have her

by SoulVamp

Note: Set during season 4 at some vague point before A New Man and after Something Blue. Special thanks to Ethan, kittycat22, jealousy, and Dylan Adams for informal beta work.

"So, what, she's feelin' neglected, 's that it?"

Xander sighed. Why was he even telling him about this? This was Spike! Evil, soulless, opportunistic Spike! And yet he was a guy, and... well, sometimes you just had to talk to another guy about... guy stuff. Sure, there was Giles, but there was no way in hell Xander was going to him about anything remotely involving Anya and the sweaty naked things they did together. Talking to Spike about it was embarrassing enough. Talking to Giles would leave him feeling like a guilty twelve-year-old who'd just found his dad's stash of Playboy.

"I, uh, yeah. I'm getting that idea. Especially when she says stuff like, 'Xander, I'm feeling neglected.' Honestly, though, I don't know why she should feel like that, because --"

"Because you two have it off every night. Sometimes several times." Spike shuddered in disgust. "'Least you could do is give the poor sod who's got to bear witness to that shameless display of your pasty flesh a bit of a warning. Wouldn't like it, but I'd rather go shack up with Rupert for the night than have to hear her call you her 'conquistador.'"

"Hey!" Xander jabbed his index finger at the vampire. "Nobody knew you were listening! You were supposed to be asleep! Isn't that what your kind does during the day?"

Spike frowned and appeared slightly wounded. "Bloody stupid myth, that. Been watching too many movies, mate. Not like we can't set our own hours, just can't walk around willy nilly when Mister Sunshine rears his ugly head." He retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shook one out. "'Sides," he added quietly, "it was almost time for Passions. Didn't know I was gonna be in for the live show if I decided to wake up then."

"Okay, here's the point," Xander said, tapping a corner of the table, "and here's you being all beside it. Accidental voyeurism is not the topic of the day. Or any day. Ever."

"Trust me, Harris, not exactly a memory I want to cherish." He lit his cigarette, which was immediately snatched from his mouth before he had a chance to take his first puff.

"Again, the no smoking rule is in force," Xander said with a glare.

"You want my advice or not?" Spike asked exasperatedly. "Think better when I've got my nic fix."

Reluctantly, Xander handed the smoldering Marlboro back to him, and after a long drag, Spike exhaled a defiant billow of smoke directly into his face. "Thanks ever so," he said with a smirk. "Now, back to your problem."

***

Buffy started to turn the doorknob, then stopped when she heard the voices inside. Great, Spike was there. Dealing with him was not exactly on her list of top ten things to do, especially not after the disgustingness that was making out with him. It was easy enough to rightfully blame it on Willow's spell and try the proverbial washing her mind out with soap, but for some reason the feel of his lips on hers would rush back to her at the most inconvenient times.

Like now. 

Gah! No! Bad and warped and wrong! she told herself. So then why aren't I just walking right in there and dealing with him like everything's totally normal?

She withdrew her hand from the knob and placed her ear against the door.

***

"There's no problem," Xander began. "At least not from my end. I don't neglect her! I take her out --"

"And she takes you in..."

Xander pinned Spike with a warning stare. "Watch it."

Spike rolled his eyes. "So, right, then. You have these beautiful evenings together that start off with a nice dinner at one of Sunnyhell's finer eateries, then you bring 'er back here for a bit of the old rough-and-tumble, and yet she feels terribly ignored."

"It doesn't make sense..."

Spike chuckled. "Sure it does, you bleeding git. You think you're paying her all the proper attention? I'd wager you're rather not."

Xander's face screwed up in confusion. "How? What? Am I supposed to spend every second with her? Because sometimes when I just wanna hang, she's the one who's all 'Honey, you're great, but please leave before I can't stand the sight of you.' She's not uber-clingy girl."

"Not what I meant."

"Well, then..."

Spike sank into the orange recliner and grinned mischievously. "Know you get the job done. I've heard the soundtrack, and nobody as blunt as demon girl would ever go all Meg Ryan on you."

"Damn right I get the job done!"

"However," Spike continued with a hint of irritation, "I'd wager there's still a bit of business she's feeling isn't bein' attended to."

Xander grimaced. "Unlike some people, not everyone wants to be shackled to a wall and... and whatever other gross kinky things your girlfriends are into."

Spike shook his head. "I don't mean anything quite that interesting. God knows you two are hopelessly vanilla." He let out a short laugh. "Well, you are, at any rate. Suspect Anya's got more than a hint of strawberry in 'er."

"Okay, what the hell am I not doing in the strawberry department?" Xander asked. "I do stuff! I let her do stuff! There is stuff being done, mister!"

"And I'm sure you do it just swell," Spike said patronizingly. "But there's more to sex than just the ever popular wham-bam, you know."

Xander looked at the floor. "There's more. There's the windup before the pitch, and it's not like the ball's not in play for a long time after being... thrown."

"All right, slugger, just what does your 'windup' consist of?"

"So not giving you details."

"Well, then, I'm suddenly not so very interested in continuing this conversation." Spike dropped his cigarette into an empty Sprite can and stood up. "Got better things I could be doing with my night."

"Like what, scaring little old ladies with your lumpy face and mugging them?"

"No!" Spike said. "Like... er... well, there's... reading..." He sighed and sat back down. "Oh, fine, but really, Xander, you're going to have to spell it out. We're all adults here."

"More like some of us still feel like they're about fifteen, while some of us are senior citizens," Xander replied. He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. "Okay, all right, it's like this..."

***

Buffy almost fled right then. Hearing Xander talk about sex with Anya was crossing serious friendship boundaries, not to mention being generally icky. But why was he telling Spike all about it? What possible advice could he have?

Well, living a century and a half probably did give him... experience. Lots and lots of experience...

Once again, she thought of sitting in his lap, his mouth devouring hers with an expertise that was like nothing she felt with Riley, or even Angel. With Angel, he was always just slightly holding back, almost too tender, and Riley was all about the over-eagerness. Spike, though... Spike had been deliberate. Slow. Hungry...

For a moment, she tuned out the voices on the other side of the door and allowed her mind to wander into deliciously inappropriate territory...

***

Spike blinked. "That's it?"

"What, that's good, right? That's --"

Suddenly the vampire let out a hearty laugh. 

Xander cringed. "Okay, I'm gonna take that as a bad sign."

"I just can't get over it!" Spike said. "My God, man, don't you ever give her anything more than your cock?!"

"Whoa, okay, again with the uncomfortable phraseology!"

Spike snickered. "What would you like me to call it, eh? Your dick, your shaft, your rod, your manhood? Your penis? For fuck's sake, Harris, you're not a virgin, and it's nearly the twenty-first century! Get the hell over your delicate sensibilities and call a spade a spade!"

"Gimme a break, evil dead," Xander replied. "All my friends are girls. I don't generally call my... 'spade' much of anything. Well, when I was younger I called it..."

