"Oh come on, Buffy. If my Mom calls, all you have to do is tell her I'm in the shower. Or the bathroom. Or... well, just make up something. And then call me at Angel's house and I'll call her right back," Cordelia begged.

It sounded simple enough, but Buffy didn't know how much longer Ms. Chase-Giles would buy her lies. Harmony was staring at her with hopeful eyes. They got her every time with their 'Oh Buffy, why don't you come spend the weekend with us! It'll be just like when we were kids!' It never was like when they were kids. She knew that the only reason they still asked her to their sleepovers was so that someone would man the phone and feed Max, the aging Lhasa Apso Cordelia once carried around like a baby and now couldn't be bothered with.

"Okay," Buffy digressed. "I guess I can study just as well at your house as I can at mine."

Secretly, Buffy hoped that Cordelia's older bother, William, or Spike as he now liked to be called, would make an appearance. It seemed that he was home every weekend these days.

"You are a life-saver, Buffy!" Cordy beamed, wrapping her arms around her friend and planting a noisy kiss on her cheek. "We'll totally be back in time to go to the beach tomorrow, okay?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and shrugged her off. Cordelia was so overly dramatic that it was comical at times. Harmony looked at her and grinned.

"I'm not all about the lesbian-love like Cordy, but thanks, Buff! You're the best," she agreed.

Cordy and Harmony had taken to inviting Buffy over every weekend so that they could sneak out to see their boyfriends undetected by parental radar. It was easy enough. Angel picked them up at the convenience store across from Cordy's house.

Cordy's mom had decided that being married to Mr. Giles was no longer fun. His business trips took him overseas too often and instead of accompanying him, she took to finding the company of men half her age. It was just too easy for Cordy to sneak out the sliding glass door in her bedroom and across the road to the Circle K.

"No prob," Buffy smiled weakly.

She was grateful that her own mother didn't ask too many questions about where she was or what she did. Lying to Cordy's mom was one thing. Lying to her own mother was another. Joyce wasn't home much these days, anyhow. Her passion for art had her travelling the world at the drop of a hat. She had already put their house up for sale and announced to Buffy that at the end of her senior year, she would be moving to New York to open a gallery.

What about me? Buffy had initially thought. Instead of following her mother, she had decided to stay in Sunnydale and live in the dorms at the University when she graduated high school.

The phone rang for the third time at 11:30. Buffy prayed that it wasn't Ms. Chase-Giles again.

"Hey Buff!" It was Cordy. She could hear Harmony giggling in the background and the sounds of muffled male voices as well.

"Hey Cordy. What's the what?" she asked, absently petting the dog who had fallen asleep in her lap.

"Just talked to Mom. She's down for the count," Cordy giggled.

"In English, please?" Buffy asked.

"She'll be out all weekend. Something about a hottie in LA and don't wait up and I'll see her Sunday night sometime," Cordy filled her in. "In other words, I won't be hearing from her again. So, uh... if you want to hang out at the house, that's cool. If not, that's cool, too. Just leave Max some kibble and maybe stop by and check on him if Spike doesn't show up before you leave. Oh, and make sure you lock up? You still have the key, right?" Cordy asked hopefully.

Big freakin' surprise. They were completely blowing her off again.

"Uh, yeah. I'll just head home in the morning," Buffy said a little too brightly.

"Thanks, Buff! You're a gem!" Cordy sing-songed before hanging up the phone.

Yeah... that's me. A freakin' gem.

Buffy switched off the TV and made herself comfortable on the sofa. She had been working on a paper for senior English. Poem interpretation. It was something she enjoyed doing, but knew that her evil hag of an English teacher would just make her feel foolish for being more advanced than the other students.

You don't do this for them, Buffy. You do this for you, she told herself as she began reading Dylan Thomas' "Incarnate Devil."

Incarnate devil in a talking snake,
The central plains of Asia in his garden,
In shaping-time the circle stung awake,
In shapes of sin forked out the bearded apple,
And God walked there who was a fiddling warden...

"Talking snake... he must know Cordy," Buffy mumbled, trying to ward off the tears stinging the backs of her eyelids.

She pulled out her notebook and shifted the dog off her lap to the seat beside her. She was scribbling furiously, tortoise-framed glass sliding down her nose, when the turn of the dead-bolt made her jump.

"Jesus, Will. You scared me," she gasped, as he poked his platinum blonde head in the doorway, secretly happy to see him.

"I see you're playing house-sitter again, Pet," he grinned, secretly happy to see her.

She closed her notebook and set it on the coffee table as he closed and locked the front door. She tried not to watch as he disappeared down the hall to throw his duffle bag into his bedroom. He reappeared a few minutes later and plopped down beside her on the couch and confiscated the remote control to the TV. He turned it on and began flipping through the channels, landing on Beavis and Butthead.

"Ah, only the finest in Cult-TV for you, Will," she grinned, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

"Yeah, well, after a week of Calculus, Biochemistry and so many chapters of Don Quixote that my eyes have crossed, I deserve a little mindless drabble," he informed her.

They sat laughing at the two cartoon idiots on TV for a little while without further conversation. She liked that about Will. When his father, Rupert, married Cordy's mom five years before, he'd been part of the package. One of which Cordy was not very fond. But Buffy had always been grateful to have someone with a brain to laugh and talk with. They had even taken to trading snipes about Cordy and Harmony. It was nearly impossible to not do.

"Gawd," Cordy had whined after finding out that she was getting a brand new step-brother. "He's so freakin' embarrassing. He's got that awful accent and those stupid clothes and all he ever does is study and he's, like, always saying things I don't understand."

I'm always saying things you don't understand, Buffy had thought.

"Off with the great poof again?" Spike suddenly asked as the show broke to commercial.

"Yeah. And Harmony's flavor of the week, Gunn," Buffy told him.

He narrowed his eyes on hers and cocked his head to the side.

"What?" she asked. She hated that look. He was always trying to figure her out.

"I just don't get it, Summers," he told her. "Why do you still come here every weekend when you know all she's doing is using you?"

Because of you, she thought.

"Because she still asks me," she responded. "Why do you still come here every weekend even though your Dad is in England and has filed for divorce?" Turnabout was fair play.

Because of you, he thought.

"Nowhere else to go," he lied. "Honey and Cordy are the closest thing I have to family now that Da is back in England."

Buffy giggled.

"What's so funny?" he grinned.

"Just... I hate calling Cordy's mom by her first name. She insists that I do it and I just... I mean, calling a grown woman Honey?" Buffy laughed.

"Think that's funny?" Spike asked. "Imagine having to introduce her as Honey to your mates and then standing there red-faced while she openly flirts with them!"

"Okay, okay," she stopped to catch her breath before giggling some more. "You've way got me beat."

She looked up at the clock hanging over the entertainment center. Already pushing 1AM.

"Hey, Will?" she asked quietly. He was already engrossed in the cartoon morons gracing the small screen in front of them once again.

"Hmm?"

"Can you give me a ride home in the morning?" She tried not to sound too disappointed about missing out on a day at the beach.

"Mmm-hmm," he answered, still laughing at the television.

A minute later he snapped off the TV and turned to face her.

"Aren't you going to the beach with Queen C and her insipid liege?" he suddenly asked.

She laughed weakly and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. About that... Honey's out for the weekend and it looks like Cordy and Harm are, too," Buffy told him. "She said something about me locking up and maybe checking on Max after I leave."

He could feel the anger rising in him. Who the Hell did Cordy think she was? And why did Buffy continue to let her walk all over her time and time again?

"No," he told her firmly.

She wrinkled her brow, confused.

"No... what?" she asked cautiously.

"No, I won't take you home in the morning," he told her, arms crossed in resolve.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "Um, that's okay. I can walk or--"

"That's not what I mean, love," he smiled at her. "You came over to go to the beach. And you are going to the beach."

Was he... he couldn't be... was he?

"Be ready at 8AM sharp," he told her before dropping a kiss on her forehead and disappearing into his room.

Buffy awoke in Cordelia's king-sized canopy bed the next morning around 7AM. Had Spike really said he was going to take her to the beach? And had he really kissed her forehead? She foggily recalled feeling very Marcia Brady as she practically floated to bed silently vowing to never wash her forehead again. She stretched and slowly made her way out of the tangle of sheets and comforter.

It only took her a few minutes to shower, brush her teeth and dress. She was sitting on the couch running a comb through her wet hair when Spike emerged from his room.

