leave now,” she ordered, “Or there will be a hole where your brain was.”

She expected a whimper, another plea to Spike, or maybe one of those weird clicks or hisses. What she got weirded her out more than all those things combined would have.

Drusilla just stared at her for a minute before whispering, “The cards aren’t right just yet. The fishes will tell you when they are,” before departing.

Buffy turned back to the bed, feeling perplexed. What was that girl’s deal?

She didn’t get more than halfway around before she was enveloped in a bear hug. “Didn’t want to interfere,” Spike mumbled, kissing the top of her head. “Figured that’d just piss her off more.”

Buffy sighed, allowing herself the luxury of melting into his embrace for a second before stiffening and saying, “Okay, it sucks big-time that I have to do this, but we’d better get dressed.”

He pulled away from her, grimacing, but she knew he agreed. Sighing, he said, “Guess you’re right. What say you take the bathroom, an’ I’ll get dressed out here.”

She rolled her eyes, which of course made him get the offended look on his face. “What was that for?” he asked in a hurt voice.

“You are such a guy,” she told him, smacking his chest. “I’m going to be in that bathroom for at least a half an hour getting all pretty. you’ll just toss your clothes on and that’ll be that.”

“’S worth it, though. You’re beautiful,” he told her softly.

A blush rose in her cheeks and she smiled in pure pleasure. She’d never been called beautiful before—well, not by anyone who counted. Having him look down at her like she really was beautiful...somehow, out of all the stuff that had happened over the past few days, that was one of the most amazing.

“You, too,” she said. When what she’d just reciprocated occurred to her, she covered her mouth. God, could she get any more dumb-blonde-ey? “I mean,” she babbled, “In a gorgeous, manly, sexy kinda way...” she trailed off and made a face. “That was totally lame, wasn’t it?”

“Just a bit,” he said, but he was smiling.

God, I have to be the luckiest betrayed ex-cop with the LAPD on her heels in the world, she thought, staring up at him.

Unfortunately there was no cool world-stoppage like there was in the movies. They had to go get dressed. After staring at each other in the sappiest of ways for a few minutes, Buffy smiled awkwardly. “We really should get dressed.”

“Guess so,” Spike said, sticking his lip out petulantly. Buffy fought the urge to kiss it—his pouting was just as sexy as he apparently thought hers was.

“So. Um. See you out in the kitchen?”

At his smirk and nod, she scurried into the bathroom.

~*~

When Buffy entered the kitchen, people were draped over every article of furniture in the room that was even remotely near the wall. At first she just wondered if they all had a wall fetish or something wiggy like that, but then she saw Drusilla standing in the center of the kitchen, eating cereal. The milk dribbled down her chin in a way that should have looked nuts, but something about her expression turned it into a sexy thing, like a tube top or whatever.

Buffy scowled.

Her scowl lightened only a little when she saw that Xander and Anya were sitting in chair propped in front of the small kitchen table, which had been shoved against the wall. Eating at the table was Spike. Buffy refrained from smiling triumphantly.

At least he get the whole he’s mine and if she touches him she is a dead schizo walking concept, she thought as she walked over to the table, slid into the chair next to him, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Crazy lady scaring you?”

Spike snorted. “More like makin’ me want to rip her bleedin’ head off,” he growled.

“Which of course is why we’re protecting you like a little baby,” Anya said in a vague voice. She, too, was watching Drusilla like a hawk.

“Spike, I know you decided to keep her here and all, but I don’t like her,” Xander said. “She’s...”

“Clearly insane?” Anya offered. “A raving lunatic, and Spike must be one too since he’s insisting we keep her here? A serious clamp on the whole get-Buffy-and-Spike-to-hook-up plan?”

“Anya!”

“S alright, whelp, ‘d already guessed,” Spike said lazily. “’Sides, we took care of that bit ourselves, didn’t we, pet?”

Buffy just sat there and grinned. That is, until Anya said curiously, “Are you two having many orgasms yet?”

Spike actually choked on the pastry he was eating, and sitting as close to him as she was, Buffy saw his muscles tense. Apparently the thought of them having ‘many orgasms’ was a turn-on. It sure as hell was for her.

It was also majorly embarrassing. “Anya!” she cried, pounding Spike on the back. “There were no orgasms!”

“Judging by the look on the Big Bad’s face, I’m bettin’ he wishes there were.” Faith, leaning against the counter, grinned.

“Whatever.” Buffy rolled her eyes, but her grin had come back. As long as she wasn’t going all boob-shovey with Spike, Faith was okay.

Now Kennedy came over. “Spike, I’m really not liking this Drusilla thing. It blows,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, I’m worried she’s gonna like rip up my Prada bag or something.” Cordelia was the perfect face of worry, despite her shallow words.

A chuckle sounded behind them. “Don’t want your purse.”

Okay, Buffy decided. Drusilla coming over there was kind of inevitable, since they were all gathered there. But still. The girl was freaky in a huge way.

Cordelia just eyed her up and down. “Um, hello, nobody asked you!”

“Don’t have to. Do they, Spike?”

Spike averted his eyes from her.

“Grr. Bad dog. Answer when Mummy tells you.”

The rest of the group was completely still. You know, when you think about it, it’s a little funny that one crazy chick can make everybody so scared.

Drusilla reached out toward Anya, presumably to push her away.

Or not.

“Spike! Your crazy ex is going to touch me! For God’s sake, can’t you just shut her up somewhere or something!” Anya was practically jumping out of her skin. Insanity didn’t agree with her.

“Uh, yeah.” Spike managed to shake himself out of whatever thrall he’d been in. “Dru, come with me. We’re gonna, um, put you in for a nap. ‘k?”

He led her back down the hallway. Fortunately, she was gibbering insanely—she barely seemed to notice when he locked the door on her.

When he came back, Faith’s comment summed up everybody’s feelings: “Damn, that is one fucked-up bitch.”

~*~

 

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