Spike raised an eyebrow.

"Uh... never mind what I called it," Xander said quickly, his face reddening. "Anyway... what do you mean, don't I give her anything more than... that? Isn't giving her that kinda the whole point?"

Spike looked up at the ceiling. "God, was I ever as naive as this bloody amateur?" He turned back to Xander. "Yeah, that's the main point, and yeah, I'm sure she likes that just fine. But she's not a car. You can't just pump the gas a few times and throw her into drive. Gotta stroke the engine a bit, gotta get under the hood."

Xander looked back at Spike blankly.

"Metaphor too vague? Right, then. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Just promise me you're not going to start drawing diagrams."

***

She entered the bathroom just as she had the day she came to interrogate him, only this time he wasn't pissed off and chained to the tub. Oh, he was in the tub all right, but his head was resting against the porcelain, eyes shut, his naked form relaxed under steaming, soapy water.

"I have your dinner," she said, shutting the door behind her. She took a step forward and held out the mug of warmed pig's blood.

He opened his eyes slowly, and she felt a shiver run through her. His gaze was consuming, needful...

"Not hungry," he said. 

She put the mug down on the counter. "Well, when you are, there it is." She turned to go.

"Slayer," he called. "Come. Now."

"Why should I?"

"Don't you want to ask me all about the soldier boys again? Beat the truth out of me 'til I spill?"

She warily approached him. The water was cloudy, but her eyes skimmed its surface, unabashedly intrigued.

When she'd drawn close enough, his hand shot out and grasped her wrist. "See anything of interest, pet?"

She sucked in a sharp breath. "You're vile. Filthy."

"That so?" he asked. "Get me all properly clean, then." He grinned and abruptly pulled her into the tub with him.

Buffy snapped out of her daydream. They weren't talking about sex anymore; they were talking about... cars?

Huh?

Maybe it was safe to go inside now. Anything was safer than lingering outside the basement door eavesdropping and getting herself all worked up fantasizing about completely nasty things. What was wrong with her? Spike was gross and evil and icky and... 

God, his tongue had felt so good...

***

"Your tongue."

"Excuse me?"

"Your tongue. And your fingers."

Xander squared his shoulders. "I do that, thank you very much."

"You do that for what sounds like about five seconds. Tell me something: how long does Anya spend sucking you off?"

Xander blanched. "Well, um, not very long," he admitted.

"Because you don't want to come in her mouth, that it? You stop her just before you're about to unload?"

"Uh, well... I mean, it's not that I wouldn't mind, it's just... I figure I should save that for the actual --"

"Fucking?" Spike sighed. "You know, you don't have to pound it into her every bleeding time. If you keep everything the same, bird's gonna get terribly bored. And I suspect that if you let her, she'd love to stay down there as long as her pretty mouth could stand it, isn't that right?"

Xander shrugged. "I guess..."

"You guess."

"Okay, okay, she kinda mentioned it once. Said I, um... tasted good."

"As revolting as that is to me, I'd imagine to her you're quite... nummy," Spike said with a hint of sarcasm. "Don't you want to let her know the same?"

"Again, I reiterate that I do that!" 

"You go down on 'er, maybe," Spike said, "but you don't relish it. You don't go the extra mile. It's like you're goin' over a sodding list. Step One: Kiss. Step Two: Pay a mind to her tits. Step Three: Lick her clit. Step Four: Fuck. Not supposed to be like that, mate. You're not so much eating her out as gettin' that bit over with. Do you only let her have her orgasm when you're inside her?"

Xander gulped. "Um..."

"Beautiful thing about women, Harris, they don't need a refractory period. Let her have as many as she wants in all myriad of ways."

Xander looked across the room, suddenly becoming very interested in the washing machine. "So I should... what, exactly?" he asked nervously.

A slow grin spread across Spike's face. "Treat her beautiful cunt as if it's your sustenance. Savor it. Lavish it with as much adoration as you give her mouth. Taste her, swallow her, have her. Her juice should be your goddamn nectar. Relish it. Nibble on that naughty little button 'til she's screaming your name. Shove your fingers inside her and hit that soft spot that'll have her carving out great chunks of your back with her fingernails. And don't let up until she's a quivering, sweaty puddle on the mattress."

***

Buffy whimpered. No, no, this wasn't good, not at all. This was very, very bad. Hearing the things Spike said, Buffy wanted to burst into the room and slam him against a wall, ask him for a demonstration. She could feel herself clenching, tightening, throbbing, that familiar blooming warmth spreading through her abdomen, a flash of dampness soaking the crotch of her panties.

She spun around and headed for home, face flushed, mind occupied by the single thought of locking herself in her dorm room alone to relieve her tension.

***

Spike turned his attention to the door, his head tilted, senses engaged in sorting out all the small noises and scents filtering in from outside. 

"Gotta move, Harris," he announced. "Remember your homework assignment."

Xander cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, as much as I hate to say it... thanks."

"Don't thank me now," Spike replied. "Thank me when An's wearin' a silly grin of satisfaction."

He crossed the room and flung the door open, scanning the backyard. A whiff of the air finally revealed what he was seeking, and he quietly strode across the grass 'til he fell into step beside her.

"Evening, Slayer."

Buffy jumped. "Jesus, Spike! What the hell are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Nice night, figured I'd take a stroll. Better question is why're you makin' haste from Xander's?"

"None of your business."

And suddenly he saw that her skin was dewy, her eyes darting nervously as if afraid to look at him. And her smell...

Somebody's feelin' a bit randy, he realized smugly. 

"Hear anything interesting lately?" he asked.

She gritted her teeth. "No," she replied. "I heard... I... nothing. I wasn't --"

"Save it, pet," Spike said, stepping closer. "I've got your number. Reeling from our bit of fun the other week, and now you've got yourself all worked up snoopin' on a couple of blokes havin' a good old-fashioned chat about --"

"Don't flatter yourself," Buffy interjected. "Yeah, okay, fine, I was on my way to Xander's and I overheard you guys, which is why I'm making with the getaway. But, please, if you think I have any opinion about our unfortunate engagement other than revulsion, you're nuts." She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Right. You honestly mean to tell me I don't have the slightest effect on you?" His lower lip sneaked between his teeth as he looked her up and down.

"The list begins and ends with loathing."

"Prove it."

"Excuse me?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"Prove it. Give us a peck. Not like you haven't done it before, and it'd be purely scientific, just to assure us both that you're not goin' all pathetically moony over me." He shook his head. "That'd be just what I need, my mortal enemy following me around like a lovesick puppy dog."

Clearly seething, Buffy pulled a stake from her pocket and held it aloft. "This is the only thing of mine that'll ever touch you again, Spike. You want it? I'll be happy to give it to you."