"Trust you slept well, Love?" he smiled, running his hand through his rumpled blonde curls.

"Well enough," she smiled back. "You gonna be ready by 8?"

She was trying not to stare at his bare chest. He was only wearing a pair of black watch plaid flannel boxers. Note to self... boxers, not briefs, she thought.

"I'll be ready," he winked before heading down the hall to the bathroom.

He closed the door and started the shower. A cold one. When the hell had she gotten so cute, he thought as he stepped into the chilly spray. She wasn't wearing anything special. Just a pair of frayed denim cut-offs and a black t-shirt emblazoned with red and white silkscreen reading "Grimly Fiendish." She had a pair of black flip flops next to her on the sofa. And her toes were painted a deep blood-red. He could see the black strings of her bathing suit peeking out of the collar of her t-shirt, tied in a bow at the nape of her neck. She hadn't been doing anything special. Just combing the knots from her waist-length golden hair with the occasional wince when she hit a snag.

Her turned off the water and stepped out of the shower to quickly towel off. He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed back to his room.

The only thing separating him from me is that thin, white towel, Buffy thought as she caught a glimpse of him on his way back to his room. Her hair had started to dry a bit and, hoping that Spike would roll the top down on his DeSoto convertible, she went back into Cordy's room to dig through her bag for a scrunchie. She found a black one with little red lips all over it and slid it onto her wrist for future use.

Spike was waiting for her when she came back out, her bag slung on her shoulder, black wayfareres perched on her head. He was wearing a pair of cut-off camouflage cargo pants and a black Sex Pistols t-shirt. She grinned when she looked at him.

"You so need a tan, Will," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Sorry, Pet... I'm kind of like the dog... only catch every third word or so," he told her, with a cheeky grin. "You blah blah blah tan... more blah."

"Whatever," she said, shaking her head. "Are you ready?"

He nodded and opened the door. Buffy gave Max a kiss on the head and pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes as she walked out into the bright sunshine. Thank goodness it's nice out, she thought. The DeSoto was sitting in the front drive and looked like Spike had wiped it with a diaper every day since he acquired it. He adored that car. It was a shiny black 1956 DeSoto Fireflite and was his absolute pride and joy.

Buffy watched as he put the top down and then threw her bag in the large back seat. She wondered just how many lucky girls had been privy to the backseat of Spike's classic convertible. She felt her cheeks flush and quickly shook off any more dirty thoughts that tried to enter her head.

"You gettin' in?" Spike asked as he started up the engine. "Or you gonna stand and stare at her all day, Pet?"

Buffy opened the heavy door and slid into the passenger's side of the bench seat. She found her seatbelt and buckled up before turning to him.

"Ready, Captain!" she smiled, pulling her hair up into the scrunchie she'd procured earlier.

She loved the low growl of the DeSoto's engine. She felt much safer in its sturdy strength than she did in the lighter, newer vehicles. Cordy often made comments about Spike's 'boat' and how it would float away if it ever rained hard enough. Buffy had always been partial to the nostalgic vehicle. She knew that it had a lot of stories to tell.

"Have I ever told you how much I love this car?" she asked him.

He smiled widely. Fastest way to his heart was through his car.

"Bet she's seen a lot in her day," she continued, dreamily.

He raised his eyebrow and pretended to be hurt.

"You makin' her out to be a trollup, Pet?" he asked. "Or just me?"

Buffy felt her cheeks redden at his insinuation.

"No, uh... I just meant that..." She was stammering. It was so embarrassing.

He could see her out of the corner of his eye. She was stammering. It was so adorable.

"She's a classic... she's seen a lot. I didn't mean--"

"Just teasing you, Love," he told her with a wink.

He leaned in to switch on the radio and flipped through the stations before settling on one that was actually playing music instead of commercials. The drive to the beach was about 45 minutes in good traffic. She almost hoped that the traffic was bad just so that she could spend more time riding in the DeSoto with Spike. He'd taken her home from Cordy's several times after she'd been ditched. And he'd even been the one to pick her up from dances and football games after she'd been left behind. She was always getting left behind.

"I saw a real estate sign in front of your house last time I passed by," he mentioned, keeping his eyes on the road.

When had he passed by?

"Yeah... Mom's moving to New York when I graduate," she told him. She was glad her wayfarers were shielding her eyes. Just the thought of her mother leaving her behind made her want to cry.

"And you? You're going to university there, then?" he asked, hoping that she wasn't.

"Um, no. I'll be at UC Sunnydale. Dorms," she replied.

He was quiet for a moment. She was going to UC? With him? Something didn't sound right, though. There was a pronounced sadness in her voice.

"What is it, Pet?" he asked. "Didn't want to go to the big city with Mum?"

"More like wasn't asked to go to the big city with Mum. I mean Mom," she said.

What the Hell? Wasn't asked? He thought about the comment she'd made the night before when he'd asked why she still came to the house. She'd told him because Cordy still asked.

"What about your father? Isn't he in LA?" he found himself asking.

"That's what I hear. Him, his new wife and his new family. No room for Buffy in that nice little family portrait."

He hated to hear her sound so defeated. She was always so bubbly. Like a duck, she was. Let things roll right off her back, or so it seemed. Could his Sunshine secretly have a dark side, he wondered.

"Well, he's a stupid git then, Love. Don't know what he's missing without you to brighten his life," he huffed. Was he speaking for her father or for himself?

"How come you didn't go back to England with your Dad, Will?" Not that I mind you here. Not one little bit, she smiled to herself.

He shrugged and then started searching his cargo pockets for a pack of smokes. He pulled out a cigarette and offered her one.

"Nah, I'm trying to quit," she joked.

"Bully for you, Pet," he grinned as he placed a cigarette between his lips and began searching for his lighter. "Besides, I'd have to take you over my knee if I ever found out you smoked. Too nice a girl to be doing something that naughty."

"Oh, so then you must be the naughty one, huh?" she couldn't help but volley right back.

"Naughtier than you know," he said with a wink.

They fell into a comfortable silence after he found his lighter and put it to use while they were stopped at a red light. She liked that about him. She could just sit and be herself. She was amazed that she actually felt more comfortable around Spike than she did around Cordy.

Cordelia and Harmony had become so judgemental and self-righteous. She thought back to when they were in junior high and had actually hung out together. They spent many a weekend talking about boys, painting their nails and gossiping about the mean girls at school. When had they become those girls, Buffy thought.

"Studying Thomas, I noticed," Spike said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"Dylan Thomas. Welsh poet. You were reading him last night?" Spike reminded her.

"Oh, yeah. That. Senior English project. I don't even know why I bother to try so hard. Nobody appreciates it," she found herself telling him.

I appreciate it, he thought.

"Do not go gentle into that good night, rage, rage against the dying of the light," he recited.

She was impressed.

"And did Mrs. Calendar berate you for it, too?" she asked him with an air of annoyance in her voice.

"You bet she did. Stupid bint wouldn't know a decent poet if it bit her on the ass," he told her. "But I'll bet you don't choose your projects with her in mind," he added knowingly.

"It amazes me how some of the students outsmart the teachers by leaps and bounds," she groused. "They're supposed to want to help me excel. Instead, they get all pissy and tell me to reign myself in because I'm making some of the other students feel stupid. Bet I'm just making them feel stupid."

He laughed at that. He'd felt the same way she had on more than one occasion.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Pet," he leaned in conspiratorially. "Isn't that much different in college, either."

"Way to be encouraging," she said, shaking her head. The radio was still playing quietly under their voices, but when Buffy recognized a favorite song, she reached for the knob and turned it up.

That was another issue that made Buffy not-quite-cool material in Cordelia's and Harmony's eyes. Granted, they were never cruel to her. In fact, they treated her pretty decently compared to most of the friends who had fallen by the wayside in the wake of their high school popularity.

Of course, Buffy still did their bidding. Helped them pass classes. Diverted Cordy's mother. She did it out of friendship, out of a loyalty likely best left in the past. And she knew that the kindness she received from Cordy and Harm was mainly out of pity with a bit of reluctant thanks thrown in for good measure. Most of the time, she didn't let it bother her. And some of the times, it just did.

It would catch up with her when a snarky comment was thrown her way regarding the music she liked. Or the fact that she played the snare drum, 'a kind of cool instrument for someone in geeky marching band.' Or she'd get a backhanded compliment for her performance in the school musical... something along the lines of 'wow, Buff! That was great, you know... if you're all into that gay show-tuny stuff... which I'm not, but if I was... yeah. It would be, you know, pretty great.' Or the sweet smiles and invitations to parties she never went to when they'd stop by Double Meat Palace and see her behind the counter. She knew it was just their way of getting free refills on their Diet Cokes.