He threw up his hands. "Have it your way. Go on. I'm rather disappointed to discover that when the cards are on the table, you're too bloody chicken to --"

Buffy's jaw dropped. "Chicken?"

Brilliant, you hit her where she lives, he thought. That's it, Slayer... take me up on my challenge.

"Well, it's obviously fear," he said. "What else could it be? You claim I'm repulsive, then fine. Prove it to yourself and me, otherwise I'll just have to assume that --"

His words were silenced by her lips crashing into his with a wild viciousness that was nothing like he could've imagined. Buffy's arms were flung around his neck, every inch of her pressed tightly against him. His erection was immediate and nearly painful.

All too soon, she shoved him away unceremoniously. "Nothing," she spat out. "For the last time, Spike, you disgust me."

She whirled away and was gone in a flash, a blur of dark clothes and bouncing hair rushing down the sidewalk.

Spike could only watch her go, shocked, dazed, and completely frustrated.

***

"And what are you so chipper about?" Buffy asked amiably. "You haven't once said something remotely snarky today."

"Xander pleasured me last night," Anya said with a contented smile. "A lot. In many new and exciting ways."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Okay, could've just said you had a nice night, but thanks for that extra bit of info."

"Any time!" Anya chirped.

Spike's voice flooded back to Buffy: "Taste her, swallow her, have her."

There will be no having of me, she thought angrily. I don't care how good you feel... smell... taste... there will be no having...

"Are you okay?" Anya asked. "You look upset, and frowning like that can only lead to premature wrinkles."

"I'm fine," Buffy assured her. "Just... stressed."

"You know what's a good stress reliever?"

"What's that?" Buffy asked.

"Getting laid."

***

She noticed the fact that it was a cool evening, slightly breezy, not at all unpleasant, especially once she buttoned her jacket. She noticed the stars blazing, white pinpricks against dark blue-black velvet sky, moonless and clear. She even noticed the satisfying "clickity-clack" her new shoes made on the sidewalk. It was rhythmic to the point of making her change her pace to shuffle her right foot lightly on every fourth step, rendering herself a human drum machine. She noticed all these things as she walked along, sipping cocoa from the Espresso Pump, smiling to herself, and making happy footwear percussion. But what Buffy failed to notice was that Riley had asked her the same question four times, and she hadn't heard him. She didn't even consciously remember he was with her until she collided into the tall, muscular body which was suddenly blocking her path.

"Whoops! I'm sorry, I..." Buffy's voice trailed off when she saw Riley's face. He was scowling, his eyes hooded and dark, and he was deliberately standing in the middle of the sidewalk with his hands on his hips.

"Uh..." Buffy faltered. "Okay, you look like you're less than chipper."

"I tend to like it when a girl I'm on a date with is actually, you know, on the date," Riley said brusquely. "I don't know where you are, but you're not here."

"I'm here!" Buffy insisted. "I'm totally in date mode!" She threaded her arm through his and started to pull him along.

"What did I just ask you, then?" he pressed. "If you're Little Miss Attentive, then answer the question."

Buffy took a long swallow from her cup, trying to buy herself some time. Question, question... what was the question? she wondered desperately. Finally, she smiled up at him through gritted teeth. Well, it might be a fifty-fifty shot, she decided.

"Yes," she said with a small nod.

Riley looked at her with surprise, his eyes wide, and he gulped audibly.

"What? What's the matter?" she asked nervously.

"Y-you are seeing him," Riley stammered. "But I thought you said you made him up to throw me off or... some weird girly thing I still don't fully understand." Riley stopped walking and pried her arm from his. "Okay, look, Buffy," he said, his voice quiet. "It's not a big deal if you don't want to be exclusive yet, but I wish you'd just been honest about this guy. I mean, if you were even remotely thinking about marrying him --"

"Wait, wait, wait... who's marrying who?" Buffy asked, fear and dread rising in her tone. "This who isn't marrying anybody! Isn't even dating anybody who isn't you!"

Riley rolled his eyes. "You said 'yes,'" he explained. "So you didn't hear the question after all, did you?"

"No," Buffy admitted, her eyes downcast. "Um... what was it again?"

"I asked if you really were seeing some guy named 'Spike.'"

Buffy grimaced. I am so gonna kill him, she thought. Even when he's not around, he manages to ruin my life.

***

The door banged open unceremoniously, and Buffy swept into the basement like a small hurricane, her eyes narrowing as they fell upon him.

"Hello to you too, Slayer," Spike muttered. He waved a half-empty bottle of beer in her general direction. "Harris isn't here. But then don't s'pose you would've barged in here like that if you were lookin' for --"

"You," Buffy spat out. "I was looking for you."

"Found me, didn't you? What's the trouble?" The vampire started to struggle into a slightly more upright position on the couch, but seemed to be laboring.

"What's wrong with you?" Buffy asked, crossing the room. "Are you drunk?"

"I don't get drunk," Spike scoffed. "I may get a bit of a buzz going from time to time, but I don't..." He grimaced and let his head fall against the back of the couch. "Right, then," he said, closing his eyes, "maybe I'm just a little pissed."

"Yeah, well, so am I, but not the way you mean," Buffy said. She flopped down on a bean bag chair and curled her legs under her. "What'd you say to my boyfriend?"

"Pardon?" Spike opened his eyes and tilted his head up just far enough to look at Buffy. "You got a boyfriend?"

Buffy couldn't tell if he was mocking her or expressing disappointment. Either way, she was decidedly unhappy with him, even if he was technically innocent of what she'd suspected. "So you didn't talk to him? You didn't tell him you were dating me?"

He started to laugh, silently at first, just a strange smile and a slight shake of his chest, and then he chortled out loud.

The sound set Buffy's teeth on edge.

"Why the blazes would I tell some poofter I didn't even know existed that you were my bit of fluff, Slayer?" he asked through his laughter.

Buffy pressed her lips together into a hard, thin line. Do not stake the neutered vampire, do not stake the neutered vampire, she repeated to herself, trying not to reach for the shard of sharpened wood in her pocket. Do not stake the...

"I mean, I'm flattered, really, luv," Spike went on, "but come on, I thought we had this confrontation a few days ago. Our assignation, as it were, was just a spell."

"I'll give you an... an assignation!" Buffy sputtered. "It'll involve you, me, and a box of matches."

Spike leaned forward, appearing vaguely more sober, and tapped a cigarette out of the pack on the coffee table. "Wanna light my fire, that it?" he asked. "Look, precious, if you're really gaggin' for it, guess giving you a go wouldn't be the worst thing I could do." He lit his cigarette and grinned at her broadly. "Shall we have it off now, 'fore Xander gets home from work? Probably got ourselves a good twenty minutes. Not the usual amount of time I prefer to spend on a lady..." Spike looked Buffy up and down, his gaze predatory. "But then you're not much of a lady, now are you?"

Buffy shot to her feet and stalked toward the door. "I can't believe I bothered to come here."