She had tuned out everything except for the music bleeding from the speakers of the DeSoto and hadn't even realized that she'd begun loudly singing along with the radio in much the same way that she did when she was alone in her mother's Jeep.

You're in the corner, turning your back, you're runnin' away again
The more I give you, the less that you take, tell me, where is it gonna end?
Whoah-oh - I can see you've felt some pain
Whoah-oh - I know you've been hurt before
Whoah-oh - But I swear you won't get hurt no more - tell me...

Spike felt the smile as it stretched across his face of its own volition. He had no idea she could belt out a song like that. And she was oblivious to the fact that she had a captive audience.

How much love is it gonna take, to prove I'm not another heartache
Till you begin to let your heart give in, how much love is it gonna take

He'd remembered Cordy commenting about how she was 'stuck going to Buffy's stupid play about a bunch of potato farmers in Idaho or something.'

"I think you mean Oklahoma, Ducks," he'd corrected.

I'm reachin' for you, gettin' so close, but you're always a step away
I wanna touch you 'n give my love, what is it gonna take
Whoah-oh - I can see it in your eyes
Whoah-oh - that you want to let me in
Whoah-oh - But you're scared that you'll get hurt again - tell me...

As much as he'd wanted to go and check out her performance for himself, he found himself entangled in another of Dru's messes. He had initially been introduced to her during freshman year at UC Sunnydale. He'd decided to put together a band with a few guys from his Humanities class and she tagged along with the bass player, Oz.

He quickly decided that she wasn't girlfriend material, though. To say Dru had a wandering eye was an understatement. Her eyes wandered even as she held fast to Oz's hand. She had a kick-ass voice, though, and that's what made them keep her around for the better part of two years -- regardless of her constant temper tantrums and the numerous bar fights she started. The final straw had been when she'd nearly knocked a girl's head off with Spike's vintage Strat at Club Demolition. He'd seen her pick it up and weild it like a bat and had managed to jump off the stage and push the shaken girl out of the way.

"That little witch was staring at my lovely toy," she'd ground out as Xander, the drummer, and Oz held her back. Spike kept apologizing to the terrified red-head for Dru's behavior. And that's how he'd met his best friend, Willow.

"I so was not staring at her toy," Willow had told him over and over. "I don't even like those kinds of toys... I mean boys. Gay here, you know."

The toy comment had been the last straw for Oz, too. And Red Rain had been boys-only ever since. Spike had taken to lead vocals, but really missed a lot of the sexual energy behind Dru's powerful voice. He couldn't believe how Buffy's voice surpassed that of the Dark Princess.

Summers had the sunny disposition of her last name. Yet, there she was, growling out the Vixen tune as if it was written just for her. Holy shit, she was about giving him a boner just listening to her sing.

I've been searchin' for an answer, oooh tell me what it's gonna be...

She was adorable as she played air drums and air guitar not even noticing that he was sneaking peeks at her on the periphery. Comfortable in her own skin, his girl was. Where the Hell had that come from? His girl? Wishful thinking, lad, he told himself. Buffy Summers treated him like a big brother. Was much too relaxed around him for it to be anything else. Besides, she probably had some boyfriend that he didn't know anything about.

"So, why aren't you hanging out with some lucky bloke this weekend?" he asked, hoping to suss out her current boyfriend status.

"You're a bloke last time I checked," she replied. "Guess you're saying you're not lucky?"

"Har bloody har, Pet. I meant your boyfriend. You've got one of those, yeah?" he tried to dig a little deeper.

"Not last time I checked," she said pretending to open a book and flip through it. "Nope. No boyfriend."

What? They had to be beating down her door!

"Must be because you're smart enough to be selective, that's it, innit Pet?"

"Mmm... selective would imply that there was a selection from which to choose. So, no. That 'innit,'" she mocked him.

There. That should shut him up for awhile. What the Hell was he trying to do? Rub her permanently single status in her face? Well, two could play at that game.

"You still playing with Dru?" she asked, referring to his band.

"Um, that would be a definate NO," he said emphatically. "But wouldn't mind playing with you," he added, not realizing how it sounded until the words had escaped his lips.

She raised her eyebrow at him and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Meaning," he said a little too loudly, "I'm in desperate need of a new lead singer."

Too bad, she thought.

"Is that so? And how would I fit into that picture?" she asked.

"Bloody Hell, woman! Didn't you just hear yourself singing? You're bloody brilliant!" he informed her.

She felt her cheeks fill with blood. Oh yeah. That was me singing... really loud. Guess he noticed after all.

"Whatever," she shrugged, hoping he'd change the subject.

"No, Buffy." He used her real name. "I'm serious. You've got an incredible voice."

She tried to shrug him off again, but he wasn't having it.

"Remember when you came out to Smash Club to see us play? That song Dru did? That other Vixen tune... Cryin'? I saw you singing it over in the corner off the stage. Her voice broke at that top note... bet yours didn't." He shot her a grin and she was shyly smiling as she remembered that night.

Thought so. She could top Dru in the range department any day.

"You do realize that I'm not even technically old enough to get into half the places you play?" she challenged.

"Yet you've managed to sweet-talk your way around the burly bouncers at both Smash and Demo and I believe the Hellmouth as well," he pointed out to her.

She still had that shy smile on her lips.

"I do have a way with big, scary men, I suppose," she said cheekily. "Are you propositioning me?"

He choked a little at her play on words. She had no idea how he would love to proposition her. And in some of the most impure ways imaginable.

"Just asking," he smirked. "You'd have to get the thumbs up from my mates, of course. Oz and Xander. But I don't see that really being much of an obstacle. Pretty girl, great voice. Gits would be fools not to chomp at the bit."

She was worrying her bottom lip, refusing to make eye contact with him. Not that he'd be able to tell through her dark sunglasses.

"You really think I could fill the pointy stilletoes Goth-Girl left behind?" she asked him, uncertain.

It did thrill her, though, that if she was in Spike's band she'd see him all the time. And it gave her something to look forward to outside of being used by Cordy and Harm and being ignored by her mother.

"Don't want you to be like Goth-Girl," he told her. "Want you to be Buffy. I like Buffy a lot better."

She never thought she'd hear him say the words 'like' and 'Buffy' in the same sentence. Sure, she was really reaching, but it made her feel warm all over.

They made the remaining ten minutes of the trip in a relaxed silence. As Spike pulled into the parking garage across from the beach access, she was jolted back to the reality that he would be seeing her in a bathing suit. Shit! Should have worn that one-piece, she thought. The bikini she had chosen would allow maximum sun-access, but it left little to the imagination. She had bra and panty sets made from more material than the tiny black string bikini she was wearing.

Spike noticed how different Buffy was from his step-sister and her friends. She was far from Goth, but she tended to dress in the darker spectrum of colors. She wore a lot of black, red, grey and dark purples and maroons. But her skin was sun-kissed and her hair was full of shimmering light.

He remembered when he had first met her. She was only 12. He was 15. She was the girl with the golden smile, swathed in pastel pinks and shades of peach. She even had her hair in adorable twin braids. It seemed that she slipped further and further into the darkness as the years wore on, but her smile was infallible. If anything, it had gotten even more beautiful and bright. At least when he saw her, that's the first thing he noticed.

Now, as they grabbed their bags from the back seat of the DeSoto before raising the top, he started noticing other things that had blossomed as much as her smile. Soft, feminine curves were visible under that loose, black concert t-shirt.

He thought back to when she'd acquired the shirt. She went to The Damned concert. Alone. And she ran into him there. He was with Oz, Dru and Xander. Dru had been extremely catty when he'd asked Buffy to come sit with them. And Buffy had met her with claws of her own.

"Thanks, Will, but no," she'd smiled sweetly before turning to meet Dru's fleying eyes. "Oh, but don't worry. I'm sure I'll be able to feel the daggers you're shooting just fine from where I'm sitting." And then she walked away without a backward glance.

He couldn't help but snicker a little as Dru scowled and asked what the Hell her problem was. And then she started digging into to the whole "Will" thing.

"She talks to you like she knows you, my Spike," Dru had groused. "Yet she calls you by that wanker's name that doesn't hardly suit you any more. Tsk! Tsk! Such little girl dreams. She reeks of your past. And the stench is like rotting flesh."