"You didn't, pet," Spike said, his voice low.

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks. "Excuse me?"

Behind her, she felt him approach, his pace measured and slow. He didn't say anything until his mouth was against her ear.

"You didn't bother to come here, Buffy," he whispered.

Buffy shivered in spite of herself. "And I'm not going to."

She was gone just as suddenly as she'd first arrived.

Spike took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a thin stream. As he tapped the ash off onto the threadbare rug, a smile spread across his face.

***

Willow could be downright picky about music.

When she was sad, she liked nothing more than to curl up on her bed and wallow in the warm strains of acoustic guitar glittering under honeyed, aching vocals. When she was happy, all she wanted to do was bounce with perky abandon to chipper alternative pop; something with wry lyrics tumbling from the mouth of a lanky, sleepy-eyed singer.

Tonight, the soundtrack at the Bronze was nowhere near either of these preferences, but then, Willow was neither particularly happy nor particularly sad.

She’d managed to smuggle in an MGD, tucked away in the recesses of her coat, and had been taking surreptitious sips from it when no one was looking. As her lips and nose grew numb with the first hint of tipsiness, Willow giggled to herself. At least this stuff doesn’t sound like Oz’s band, she thought bitterly.

Computerized blips, clicks, and buzzes sprinkled themselves atop a pounding, repetitive bass line. On the dance floor, people laughed and spun, painted over with spiraling prisms and pulsing hot flashes of strobes and lasers.

Yeah, this wasn’t a Dingoes Ate My Baby kind of night, and that was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Willow giggled again, high and strained, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught Buffy’s patented Concerned Frown.

"What?" she asked with a lopsided grin. "You look like you just lost your favorite stake or something." Willow tried to stifle her laughter. Oo, badness, she realized. Play it cool. They get all disapprovey of drunk me.

"Will," Buffy began sternly. "Why are you so... happy?"

Willow bit her lip and shrugged. "Uh, no... no reason," she said, trying to smile less broadly. "I just, uh... Oh! Oh, right, yeah, I got an A on that extra credit thingy for Professor Walsh." She raised an eyebrow at Buffy. "Which you would’ve known had you been in class, sleepyhead."

Buffy sighed. "Sorry, yeah, I’ve been kinda slacker girl lately."

"And kinda narcoleptic, too," Willow added. "When you do bother to go to class, you’re out before the lecture even starts."

"I know. I just..." Buffy gazed off toward the bar, and a shadow passed over her face. She quickly snapped her attention back to Willow. "I haven’t been sleeping well at night. Dreams. Bad, bad, bad dreams. So, uh..." She gestured weakly, looking back at the bar again.

Willow noticed her friend’s ears had turned crimson.

What the heck’s so interesting over there? she wondered. Willow’s eyes scanned the small cluster of people milling around on that side of the room, placing their orders and receiving red plastic cupfuls of their beverages of choice. She vaguely recognized a few people from school, the sort of people she exchanged nods and smiles with but didn’t know the names of. Then there was that kid Jonathan, carefully trying not to spill his cappuccino. And, oh, look, there was Xander, talking to... talking to... Willow squinted, but couldn’t quite see precisely who it was. But it was Xander, all right, looking animated and relaxed, and generally Xander-esque.

Wait a gosh darn minute! Willow’s eyes narrowed, and she regarded Buffy again.

Buffy, whose attention seemed completely fixed on...

Wow, this is new!

"Um, Buffy?" Willow began, trying to sift through the jumble of mixed feelings now tumbling through her. "Y - you don’t happen to have... like a crush on somebody, do you? Somebody maybe that you think I’d be mad about?" She gulped. This was harder than she thought.

It had always been there, really: the fear that one day Buffy would look at Xander the way Willow knew Xander still looked at Buffy. And it wasn’t that Willow herself wasn’t over him. Mostly. Still, for this to happen now, when she was still smarting from losing Oz... well, that was just...

"Rude."

Buffy blinked at Willow. "Huh?"

Oops, was that out loud?

"Uhhh... rude! God, yes, look at how, um, Xander’s all over there having a good old time with people who are not us, while we sit here..." Willow let her voice trail off, and she looked at Buffy with a hopeful smile. "I mean, it’s not like scary rude or anything, but... Anyway, we weren’t talking about that; we were talking about --"

"I have no crush," Buffy said, lowering her eyes. "At least, I’m trying not to."

"Ah ha!" Willow jabbed a finger in the air. "So you do like him!"

Buffy leaned closer to her friend. "Jesus, Will! I think there’s some people in the men’s room who didn’t hear you!" She peered over her shoulder. "And, you know, really not wanting him to hear!"

"So you’re not gonna tell him?"

"God, no! This is totally..." Buffy shuddered. "I mean, can you say, ‘ick’? This’ll pass, and until it does, I’m just going to avoid him. And try not to have --"

"Sexy dreams?" Willow’s upper lip curl up slightly. Ew, not liking the image in my head now.

"For God’s sake, Willow!" Buffy hissed. "How did you even find this out, anyway?"

Willow glanced at Xander. "I dunno," she said. "Lucky guess, honestly. Plus, you’ve been checking him out all night." She shook her head. "If you wanna get over this, Buffy, you can. Besides, I mean, he does have girlfriend after all."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. She’s the least of my worries. Honestly, if I actually did want him? I mean, really, I could just kill her."

Willow gasped. "What?!"

"Chill," Buffy replied. "She is evil."

"Maybe she used to be!" Willow said. She squared her shoulders and folded her hands primly in her lap. "I think somebody’s taking her Slayer duties just a little bit too... too technically these days!"

Buffy let out a short laugh. "Whatever! If I really were being all technical, I’d have killed him a long time ago!"

"Buffy!"

"What, it’s true!" Buffy countered. She made a stabbing motion with her fist. "Stakity stake the vampires. It’s kind of a thing, you know."

Willow frowned. She cast her eyes back to the bar again... Xander moved to perch atop a stool, and now Willow could see who he’d been talking to.

Oh, my God.

"Buffy! I mean... whoa, hey, this is... this is not of the good."

Buffy nodded silently.

"I mean, Spike?! What are you thinking?!"

"I’m not thinking," Buffy said quietly. "That’s the problem."

Willow slouched against the sofa cushions. "Yeah, well... I guess who am I to judge, right? We all have problems."

Buffy tipped her head to lean on Willow’s shoulder. "Like how you’re drunk right now?"

"Hey!"

Buffy giggled. "Sorry. You’re not exactly subtle."

"Yeah, well, you’re developing a pattern of behavior that could be considered to fall into the realm of necrophilia," Willow shot back. "Which, you know, kinda gross when you think about it too much." She paused, shaking her head and pressing fingertips to her right temple. "Okay, ugh. I think I just thought about it too much."