Dru had a way with melodrama. He had felt sorry for Oz when things finally went pear-shaped. As much as Oz should have seen it coming, it still hit him like a bitch when the cold, hard truth punched him square in the nose: Drusilla was the uber-slut.

Buffy began spreading towels out on the sand as Spike stood watching her. She'd managed to pilfer three or four of the larger beach towels from the linen closet and was trying to cover as much of the soft, sugary sand as she could with them.

"A little help would be nice, Will," she shot at him lightly.

He started smoothing out the towels and then looked to her for approval.

"For a pasty little man, you do pretty well at beach towel arrangement," she joked. "Definately passable."

Wise-ass, he thought as he lifted his t-shirt over his head and wadded it up into a ball to use as a pillow. And then all his thoughts turned to mush as Buffy began pulling her own t-shirt over her head.

Holy shit, she'd gone and grown breasts. Not that he hadn't noticed that she'd grown them before, but to see them covered by nothing more than small triangles of black fabric certainly put things into perspective. She was no longer that little girl in pastels and pigtails. She was a young woman with... oh, fuck! She was taking off her shorts. More skin... less material.

He willed himself to look away and think about anything but her... Freddy Krueger... worm-infested apples... Grandma in a g-string. God, any less material and that's exactly what Buffy would be wearing. She threw her shirt and shorts on the towels next to him and then began rummaging through her bag for suntan oil. His senses were invaded by her cherry-vanilla scent as her clothes landed next to him with a soft thud.

She flipped open the top of the Coppertone bottle and squeezed a large amount of oil into her palm. She seemed unaware of him laying there staring at her as she rubbed the oil into her legs and arms, then onto her chest and belly. And then she was saying something, but he was too dazed to make it out. Saying something about the oil? To him?

"Earth to Will? Hey!" She said sharply as she tossed the bottle down to him. She laid down on her belly and then turned to shoot him a mischievous smile. "Do my back, Will?" she asked sweetly having no clue what she was really asking.

He couldn't form a coherent thought while he was looking at her and now she wanted him to pour oil over her tanned, firm body and slide his hands over it? He nodded dumbly and grabbed the bottle. He fumbled with the flip-top and then squirted some of the fragrant liquid into his palm. He could feel his hand start to shake as he moved it to the soft spot between her shoulder blades. She didn't seem to notice his trepidation.

Jesus Christ, Mate! You're a grown man! It's just a little oil between friends, he silently scolded himself. Easier thought than carried through, though. His hands continued to tremble as he slid them over her golden skin, dipping down to the small of her back and stopping at the waist-line of her bikini bottom. He was suprised at what he saw peeking out from the taut black material. Little Buffy got herself inked, he grinned as he wondered how many people knew about the little dragonflies dancing around her tailbone.

"You stopped," she said dreamily.

"I'm done," he replied softly.

"Oh." She sounded a little embarrassed. "I guess you are. I, uh... guess I went all Jello-kneed with the back rubbing. Don't mind me."

He rolled back to his own side of the beach towels and sighed. Did she just say he made her Jello-kneed?

"Any more secrets you care to share?" he asked her.

Huh? Had she just revealed a secret?

"The, uh... bit of ink on your backside," he said pointedly.

"Oh, that." That secret. "It, uh... well, it was originally meant to piss off my mother. And then it turned into this weird fascination with pain and with proving to myself that I was strong enough to endure a needle tapping into my spine for over an hour. And then it turned into the realization that I'm a little bit in love with pain." Way to go, Buffy. That'll scare him off.

She could hear him chuckling beside her. What the Hell was so funny? That wasn't supposed to be funny. He wasn't supposed to laugh. He was supposed to go "Bloody Hell, Summers... nutter much?" Or whatever little Britishism fitted her declaration.

"What's so freakin' funny?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbows. He shut up immediately.

Damned cleavage. It sobered him up as soon as he got an eyeful of it. Made him want nothing more than to bury his head between the soft pillows of flesh and...

"Answer me, Will!" She was still talking. "What the hell is so funny?"

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Nothing at all. Just was surprised to see you inked up... and more surprised to hear your reason, is all. Got a couple of my own. Not like I can't relate to the whole pain is pleasure connection, Love. Wouldn't have gone under the needle myself if a part of me didn't feel that way."

"Oh... so you don't think I'm a nutter? I mean nuts?" she corrected herself at the appearance of his raised eyebrow. He was definately amused by her use of British slang.

"Ah, no. Don't fancy you to be a nutter one bit," he grinned. "'Sides, you were just being honest. One of the things I like about you, Kitten."

He'd never called her Kitten before. She found herself wanting to purr in contentment at his new nickname for her. And then she had a wicked idea. He liked honesty?

"Hey, Will," she whispered. "I have an idea."

'Hmm, what's that, Pet?" he asked, sleepily.

"For the rest of the day, let's be honest. No lies. We can ask each other anything and we have to always answer with the truth." She hoped her little game didn't backfire in her own face.

"Thought you were always honest with me?" he teased. He caught the flash of pink as it crossed her cheeks and nodded. "Okay, then. Honest, it is. You think I'm hot, don't you?" he challenged, fire blazing in his blue eyes.

Go figure.

"Uh, conceited much?" was her quick response.

"Eh-eh-eh... got to be honest, Love," he pushed.

"I was being honest. Conceited. Much?" she repeated.

"I'll let that one go, then. For now."

"Besides, that's a rhetorical question," she grumbled as she turned over to her back.

"How's that?" he asked.

"Because it's one you seem to think you know the answer to already," she shot back, her voice teasing.

She lay there silently for a few moments as the grin spread across her lips. She could still feel him watching her even though her eyes were closed.

"Okay, okay," she giggled. "You know you're hot, Will. For a pasty little man."

"Har bloody har, Goldilocks," he teased right back.

Buffy let herself be lulled by the warm sun, soft breeze and soft crashing of the ocean's waves. She could feel herself slipping into sleep. It wasn't until she felt the icy cold of water cascading over her heated skin that she realized just how deeply she had fallen into dreamland.

Spike stood above her, tongue curled behind his teeth, with a borrowed child's sand pail in his hands. As soon as he saw her eyes widen in shock, he dropped it and ran toward the ocean, Buffy just a few feet behind him.

"You are so dead, William Nigel Giles!" she shouted as she followed him into the cold sea.

He tucked into a wave as it rolled toward the shore and she found herself searching for that shock of blonde hair to emerge. When it didn't, she began to dart her eyes around frantically.

"Will, this isn't funny," she called to him. A few more seconds elapsed and she called out again, this time her voice was tinged with a bit of fear.

"Will, where are you? This isn't fun--"

She felt something latch around her ankle and she was pulled swiftly into the shallow water beneath her. She landed, with a splash, on her behind. Panic had firmly settled in and then she saw him. And a little bubble of rage replaced the panic in a heartbeat.

"Jesus Christ, Will!" she yelled, pummeling his chest with her small fists. "That was so not funny!"

She felt warm tears stinging the backs of her eyelids and fought furiously to keep them at bay. She was still trying to push him away, but it only made him tighten his grip around her waist even more.

"Buffy?" He was trying to force her to look into his eyes, but she knew that would be her undoing.

"Get. Off. Me. Will." she seethed. He loosened his grip, but still held her to him as the water lapped at their skin. He started wading them toward the waist-deep water.

"I'm really, really mad at you," she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest in resolve.

"Why?" He had a cocky grin plastered on his face.

"Because..." For the rest of the day, let's be honest. No lies. "Because you dumped water on me while I was asleep!" There, that wasn't a lie.

"And?" Pushy bastard.

"And what? And it made me mad," she insisted.

"Yeah. Got that part. But that's not what I'm asking about, Love," he pressed. She was trying to keep her head about her, but his strong chest settled under her hands was making it rather difficult.

"Is it because maybe Buffy was worried about Big, Bad Spike?" he asked lightly.

She bit her lip. Who's stupid tell the truth idea was this again?

"You are my friend's step-brother," she said in her own defense.

"Uh-huh," he responded, finally capturing her eyes. "And it would just break the Cheerleader's heart if I had drowned to death."

"Sure it would," she told him, not believing that herself. She wasn't even sure that Cordy had a heart.

"And what about you, Kitten?" he asked. "Would it break your heart if I had become one with the fishes?"

He was enjoying this way too much.