From across the room, Xander made his way through the crowd, stopping short when he saw the two girls. "Ladies, why the long faces?" he asked. He plopped himself down beside Buffy, causing her to bounce an inch off the cushion. "C’mon! I’m here now. Let’s turn those frowns upside down and have rampant mayhem and frivolity!"

Buffy and Willow peered at each other a moment, then two pairs of glaring eyes fell on Xander.

"Men," Willow said.

"Clueless," Buffy said. "They suck."

"Some more than others," Willow added.

Suddenly they dissolved into laughter.

Xander drew back slightly. "Okay, now I know I’m definitely missing something here."

***

Seemed appropriate. The first time he’d seen her had been here, pretty curves all a-shimmy as she danced, having fun with her little mates.

The first time he’d seen her, he’d wanted her.

Spike realized this now, hadn’t quite gotten it at the time. Back then, he’d thought he just wanted her dead, neck snapped or blood drained like he’d done in the other two Slayers. Wanted to stalk her like prey, feel her life leave her body.

That’s what he’d thought he wanted.

But now it was flooding back to him, the visceral sensations of that first night; how even across the room he could smell the cherry of her lip gloss, her flowery perfume, a hint of her own sweet musk. It hadn’t made him want to kill her. It had made him want to kiss her and shag her ‘til she was screaming his name in ecstasy.

Two years ago, that was, and here he was again, watching her from across the room, wanting her more than ever. She wasn’t dancing tonight. In fact, she seemed a little off, a little down. Spike took a drag on his cigarette and tried to pretend he wasn’t stealing looks at her, because every time he peeked that way, her eyes locked with his.

Just for a split second, of course, because each time it happened, she looked away so fast her hair whipped around her face in a blur of gold.

Spike let the bartender refill his draft, stubbed out his cigarette, and wondered what the hell he was doing here. This was juvenile and ridiculous. He knew where to find Harmony if he wanted to get laid, after all. So why waste the entire night with no other wish than for Buffy to find it in her heart to come over here and just talk to him?

Harris was coming around, wasn’t he? Thanked him, even, for the advice he’d given him, said things with Anya were all nifty again. Well, good on him, the wanker. Meanwhile, Spike himself was left out in the bloody cold, still adjusting to life after his little trip to the vet, and not even wanting to torture the Slayer by flustering her. By God, she was now the one flustering him.

Some nasty bugger he’d turned out to be.

He shifted, leaning his back against the bar, elbows propped up on the wood behind him, and watched the small throng of youth for a bit, thought about their jugular veins and what a pisser it was he couldn’t rip them out. Let his mind wander to blood instead of breasts and legs and big green eyes. Forget that little bitch for a spell, but… eh, what was that… a whiff of soft powdery something or other, a whiff of…

“Slayer.” He felt her beside him, but didn’t move his head.

“Spike.” Her voice was even, neutral.

Suddenly, Spike felt somehow cheered by her presence. And now, no more being a pathetic tosser. Now, he was going to have some fun. She’d come over here, after all, hadn’t she? She wasn’t even ordering a drink, just standing there, like she was waiting for something.

With careful deliberateness, he moved his left leg, not even a centimeter, just straightened his knee slightly. But he knew, as soon as the air around Buffy shifted, tensed, that she’d felt it: the rough brush of denim against her bare calf.

He sipped his beer, never changing his bearing, acting for all the world like he’d not done a damn thing to her. And then, out of the blue, there were four little fingertips on the back of his hand, so light he thought at first he’d imagined it.

Mouth agape, he finally cocked his head to look at her.

For the first time since their spell-induced betrothal, Buffy wasn’t frowning at him, glaring at him, or otherwise looking at him in anger and hatred. She wasn’t smiling, either, not really. But her eyes were wide and sparkly, and the corners of her mouth weren’t turned down for once.

She swallowed, tore her gaze from his for a moment, and when she peeked back up at him through a fringe of thick eyelashes, her lips parted softly.

Spike thought his knees would buckle.

He put down his glass and propped himself more firmly against the bar, wishing for a free stool so he wouldn’t have to worry about being literally staggered by this girl. He toyed with a cigarette, tapping it against the packet, not lighting it, just needed something to do with his hands.

Damn sweaty palms.

“So, where’s this supposed bloke o’ yours, pet?” Christ, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Don’t bring up some other man now, not when you’re trying to worm your way into her knickers.

Buffy had this odd little quirk Spike had noticed. Her forehead would sometimes smooth itself out, ears pinking and twitching backwards, and her entire body would stiffen. She’d do this strange, quick little series of movements when she was nervous, caught off guard, or…

Oh, yeah. There was that flash, that other little thing. The twinkle in her eyes, pupils blown open so wide the irises were near-invisible, the sheer volume of her blood, heartbeat pounding through her. The Slayer wasn’t just nervous, she was excited.

“I, um… I dunno if I’m really seeing him anymore. It’s…” Buffy’s hand fluttered to her neck absently, and she toyed with her necklace. “It’s not quite working out.”

Spike’s mouth drew up, and a small sound came from deep within his chest, a half-laugh, half-sigh, quiet and confused and delighted.

One steel-toed boot shuffled, inching its way closer, bridging the short distance between them.

“That so?”

Ah, yes, this was the sort of thing they called a pregnant pause, wasn’t it? How the bloody hell did the whole place seem to get so hot, so heavy? And why’d it feel like three hours had passed since he’d asked the question?

“Maybe.”

Skirt and hair whirling past again, gone… sod it, she was always zipping off, getting away from him, moving just a little too quick…

… like Buffy would always be just out of Spike’s reach.

***

The movie droned, and Buffy wasn’t paying attention. She was actually finding her history textbook interesting for once. Wars and battles fought long ago that she didn’t have to worry about were oddly comforting in the face of the rampant chaos of her own life. 

“Yeah, smack the ponce down good, you bastard!”

Like this chaos, for example.

“Spike, you’ve seen this four times,” Xander chided. “Why do you always get all riled up during this fight scene? You know how it’s gonna end.”

Don’t listen. Read the nice shiny book. Ah, the War of the Roses. Neat.

“What, I should sit back and let m’self be bored? God, Harris, you got no imagination, do you?” There was a snap of a lighter.

Don’t turn around. Don’t watch the pretty vampire’s lips when he has a cigarette clamped between them. Don’t think about lips or mouths or tongues or…

Buffy squirmed and squeezed her eyes shut.

Don’t think, just jump on him.

She snapped her book closed, and Xander and Spike both flinched as she stood up quickly, almost knocking the popcorn bowl over. “Time to patrol!” she announced. She flounced out before either one could say anything.

Of course, Xander had to follow her. Damn.

“Buff? What’s the matter? You want some help?”

She shook her head. “It’s cool. Everything’s cool. Coolness abounds. You go back. Enjoy the movie.” She started off again.

“It’s Spike, isn’t it?”