"Ego much, Will?" she glared, still not moving out of his embrace.

"Oh, come on, Summers. If you were lost at sea, I'd be heartbroken," he said softly.

Buffy couldn't help but smile a little. He'd be heartbroken? Good.

"Mmm... good for you, then," she told him as she wrapped her legs around his waist and laid back.

If William Giles wanted to play the slow-death torture game, she could play it, too.

His eyes widened as she closed her eyes and let her hair fan out around her. Looked like a bloody angel, she did. What the Hell was she trying to do?

"What are you doing?" he rasped out.

She didn't bother to open her eyes or move. She continued to lay on her back with her thighs gripping his sides in the waist-high sea water.

"Pet?"

"Shh... I'm dead," she whispered, fighting back the tremendous urge to giggle.

"What the Hell--"

"Shh!" she reprimanded him again. "I'm giving you a visual. And, I've got to say, Will. Doesn't sound like your heart is breaking."

He continued to watch her, fascinated by how lovely she was. He admired the expanse of golden skin laid out before him. He bit his lip as her breasts bobbed in the gentle waves. And then he unmercifully started wiggling his fingers towards her rib cage, knowing that Buffy was extremely ticklish.

"Well, then. Since you're dead, guess you won't mind me doing this," he smirked as he began tickling her sides in earnest.

She shot up immediately, eyes wide in horror, and began begging him to stop between loud laughter and huge gulps of air.

"Oh, God, Will!" she gasped. "Stop! I'm not dead! Stop!"

"And you'd be heartbroken without me?" he insisted.

"Heartbroken," she agreed, still wriggling and gasping in his grasp.

His cocked his eyebrow and pulled her close to him.

"Wouldn't be lying to ol' Spike, now, would you, Pet?" he teased her. "Because someone had the brilliant idea to tell the truth all day and I'd hate to see her lose at her own game."

As quickly as she'd caught her breath, she'd become breathless again. There was something about the way he was looking at her, about the way he was weaving his words.

"Nope," she told him honestly. "Not lying. And since we're all about the honesty, I can honestly say that if you ever tickle me like that again, I will pee on you. You're so lucky I didn't... and it wouldn't be my fault. Tickleage and bladder control do not go hand-in-hand for this girl."

He released her and grinned wickedly as he ran his hand through his wet hair.

"Some might find that a real turn-on, Kitten."

"Euw, Will," she grimaced. "A world of euw."

"Didn't say I might, you daft bint," he told her, wading back toward the shore. "Just said some might."

She squeezed the water out of her hair and began following him. That was just too weird. Too much naked skin touching. Fingers wriggling too close to her breasts. Her crotch way too close to his. She mentally thanked God for their being immersed in the cold water. She was positive that she was quite wet without the help of the water.

She had only dreamed about being that close to Spike since she met him. Something about him exuded sex... not that she had any experience in that department. She hadn't even had her first kiss yet. All Harmony and Cordelia talked about was how many times they'd done it. And how big Angel's dick was. And how Gunn had nearly gagged Harmony the first time she went down on him.

The only boy she had ever thought of in that way was Spike. Her Will. He was perfect in her eyes. Smooth skin stretched across firm muscles, bright blue eyes, silky blonde hair that she wanted to muss every time she saw him with it slicked back. He was absolutely beautiful. Man-pretty, she thought.

Then there were the layers. He had layers. He was funny and charming. He was smart. Street-smart as well as educated. He got her jokes, which was a definate rarity among her peers. He was passionate and talented. He mesmerized her when she watched him play with Red Rain. She loved watching his fingers glide gracefully over the neck of his Strat. Her spine would tingle when she thought about how good his fingers would feel gliding over her body.

He sat on the beach towels and stared out at the sea. What the Hell was he doing? This was Buffy. Cordelia's little friend. She sat next to him and began rummaging through her bag for something.

"You're gonna burn to a crisp, Will," she told him, snapping open the cap to a tube of sunblock. "Turn around and let me get your back before you start sizzling from overexposure."

He turned and immediately tensed up when her hands began moving on his back.

"What?" she asked, stopping. "Are you already a little burnt?"

He was burning up, but it wasn't from the sun.

"No, just... your hands... " he stammered. "Still a little chilly from the water."

"Oh, sorry about that."

She went back to her task and he relaxed as she rubbed the lotion into his skin. She took her time, enjoying the feel of his sleek muscles under her hands. She was chewing nervously on her bottom lip as she dipped her hands to cover his lower back. His skin was beautiful. Pale, but creamy smooth. Unmarred perfection. Not ready to stop, she rubbed a little more lotion between her palms and ran her hands down the length of his arms, starting at his shoulders. She loved how he was built. He was lean and strong. Not bulky like Angel, Cordelia's boyfriend. Michelangelo couldn't have sculpted a more perfect David than God had when he created Spike.

He cleared his throat, startling her out of her reverie.

"Oh, sorry," she apologized, handing him the tube of sunblock. "I was... uh, I..." No lies. "Just daydreaming. Didn't mean to..."

"'s'alright, Kitten," he said turning to her. "Wasn't complaining."

He squeezed some of the lotion onto his hands and rubbed it into his chest. He really wasn't complaining. Her soft, little hands felt much better on his body than his own. Just what had she been daydreaming about? He thought about asking and putting her on the spot. He had the feeling that it just might have been him. And if it was... well, what then? What was he going to do with that? It's not like she was a little kid any more. She was practically a grown woman getting ready to graduate high school and move onto the same college campus as him. What was going to stop other guys his age from hitting on her? Me, that's what, he thought tersely. Don't need some undeserving dink hooking up with my girl, he thought. Shit! There it was again. His girl. If anything, Buffy was her own girl. Not his. Gratefully, not anyone else's either.

"Bet you're dying to get out of high school so you can start living your own life, yeah?" he guessed.

She furrowed her brow.

"I do live my own life," she said just a little too defensively.

"I just meant--"

"I just happen to be more interested in doing well in school than screwing everything with a penis," she continued in an overly huffy tone.

"I didn't mean--"

"And if that means I'm not living my life, then you're just sadly mistaken, Bub. Because I do plenty of living. Tons. I'm the life of the fucking party!"

"Pet. I just--"

"I mean, if I had a party, that is... and I could. I could have parties every weekend while my mother is off in New York forgetting I even exist. And people would be lining up at the door," she said determinedly just as her lip started to quiver. "They would," she whispered as the first tear fell.

Aw shit, I made her cry, he scolded himself. He turned to her and couldn't stop his thumb from moving to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He narrowed his eyes on hers and smiled.

"I didn't mean anything by that, Kitten," he said softly. His hand was still stroking her cheek. "Was just making conversation. Seems like you might have some things on your mind, though."

She nodded, feeling completely humiliated. She couldn't figure out why she'd felt the need to be defensive with him. Too much was bubbling just beneath the surface. Too much anger. Too much pain. Too much disgust and self-loathing. She tried so hard to be Happy Buffy all the time. She tried to fill her life with student council meetings, the next audition for Pippin, studying for SATs and working at Double Meat Palace. She just couldn't fill the hole in her heart. She didn't want Harmony to fix her up with one of her leftovers. She wasn't interested in making out in the woods at some party with a guy she'd just met. She wanted Spike. And no one else would ever do.

"You need to get out more," he told her cautiously. "And don't go getting shirty with me. I'm just making an observation. Every Friday, I come home and you're sitting there studying and playing secretary for Cordelia. When you're not doing that, you're slinging hash at the Double Meat. I mean, thank God you're such a talent that you land leading roles in all the school musicals. What I'm saying, Pet," he sighed. "Is all work and no play is making Buffy a dull girl."

She knew he was right. The clouds were starting to move through the sky, swirling puffs of greying white. Storm clouds were on their way.

"Look at that, would you? You're sucking the sun right out of the sky!" he joked. It earned him a smile and a soft slap on the knee. "Christ, Woman! A storm's a-brewin' all in your honor."

He ducked his head down to catch the wide smile she was trying to hide.

"Be a good girl and pick up here and I'll go get the car and meet you at the road," he instructed her. "Do it quick and I'll buy you lunch."

"Where?" she asked quickly.

"Anywhere you want so long as you don't break me for the week," he told her, offering his hand to help her up.

She was thoughtful for a second.

"Waffle House."

"I say anywhere and you pick Waffle House," he said, shaking his head. "Good to know you're a cheap date, Summers."

She laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. This so was not a date. As much as she wished it was, it wasn't. It made her wonder what a date with Spike would be like, though. If she didn't know him as well as she did, she'd guess that he'd be the type to take a girl to a loud, chain restaurant where the servers wore obnoxious buttons all over their uniforms and you had to yell in order to hear each other. Then, off to an equally deafening rock club to take in a raucous night of punk music or grindcore.

But she did know him. All too well. She finished shaking the towels out and folded them before sticking them into her bag. She slipped on her cut-offs and t-shirt and then headed up to the road. Spike was already pulled up to the curb when she got there.

He leaned across to open the door for her and she threw the bags in the backseat before sliding in front beside him. Once she latched her seatbelt he nodded and took off.

There was a Waffle House halfway home. She knew it well. It reminded her of happier times when she was in junior high. When Cordy and Harmony had actually wanted to hang out with her. When her mother and father were still married and would take the carful of girls to the beach for the day and then out to eat when the day was done.

The Melting Pot. He'd take a date to the Melting Pot, she thought. And he'd order a bottle of really good wine. He'd consult with her and then order for both of them. She had seen men do that in movies. And he looked like the kind of guy who would do that on a date. Then he'd feed her fondue from his own plate. His eyes would twinkle as he complimented her because he'd mean whatever he said. And then he'd take her to a little outdoor cafe for coffee where an acoustic duo was playing. He'd sit close to her and hold her hand, stealing little nips at her neck and cheek when he thought no one was looking. He'd breathe in her scent and tell her how beautiful she smelled and then he'd...

"Buffy? You there? You keep spacing out on me today, Pet," he told her. She realized that he had already pulled into the parking lot and had turned off the engine.

"Must be the sun," she lied. No lies. "Or something... I'm probably just hungry." That wasn't a lie. It was, however, a diversion.

"Alright then," he smiled as he got out of the car.

And he'd open her door for her, she thought as she opened her door being sure to lock it before closing it again. If he was on a date. That's what he'd do. Which made this very much nothing like a date. She did notice that he held the door for her when they entered the diner. She thanked him quietly before setting her sights on the back booth she always shared with her parents and her friends.

She looked at the familiar laminated menu and smiled. Nothing had changed. Same bright pictures of various waffle and melt platters. And hash browns. Her father had always ordered them scattered, smothered, covered and chunked.

"Know what you want already, Pet?" he asked when he saw her look up.

"Same old, same old," she smiled. "Chicken melt and hashbrowns, scattered and covered."

He noticed that she seemed more at ease. Something about the greasy spoon was making her happy. And that made him happy, too.

Their waitress appeared behind the counter next to their booth with pen in hand. Buffy read her name tag... Molly. She looked like a Molly.

"What can I get you kids today?" she asked, pen poised and ready to write.

Buffy went to open her mouth when Spike ordered for her.

"The lady would like the chicken melt and hash browns, scattered and covered," he began. "What do you want to drink, Love?"

"Coffee, cream no sugar," she eked out, surprised that he'd taken the liberty of ordering for her.

"And I'll have the pecan waffles with a side of bacon," he looked across the table at Buffy as if he was remembering something. "Make that two sides of bacon. And orange juice," he finished.

Their waitress, Molly, disappeared to bring their drinks.

"I seem to remember someone who can't keep her fingers on her own plate when there's bacon involved," he smirked at her.

It was true. Whenever she stayed at Cordy's and they all ate breakfast together, she would manage to rid Spike of the bacon on his plate before he even noticed it was gone. Molly set their drinks in front of them and then went back to preparing their food.

"Caught that, huh?" she asked, stirring the creamer into her coffee. "And here I thought I could blame it on Cordy or Harm."

"Love, you're the only one who eats. Those two just sit there bitching about calorie this and fat gram that. Bloody annoying trying to share a meal with them, it is!" he groused.

She looked like she was starting that self-doubting thing again and he knew he'd better throw a compliment her way and fast.

"Nice to actually be able to sit and eat with someone who doesn't blot her pizza with a napkin... someone who isn't afraid of death by chocolate," he added. "Besides, a girl like you doesn't have to worry about cheeseburgers going straight to her ass. Bloody perfect is what you are, Kitten. Could stand to eat a little more, in fact."

"Uh-huh," she smiled dumbly as Molly set the plate of hash browns and her sandwich in front of her. Spike began pouring syrup over his waffles when he saw her looking around the table.

"Molly," he called to the waitress. "Could you be a love and bring my girl some ketchup and mayonnaise?"

Molly smiled and ducked under the counter. She returned with several packets of mayonnaise and a bottle of ketchup.

"Thank you, Pet," Spike told her as Buffy stared at him.

He returned to drowning his waffles in syrup and cutting them into little squares. She was staring.

"Something wrong with your food, Kitten?" he asked, not looking up from his plate as he speared a couple of waffle pieces and stuffed them into his mouth.

She shook her head slowly to indicate her food was fine and then proceeded in squeezing several packets of mayonnaise over her hash browns. She poured on a hefty amount of ketchup and smeared it around with her fork before taking a bite. Just as good as she remembered them when she was a kid.

They ate in relative silence. He knew that she was still wondering how he knew about the ketchup and mayonnaise. It's not so much that he knew as that he guessed. One thing he noticed was that if it was some sort of fried potato -- be it a french fry or a tater tot -- Buffy was covering it in mayonnaise and ketchup.

The little things. He noticed the little things, she realized. He noticed the little tattoo. He noticed every time she'd done something different with her hair. He noticed how she ate, things she said... he always took notice. Nothing escaped him.

She polished off her sandwhich and hash browns and then snuck a piece of bacon from his plate. He didn't call her on it. Instead, he ducked his head to try and conceal his told-you-so smirk.

"You about ready, Love?" he asked when she set down her empty coffee cup.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Why don't you go out to the car while I settle up then. With any luck, we'll make it back home before the rain moves in," he told her, handing her the keys.

"You kids be safe," Molly told them from across the counter. "It's supposed to get pretty rough tonight. Weather man's talking thunderstorms and hail and some twisters here and there."

The rain started about ten minutes before they made it home. It was late afternoon, but the closer they got to the Chase-Giles house, the darker the sky became. Forboding. That was the word that came to Buffy's mind as the puffs of white swirled into dove greys and then to midnight hues. The promise of Mother Nature's wrath filled her with a mixture of fear and excitement. Thunder scared her to death. Sure, she knew it was the lightning that should scare her, but the deep rumble before the crackling flash always thrilled her.

The rain remained fairly light and uneven for several minutes, but broke out into a steady pelt against the DeSoto's windshield as Spike pulled into the Sunnydale city limits. She prayed he didn't take her home. She didn't want to sit in that big house all alone during a storm. Besides, their game of To Tell The Truth was far from over. A winner still hadn't been declared. And she intended to win.

Spike glanced over at her as the neared the house. What should he do? Can't let her sit at home by herself in this storm. She was already gripping the edge of her seat.

"Buffy," he said, deciding to chance it. "Why don't you stay with me tonight. This thing could get pretty ugly, and I really don't fancy you being all alone... especially if the power or phone lines go out. Wouldn't be able to reach me if anything happened." He knew he was rattling on... giving too many excuses. But he really didn't want to think about her sitting alone and not being able to contact him. She'd be safer with him.

She let out a grateful breath. She so did not want to be the one to beg to stay with him. She was glad he saved her the humilation.

"Yeah, that's probably for the best, Will," she smiled as she nodded. "Thanks."

He pulled into the drive in front of the house and turned to her.

"Ready to make a run for it?" he asked, curling his tongue behind his teeth.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she agreed.

He reached into the back seat to grab their bags and turned back to her with a boyish smirk.

"Count of three?"

She couldn't help but giggle and began counting with him.

"One... two..." Their hands were on the door handles.

"Three!" she yelled and swung open the door, trying not to let it slam shut as she dashed for the front door of the house. He was right behind her fumbling for the right key as the rain began to pour all around them. He unlocked the two bolts on the door and opened it, pushing her through the doorway first.

He slammed the door shut and locked it, dropping their bags on the floor of the tiled entryway in the process. She stood looking at him, breathless. He looked amazing as the water droplets clung to his chin, his nose and his rumpled curls. She coudn't help but reach out and wipe away some of the rain drops from his face. He narrowed his eyes on hers, leaning into her touch just a bit.

"How about you fetch us some towels so that we can dry off before we catch pneumonia?" he told her.

She nodded and took off for the linen closet in the hall. What was that all about, she thought. That was just too weird. Too... couple-y. I probably freaked him out, she thought as she pulled a couple of thick towels down from the top shelf.

She returned to the living room and handed him a towel.

"Looks like Cordy's been here," he told her as he began drying his hair. "She left a note in the kitchen that Max went out and that she'd be home late tomorrow."

Buffy nodded, glad that the little dog hadn't been neglected. She didn't see him wanting to go out in the torrential downpour to do his business.

"I'm going to go put on some dry clothes," she announced.

"Make sure it's something warm," he called after her. She looked at him, puzzled. "I'm going to turn down the air just in case the power decides to go out. Get it chilly enough in here to last awhile."

"Right," she nodded. "Good idea."

She grabbed her bag and let herself into Cordelia's room, shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the closed door and sighed. It was going to be a long night.

She dumped her bag out on Cordy's bed and dug through the pile until she found a pair of light grey drawstring sweatpants with "NYU" silkscreened in an arch across the ass and a light grey tank top. She dug a little more and found one of the bra and panty sets made from a little less material than her bathing suit in a deep shade of red. She went into the small bathroom attached to Cordy's room to run a washcloth over her body before changing clothes. She didn't know what posessed her to break out the skimpy underwear, but she couldn't stop the wicked grin from spreading across her lips as she got dressed. She grabbed her comb and a little vial of cherry-vanilla scented oil and dabbed a bit on her pulse points before going back out into the living room.

Spike had already changed. He was stretched out on the couch wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a black Misfits t-shirt. There was a bottle of brandy and two snifters sitting on the coffee table. He looked her over as she approached him and raised his eyebrow.

"I take it you just don't own any clothes that actually cover your body, yeah?" he teased.

"Very funny," she scowled, pulling the comb through her damp hair. "I'm not cold yet." She looked at the glasses on the table and back to him.

"Since you're not cold, guess you won't be needing a nip of brandy," he said, pouring himself a glass. "More for me."

She sat down beside him, set her comb on the table, picked up a glass and held it out. He stared for a second, as if he was deciding whether or not to corrupt her.

"You ever drink anything, Summers?" he asked, skeptically.

"Sure, I have. I'm not a baby, you know." She was getting defensive again. But she wasn't lying. She'd had a glass of champagne at her father's wedding. And she'd had half a beer on New Years' Eve at Angel's big bash.

And then there was the tome or two she got drunk on whiskey out of sheer boredom when she was stuck in the house alone for a weekend while her mother was off globetrotting without her. That was not of the good. Lots of morning-after pukage and headaches. But this was brandy. Not whiskey. Not like she was going to be doing hefty man-shots or anything. It was a sipping drink.

He snickered and poured the amber liquid into her glass.

"Now don't go belting it down now, Kitten. Don't need to be accused of contributing to the delinquency of a minor," he joked.

And there. He did it again. Pissed her off. She knocked back the brandy that was in her glass without even wincing and held out her glass for a refill. He looked appropriately apologetic as he refilled her glass. This time she sipped at it as he continued to watch her. She looked right back at him, practically daring him to say something.

Kitten certainly does have a dark side, he thought. And it made his spine tingle in anticipation of finding out what other dark little secrets she was hiding behind that bright smile and angelic face.

He suddenly grabbed her hand and stood up.

"Come with me," he told her, pulling her to her feet, "I want to show you something."

She followed him, one hand on her glass of brandy, the other wrapped in his. We're going to his bedroom, she thought as her heart started thudding a little harder in her chest. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh damn...

"Go ahead and sit down," he instructed, nodding toward his bed. She did as she was told and turned to watch the storm through the bay window. His bed was tucked into a cubby with the window above it. It was more than cozy. He lit a couple of candles and an incense stick and then opened his closet door.

What am I supposed to do, she thought. She had no idea what he was doing. She sipped at her drink and stared out the window as he rifled through his closet for... for what? Most guys keep them in their dresser drawers... go figure, he'd be the oddball who kept his...

"Got a new acoustic guitar," he smiled proudly, pulling his new acquisition out of its hard-shell case.

He handed it to her as she gave him her brandy glass and he watched her face for any signs of recognition. He couldn't help but grin when the look of awe washed over her delicate features in the candlelight.

"Oh my God," she whispered, running her fingers over the neck of the guitar. She looked up at him, slack-jawed. Her eyes were shining with excitement. "Do you have any idea what this is?"

"Would like to think so," he teased. "But why don't you tell me, Kitten."

He sat across from her on the bed and watched as her fingers formed chords along the neck and she began to strum.

"This is a 1969 Martin D41," she said, still strumming lightly. "Did you know that there were only 39 of these ever made? You own a piece of history! Oh my God, this must have cost a fortune."

He was beyond impressed. The girl had nailed it right on the head. Not only did she know what a gem she was holding, she knew how to play it. God, could I love her any more than I do at this moment, his subconscious screamed. Where the Hell had that come from, he thought.

"Don't know. Da sent it for my birthday a few months back. I've been meaning to bring it home to show you," he told her. "Knew you'd be the only one to appreciate it."

"Appreciate it?" she asked, wide-eyed. "This is... incredible, Will. It's mint! Just look at it! Not a scratch on it. The neck is perfect, no bowing at all! And the action is awesome! This is one Hell of a birthday present. Sure it wasn't birthday bribery to get you to move to England?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted. "But you don't see me leaving, do you?"

She smiled. Nope. He wasn't leaving. And that was definately of the good.

"Play me something," he suddenly told her.

"Huh?" She was still dazed by the beautiful instrument she was holding and the soundtrack being played out by the steady drum of rain, claps of thunder and cracks of lightning.

"Just a little music between friends," he told her. "We'll save the real audition for Xander and Oz. Play me something you like. Something that tells me..." He thought for a second. "Something that tells me who Buffy Summers really is."

She was taken off-guard by his request. She thought for a moment, staring at her hand where it rested on the top of the guitar's rosewood body.

"There was an acoustic group I went to see for the first time about six months ago... up by UC Sunnydale at the Bronze?"

He nodded. He knew exactly where it was.

"Yeah... I've seen them a few times now. They were at the Covered Dish last month. They're supposed to be back there next month. You should go check them out... they're called House of Dreams," she told him. "Anyhow, they did this song I just loved... well, I'll just play it for you."

She began picking at the strings, trying to ignore the fact that he was watching her in fascination.

"Eyes wide open, the first day

A fallen star has found its way

The part's been cast, begin the play.

A pebble into a pond makes ripples

It makes its way 'cross little by little

The power to change the world

There's nothing like Life's First Breath..."

He continued to watch as she played. Her eyes were closed and he imagined that she was off in her own world now, as it should be. There was nothing but her and the music. That's what it was all about. And he realized, in that moment, that Buffy was the only one who understood that.

"What religion will he choose?

A winner, yes? Or will he lose?

Or will he lose?

A pebble into a pond makes ripples

It makes its way 'cross little by little

The power to change the world

There's nothing like Life's First Breath..."

She opened her eyes when she was done to see him still watching her, his eyes glazed over a bit with emotion.

"That probably didn't sound half as good as when Britton and Jack sing it, but you get the idea," she said softly. "It was just a song that really stood out to me when I heard it. I think... I think I fell in love with it right on the spot."

I think I've just fallen in love with you right on the spot, he thought.

Spike was afraid to say anything that might break the moment. He could sit there and just watch her all night. He was sure of that. She handed him back the guitar and he leaned it against the wall without taking his eyes off of her. She reached her hand out to take back her glass from him and felt her heart start thudding heavily again as their fingers brushed. She could feel his eyes following her every move as she raised the glass to her lips and sipped a bit of brandy.

Buffy wasn't sure just what it was that was making her feel so warm from the inside out... was it the brandy? Or was it the way Spike was watching her so intently? Nobody had ever looked at her the way that he was. It made her insides quake with nervous anticipation. He was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her. No... like he wanted to devour her. There was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes and it burned through her to her very core.

She turned to look out the window. The wind had picked up quite a bit and it had stirred the pounding sluice of rain into a frenzy. Molly hadn't been kidding when she warned them about the storm. This was the mother of them all. The thunder rolled in a steady roar that made Buffy shudder. She thought back to something she'd learned in science... on-coming tornadoes sound like freight trains. Did that sound like a freight train? She didn't even want to think about it. It hardly ever rained in California, but when it did, it was as if the sky opened up and threatened to swallow the earth whole.