She stopped walking, a string of curses on the tip of her tongue.

“It’s Spike what?” she asked, not turning around.

“I know he’s annoying. He’s actually looking for someplace new to stay. Apartment, crypt, something with no windows.” Xander laughed. “You know, it’s actually gonna be kinda… I dunno. Here in the last week, I’ve gotten him to finally do the laundry right. I’m not looking forward to going back to doing it myself.”

At this, she spun around.

“Spike?” Buffy asked. “And… laundry? Uh…”

“Five bucks a load. Ten for whites, ‘cause, as he put it…” Xander stood a little straighter and launched into a truly awful British accent. “‘Last thing on the whole bloody earth Oy fancy doin’ is your skivvies, Harris.’”

Buffy giggled. “Don’t quit your day job.”

“Crap. There goes my dream of being paid to impersonate the rude and undead,” Xander grinned. “But, anyway, yeah, he’ll be out of my hair soon, so you won’t have to skedaddle every time he gets too hard to take.”

“Good to know.” She tried to manage a smile, but it wasn’t quite coming out right. The sides of her mouth wouldn’t go up exactly, just sort of sideways.

“So… patrol? Company?” Xander held his hands out, weighing them like scales. “Or is this Buffy-needs-to-be-alone time?”

Actually, it’s Buffy needs to go home and take a cold shower time, she thought. Huh, okay, that line of thinking got the smile to work right; there we go.

“I’m not really going to patrol, Xand,” she admitted. “I’m going home. Studying.” She waved her textbook at him.

“Right. Cool, okay, well, catch you tomorrow? Anya’s doing that spaghetti dinner thingy.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” She waved and started down the sidewalk away from the house.

I will miss it, though… stupid bleached head and blue eyes and dirty leather all sprawled out on Xander’s couch.

I’ll miss it a lot.

***

“Got a bee in her bonnet, don’t she?”

Xander shrugged. “Nah, she’s fine.” He settled back down on the couch and fixed his eyes on the screen. Bruce Lee was planting a flying kick to someone’s head. “She’s got homework or whatever.”

“Riiiiight.” Spike elongated the word into twenty-six syllables and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. “Nothin’ whatsoever to do with losin’ that mysterious boyfriend of hers.”

“Huh? She’s… no, I think she’s still dating that guy. Whatshisname. Robbie or Randy or whatever.” Xander tilted his head to the side. “Do you think they put harnesses or wires on him or something? Nobody can jump that high.”

“I can. Slayer can.” Spike leaned forward. “And from her lips to my ears, she and that berk are through, mate.”

Xander looked over at Spike. “Oh.” This was puzzling. “Why’d she tell you?”

Spike didn’t answer. Which was really weird, because Spike always answered, always talked without prompting, always said something mean or stupid or scary. Why wasn’t he answering?

“Spike?” Xander snapped his fingers in front of the vampire’s face. “Earth to --”

“Do that again, and you’ll lose your hand.”

Xander drew his arm back.

“Blood withdrawal? Or are you just having PMS?” He meant it as a joke, obviously, but Xander’s voice was too shaky to pull it off.

Spike pinned steely eyes on him and growled.

That always made Xander shudder. Yeah, vampires growled, all lion or tiger-like, and it was unsettling, but it was a sound he’d heard tons of times… from Angel, from random newbies when he went out to watch Buffy’s back. It was still something he’d never get used to, though, because it was a sound that reminded him yet again that these things that walked and talked like normal people were monsters, beasts, and hunters underneath it all. Reminded him that he wasn’t Spike’s reluctant roommate, but something Spike wanted to have for lunch.

He scooted closer to the other side of the couch, and when Spike stood and pulled on his coat, Xander sagged with relief.

“Going out?” Xander asked quietly.

“Delivery night. Hospital. Got to nick me somethin’ fresh.” Heavy footsteps across the floor, door closing…

Dammit, if Spike would just get the hell out of here, Xander would be more than happy to pay the rent on a new place for him.

***

Bunnies. Puppies. Fields of flowers. Blue sky and fluffy clouds. Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. Crayons. Post-Its. Teddy bears. All things innocence, purity, and light. Happy things. The smell of Scotch Tape on Christmas morning…

Pulling the zipper of Spike’s jeans open with her teeth.

Oh, this wasn’t working.

Buffy stopped walking and took a deep breath.

Kittens. Yarn. Kittens playing with yarn. Knitting. Charcoal drawings. French class…

Spike’s tongue easing her lips apart.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

She was still not moving when she heard the footsteps and the swish of cloth splitting the air behind her.

Shit!

“Patrol?” A pause. “Shady Hills is thataway, pet.” A black clad arm slid across her field of vision, porcelain hand pointing diagonally across the street. “‘Less you’re not so much goin’ on patrol…”

Swallow and breathe slowly. Don’t grab his arm and spin him around against a tree.

“Where are you going?” Buffy asked, voice husky. She cleared her throat. “Seeing Harmony?”

The arm dropped, dead weight falling, and she heard him sigh. “No.”

He sounded almost sad.

Buffy turned around. Spike’s head was bowed, eyes downcast. He kicked at a loose pebble, hands in his pockets.

She blinked. Could he… did he… “Did you break up with her?” she finally managed.

Then those deeply blue eyes were on her, and Buffy felt the blood drain out of her head. I could drown in there, and it’d be okay, she thought helplessly.

“Not officially, no,” Spike murmured. “‘Course, we were never officially much of anything, not really.”

“Ah.” She tried to move, she really did, but her feet didn’t want to do as her brain commanded. Right, left, right, left, c’mon, it’s not hard… let’s go!

“No, just out for…” Spike shrugged and exhaled one brief close-mouthed laugh. “Hell if I know, to be frank.” He plucked the textbook out of her arms before Buffy could protest. “European militarism, hmm? Need a tutor?” He flipped through the pages. “Some of this I was there for, y’know.” He squinted slightly and held the book out further from his face. “Bleedin’ tiny print.”

Was it possible for your heart to explode because it was beating so fast? Was it possible to be overwhelmed by the – God help her – charming dichotomy of an evil, soulless, bloodsucking fiend who wanted to give her a history lesson? A badass punk who was too vain to use reading glasses?

A gross, disgusting pig who made her come when she dreamt about him?

“I have to --”

“Go,” he said. His voice was rough. “Yeah, always runnin’ off. That’s your thing, innit, Slayer?”

Spike said “Slayer” the same way he said all his other little pet names for people. Maybe it had started off as an insult, using her title as a kind of swaggery way to cut her down, but not so much anymore. He might as well have called her “sweetheart” the way he said it now.

Buffy would show him, though. This was bait, and she wasn’t taking it. Thought she’d turn tail? Not this time. No, this time she’d call him on it. She tried to remember all the little horrible things she used to do to boys, back before she’d been called and let her duty harden her. Vixenish things. Toss of the hair over the shoulder, let a hand run along the neckline of the sweater…

Spike’s Adam’s apple bobbed, tongue sneaking out to wet his lips.

There we go. She’d gotten to him. Now to move in for the kill.

She took a step forward and laid her palm on his shoulder. “Let’s get a beer,” she said. Buffy made it sound light, innocuous, like she’d asked the guy next to her in class to borrow a pencil. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

She knew instinctively, though, that he could hear her heart, and it was still pounding wildly.

That must’ve been why he smiled the way he did just then, and let her lead him along.

I am in so much trouble now.

***

Anya’s arms were filled with grocery bags, annoyingly heavy ones that caused her to miss the doorknob twice. She feebly attempted to get her knuckles close enough to knock, but that only managed to cause the loaf of bread perched precariously under her right arm to threaten to drop. Giving up, she banged on the door with the toe of her shoe. “Xander!” She hefted the bag in her left arm as she felt it start to slip. That wouldn’t do. It had eggs in it, and if it fell from her grasp, Anya certainly would not be cleaning the resulting mess up herself. “Chivalry demands you open the door now! I have only the proper number of hands here, and currently they’re all occupied!” 

She grinned at him when the door opened, immediately thrusting a sack into his outstretched arms. “Thank you. Now, the quicker we get these put away, the quicker we can perform the pretense of doing something cerebral for thirty minutes before we commence carefully tearing each other’s clothes off.” Anya beamed at him and began to pull boxes and jars out of the bags.

Xander chuckled. “Carefully, huh?”

Anya nodded. “I’m very fond of spontaneity, but you ruined a perfectly good bra last time.”

He put the bag down and ran his hand lightly along her back. “Are you complaining, sweetie?”

Anya shut the cupboard and frowned at him. “Well, yes. Yes, I am. I’d just gotten it, and it was very pretty.”

Xander smiled indulgently at her. “I meant, are you complaining about what happened next?”

“Oh, of course not. You’ve became quite the little stallion in bed lately.”

At this, his smile faded. “Okay, lesson number forty-seven in things humans don’t say: the words ‘little’ and ‘bed’ should not be uttered in the same sentence. Not to a guy, anyway.”

Anya blinked. “I didn’t mean to equate that with your penis size, Xander. I’m sure you’re well aware of that.” She smiled and gave him a hug, nuzzling her cheek against the front of his sweater. “In that department, you’re more than adequate, mister.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “God, you’re romantic.”

She leaned up and offered him a half-smile. “I am? That’s good, right? Thank you.”

“That’s actually sarcasm.”

Anya released him and resumed putting the food away. “Silly. Why not just say what you mean? We have a finite amount of time on this planet. People ought to spend what ridiculously short lifespans they have being straightforward.”

There were strong arms around her waist and a pair of lips on her neck. “Okay. You’re not romantic at all. You’re strange. Totally and completely strange.” A flicker of tongue danced with maddening lightness across her earlobe. “And I love you for it.”

Anya sighed softly and looked at the groceries. Yes, all the things that would melt or spoil were put in the proper places. The rest could wait.

She turned in his arms and kissed him.

***

“You want to go in here?” Spike grimaced. “I dunno, pet, this isn’t the sort of place I’d choose to be seen in.”

Buffy gave a once-over to the university pub, Budweiser sign jittering nervously as its neon filaments wore out, heavy oaken door plastered over with flyers for open mike night. Through the amber-glazed windows, strapping football and fraternity types could be spotted, girls in short skirts giggling in small clusters around the pool table. Scruffy prep heaven, with the Dave Matthews Band leaking out from the jukebox into the night air…

Then there was the individual before her on the sidewalk who looked like 1978 had thrown up on him.

She gave him a sneaky half-smile. “Why do you think I brought you here?”

Spike glared at her, but swung the door open, bending low and casting his arm out. “After you, Slayer.”

The gentlemanly façade was ruined when she felt him goose her as she brushed inside.

Buffy squeaked and raised an eyebrow. “Jerk,” she muttered. “Big stupid --”

He laid an index finger against her lips. “How’s about we decide none of that tonight, eh? Bit of a truce? After all, we do so bloody well at truces, don’t we?” He let his finger stray a moment longer, then slowly withdrew it.

“For about ten minutes, yeah.”

“Well, that’s no good. Gotta work on that, we do.” Spike nodded to himself and scanned the room. “Free booth over there, luv,” he said, pointing it out to her. “Go keep it warm while I get us a bit of somethin’.”

“Don’t try slipping anything funny into my drink, Spike.”

Spike gasped and clapped his right palm to his chest, taking a step back. “What on earth would make you think I’d ever do such a thing?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling.

“I mean, is there no trust? Where’s the love, Slayer?” He straightened up and then…

No, oh, God, please, do not kiss me, not here. Buffy’s mouth drew up into a tiny bow of surprise as he leaned over her…

… and tweaked her nose.

She blinked, watching Spike’s back as he sauntered to the bar to place their order.

The hell was that?! Buffy stumbled toward the empty booth and slumped down against the cracked leather bench. That was… crap, that was damn cute of him. He’s not supposed to be cute!

She dared a peek across the room. Spike was grinning at her, backlit from the soft overhead lighting, his hair almost reflective, glowing. He winked, then turned back to the bartender, handing him a crumpled bill.

Okay, he’s being cute, he’s paying – where the hell did he get money from, anyway? – and I’m just… Yeah. I’m gonna have a heart attack. That’s all there is to it. Add a tick mark into the “number of times I’ve died” column. Buffy buried her face in her hands, elbows propped up on the table, and let out a deep breath.

She jumped when something ice cold ran along the side of her neck.

Snatching the chilled bottle from his hand, she immediately took a long swallow, putting the beer down on the table with a slight bang.

“Somethin’ amiss?”

“You have no idea,” she replied.

Spike put his own beer down next to hers, shrugged off his duster, and slung it over the back of the bench opposite Buffy’s. Instead of joining his coat on that side of the table, though, he squeezed in beside her.

“Uh… ever hear of a little thing called personal space?” Buffy asked.

“Yeah.” Spike leaned forward slightly, rose an inch off the seat and pulled a squashed pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans.

God, how’d he fit anything in there? They’re so –

She shook her head. Don’t think about how tight his jeans are… Oh, screw it. You’re giving in to this, remember?

“Heard of it,” Spike continued. “Don’t much care for it, though. ‘Specially not… well, I’d wager you know where I was goin’ with that.” He squeezed her knee under the table briefly.

Or not. Don’t give in to this. This is weird.

Buffy scooted an inch closer to the wall. “Spike, look, we should talk,” she began. She started peeling the label off her Heineken as she spoke, shredding the tiny pieces of soggy green paper and letting them fall into the ashtray. “This… this thing, whatever the hell’s going on here… It needs to stop.”