The thunder crashed mercilessly followed by a bright crackle of lightning and the power went out. Spike's clock-radio no longer flashed red at them. It went dark. The light that had been eminating from the living room had snapped off and all that was keeping them from total darkness was the candles Spike had lit when he brought her into his room.

She felt her skin prickle with nervous energy as she turned back to look at him. His eyes were stormy with desire and she couldn't help but visibly quiver.

"You okay, Kitten?" he asked, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't form any words. She nodded and darted her eyes back down to the glass in her hands. She felt drunk, but knew it had nothing to do with the liqueur she had been sipping. The powerful storm was dizzying, but the combination of love and lust in Spike's eyes was her undoing.

He reached out to pull her to him.

"Come here, Pet." His voice was deliciously silky.

She moved into his embrace, her back against his chest. He ran his hands down her arms, instantly producing a series of goosebumps.

"Getting a little chilly, Love?" he asked.

She shook her head to let him know she wasn't. No. Her skin's reaction wasn't from the chill the air conditioner had left in the room. It was from the soft caress of his roughened hands as they swept over her bare arms and shoulders.

"My Mum used to be terrified of storms," he told her, guessing that she was a little more afraid than she was letting on. "Da would sit for hours with her... reading her poetry, rubbing her back... just quietly comforting her. I don't know what fascinated me more... the force of nature going on outside the house, or the force of nature within. He'd soothe her with his words, his voice and his touch."

Buffy realized that Spike never really talked about his mother. She knew that Anne had died when he was only 5 years old. She hadn't suffered. She'd been ripped from his world just as quickly as he'd been thrust into hers. Her death was swift and unexpected; a trip to Sarlat to see her sister, a ride through the French countryside, an unforeseen obstacle of the bovine persuasion in the roadway... and her young life ended as the driver swerved to avoid the beast and toppled them into a ravine along the side of the road.

Rupert had been devastated. He had no idea how to raise his young son alone. He was plagued by the constant memories of Anne wherever he turned. The drive down James Watt Queensway into Edgbaston to University would often result in a meltdown by the time he made it to the car park. A business trip that led him to Snow Hill Station would leave him shaking with grief in his train compartment nearly all the way to his final destination. A picnic with William in Lickey Park that had started out as a quiet father-son play date could be destroyed easily by a blonde Geordie and her companion clicking away in their pronounced accents so much like Anne's.

Rupert could no longer take the haunting memories and decided to leave the Mother Country behind for the States. All young William had wanted was to see his father smile again. And after years of living as bachelors, Rupert had met and eventually married Honey Chase, a divorcee and aspiring actress, and moved the combined family into their new home nestled in the center of the Sunnydale hub.

Buffy relaxed into Spike's arms even more. He made her feel safe. It was very clear that he cared about what she thought and how she was feeling. Little things he'd said throughout the day had made her question and then second-guess his intentions. Did she have a boyfriend? Would she be heartbroken if he drowned?

"Storm's really picking up," he murmured, his chin resting on her shoulder. She could feel his breath tickling her ear as she continued sipping at her drink. "It is pretty to watch, though. Don't you think, Kitten?"

She nodded again. She was positive that if she tried to say anything, nothing more than a croak would come out. All she wanted was to get lost in the dulcet tones of his voice and the warmth of his body as it pressed against hers.

"Still want to play your little truth game?" he asked her playfully.

She nodded again.

"Ask me why I still come home, Buffy," he told her, his voice soft and low. He stilled his hands on her arms and waited for her to rise to the challenge.

She took another sip of her brandy and closed her eyes.

"Why..." She barely recognized her own voice. It was raspy, barely a whisper. "Why do you still come home, Will?" she asked, praying that the answer was what she thought it was.

He dropped a soft kiss on her shoulder and nuzzled her neck with his nose before answering.

"You," he whispered into her ear. "I come home only for you."

She shivered as he nibbled on her earlobe and set her glass on the sill of the bay window. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real. She was nobody.

"No," she tried to protest. "No you don't, but thanks for saying it."

He had to be lying. He had to be saying it to be nice. She was nobody... nothing. He was... everything. He was all she could think about since she first laid eyes on him. He was what she could never have. He was like the holy grail -- beautiful, effulgent and always just slightly out of reach.

He pulled her into his lap and made her look at him.

"Summers, I'm drowning in you," he admitted. "I don't know when it started or how it began... all I know is that you're in my bones, always buzzing just below the surface of my skin. You're in every song I hear... in every face I see. You get me... the way that nobody else can."

Her eyes were wide with a mixture of adoration and fear. She was scared to death of what he was telling her. It was everything she had ever wanted yet, at the same time, it made her want to run. If she laid herself open to him, wouldn't he leave? That's what they did, right? When she gave her heart to someone, they said 'aw, that's nice' and then they left. Her father had done it. Her so-called friends were doing it all the time. Her mother had made it clear that she had no use for her either. Why should he be any different?

"I don't expect you to feel the same way, but..." He sucked in a sharp intake of breath and took her hand in his. "I need you to know how I feel, Kitten. Since I was a little boy... since Mum died... my life has been nothing but chaos. Da pulling into himself and then forcing this new family on me... standing by and watching his loneliness become his mistress... knowing that every time he left the house, Honey was on the phone with the next prospect... seeing Queen C go from a slightly spoilt little girl to a selfish, cold-hearted woman. The only constant in my life has been you. Your strength. Your kindness. Your will and determination."

She looked down at their joined hands and moved her thumb in slow, circles over the smooth skin between his thumb and finger. Why was he saying all of these wonderful things to her? Why was he making her feel safe and wanted and... loved?

"Kitten, look at me, please," he pleaded.

She looked back up into his eyes. Please, Will... don't be lying to me. Don't be saying these things to me and not mean them, she thought. She searched his face for any sign that what he was saying wasn't true. Oh, God... he's telling me the truth, she panicked.

"You're everything to me, Buffy," he swore to her, tears shining in his eyes. "You raise me up, Love. You give me a reason to succeed... a reason to be. You're the one. Answer me this... why do you still come here? And don't tell me because Cordy still asks."

It's now or never. Do or die. If he wasn't looking at her the way that he was... she would have lied to avoid getting her heart ripped out. Nobody had ever looked at her like that. Ever. Spike's eyes were truly the windows to his soul. And to his heart. He loved her. The black of his pupils screamed it. The blue of his irises echoed it. His unwavering gaze confirmed it. The declaration was silent and sincere.

"Because I love you," she whispered, surprising herself by her own admission. She hadn't meant to say it out loud. She'd only meant to tell him that she still came to Cordy's because of him, but her heart governed her mind and voiced its own affirmation.

He watched as her eyes turned wide and frightened, clearly surprised by her own words. They'd slipped out naturally, truthfully. He felt the tears warming his cheeks at her simple statement. She loved him.

"Oh... God," she stammered. "I didn't... I--"

"Don't you dare take it back," he told her. "Don't you dare! It would kill me."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him so that he could bury his face in her neck. She smelled sweet and innocent. The cherry-vanilla fragrance radiated from her rapid pulse.

"Love you so much, Kitten," he practically whimpered.

Her hands moved to stroke his hair. She had always admired his passion and his heart. If anything, Spike had too much heart. He was expressive and full of untapped benificence. He had been holding it all in for her. No one else had ever had his heart. No one else had ever seen his soul.

She felt her own tears sliding down her cheeks and sniffed them back.

"I love you, too, Will. I do. So much," she cried.

He pulled back to look at her beautiful face. So much passion. He didn't even think she was aware of just how much passion she had. He leaned in slowly, stroking the tears from her cheek, and captured her lips in his. He sipped gently at her bottom lip until she let out a soft moan. When her lips parted, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth and sought out hers.

Buffy's head was spinning. She had never been this close to a man. She had never had a boyfriend. Had never wanted anyone but Spike. She wasn't even sure if she was kissing him properly. He seemed to sense her apprehension as he reluctantly pulled back with smiling eyes.

"We still telling the truth, Kitten?" he asked with a bit of confusion in his voice.

"Always," she told him, vaguely aware of what he was going to ask her.

"Am I... have you..."

"Yes. And no," she finished for him. "You're the only one, Will. Only you."

He felt a peckish pride in his chest at knowing that she was only his.

"You're all I've ever wanted. And I refused to settle for anything less," she told him nervously.

"You're mine?" he questioned, cocking his head to the side.

"Yours," she promised. "Always."