“Does it? How do you figure?” It was a murmur, all soft and silky.

Buffy’s resolve flagged slightly, but she pressed on. “What’re we doing anyway? Do you honestly want something to happen here? With me?”

“No.”

No? Oh. Her lower lip jutted forward. “See? Good. That’s… that’s good.”

Then he was closer suddenly, the hand back on her knee. “Not here, ‘course not. See, what we do is, one night when Red’s off at the library, just let me come ‘round to your place, and --”

“No.”

He moved back from her. “Suit yourself. You’re the one missin’ out, Slayer.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “Shyeah. Okay, whatever. More like you’re the one missing out.”

“‘Tis a pity we’ll never know now, will we?” Smirk back in place, Spike propped his legs up on the opposite bench and started tapping the top of the cigarette pack against his palm. “So sad when you think about it. We’re both strong, agile, attractive, young --”

Buffy coughed.

“… looking,” Spike amended. “Young-looking, that better?” He started peeling the cellophane off the pack with chipped black fingernails. “Just seems a bit strange we don’t just, you know, see what comes of it.”

“But I hate you.”

“And I you, pet. Got that in common. Mutual loathing.” Eyes back on her, merry and mischievous. “I mean, God, how much more perfect can you get, really?”

The hand moved back to her knee again, slowly inching its way up.

“You’re in for a world of pain, Spike,” she whispered.

“Why, Buffy,” he grinned. “And here I thought you didn’t care.”

***

When he let his hand start to creep its way along the hem of her skirt, Spike immediately felt Buffy’s iron grip around his wrist. “Do you know how many of your bones I could snap right now?”

Spike gulped. “Uh… didn’t so much take anatomy --”

“Thirteen.”

“Well, er, looks like somebody’s been studying,” he replied numbly.

Buffy’s grip tightened. “I’m not kidding,” she said. “Cut it out.” She flung his hand into his lap and flattened herself against the wall. “I came here to talk about this, not to start anything.”

Spike weighed his options, wondering if he should continue to press his luck. “Yet,” he murmured.

Oh, bugger me, just had to keep goin’ didn’t I?

To his surprise, Buffy didn’t shoot back a pithy reply, but instead looked at him with softening eyes. “What the hell do you want from me anyway?” she asked, her tone quiet, a little catch in her voice.

He blinked, casting a glance over his shoulder as if afraid he were under scrutiny from some unknown audience, then frowned at her. “How d’you mean, Slayer?”

Buffy shrugged and took another drink before replying. “Let’s not play games here. You know perfectly well that I got all chewed up and spit out by a total loser not so very long ago, and I’m really not super keen on that happening to me again.”

“Hang on, you think I just want you for a quick roll and that’s it?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t even try to tell me you want to pretend to be a nice guy.”

Spike chuckled. “God, no,” he said. “I may not be able to chase the other puppies anymore, as it were, but I’m certainly not a nice guy. Never gonna be.”

Her shoulders sagged just enough to give Spike a momentary pang, and the next words out of his mouth flowed so quickly he didn’t have a chance to think better of it.

“Used to be, though.”

Buffy gave a sputtering laugh. “Uh, you wanna run that one by me again?”

Shut your gob, you ponce!

But he couldn’t. He barely paused as he ran the truth home to her, squaring his shoulders and letting his eyes bore into hers. “Used to be a goddamn saint, I did, back when I was human. Used to be a bloody prince among men, painfully dull, and full of all sorts of noble bullshit. Exactly the sort of bugger you’d fancy, I suspect.” He finally dared to lean in an inch closer. “Or is it?”

He heard her pulse rush through her veins. “What do you --”

Spike cut her off. “Like ‘em dark, you do,” he said, dropping his voice to a near-whisper. “Angel… yeah, might be all soul-having, but he’s hardly the star of the bloody football team or a sweet little choirboy, now is he? And that bastard what did you wrong… Now why the devil do you think you found him so appealing in the first place, kitten?”

Another inch closer.

“‘Cause deep down, you knew he was bad.” He finally let his gaze fall from her eyes to her lips. “And you liked it.”

Buffy’s nostrils flared, and Spike briefly worried she was going to rail against him loudly, but she remained composed. “At least he wasn’t wishing every night that he could go out and murder half the town’s population.” She held out her hand to his chest, gently pushed him away from her, and stood up. “Until you can say the same thing, this conversation is over.”

Buffy stepped over his lap and made it two paces toward the door before Spike swept her by the waist back down onto the bench next to him. Trapping her hands in his to keep her from rushing off, he searched back into the recesses of his past, tried to summon forth some vestige of his humanity that he could use to persuade her that there was more to him – more to this – than she thought.

He shut his eyes, emotion and reason and fear and lust swarming through his mind, tangling together. Spike realized he’d never hated anyone as much as he hated Buffy just then, for making him feel something else all mixed up with the hate… something strong, powerful, amazing, and horrible all at the same time.

For making him feel.

Spike wanted to whisper in her ear that yes, he wanted to shag her in a thousand and one ways, give her the best sex of her life. But he also wanted to tell her he could maybe love her given the chance, that – soul or not – he could learn to be helpful and, if not truly good, at least good enough.  

But he couldn’t say it. The demon in him still had a chokehold on his heart, wouldn’t let go of it. The best he could do was, “Lemme try.” 

When he released her hands and opened his eyes, Spike was startled that Buffy was actually still there. Confused, certainly, but still there. 

“Try?” she asked.  

“Just…” Try to change, he thought. Say it. Tell her you want to try to change. “Y’know, er… be… useful,” he muttered. He ducked his head and bit the corner of his mouth. Dammit, man, you used to be a bleeding poet. Get the words out already! “I…” 

“You don’t know what you want, do you?” She was standing again, and this time he didn’t try to stop her. “Look, I know you can be useful,” she admitted. “You want to fight, and – lucky me – the same stuff I fight is the stuff you still can. So, fine. Be useful. I actually appreciate it. Just don’t claim you want more from me than… than…” 

“I do,” he said softly. “I want more. Not just an easy fuck. More than that.” 

Buffy drew in a sharp breath and studied him carefully. “Then find a way to prove it.” 

When she finally left, Spike could tell she was walking slower than she needed to, giving him ample opportunity to catch up with her. He sat, muscles tensed, stomach tight, not moving, until he heard the door of the tavern shut behind her. Only then did he let himself sag against the back of the seat, more spent than if he’d been trading blows with her all night. 

*** 

It was the most horrible scene Xander had ever stumbled upon.  

He’d been through a lot, seen terrible things. Staking his childhood friend, Angel’s vamp face glaring at him menacingly through the window before pulling him through it roughly, Buffy drowning, Faith trying to strangle the life out of him… Xander had had his ass kicked too many times to count and done his own fair share of asskicking, seen demons, vampires, creatures bent on destroying the world, his high school explode in a blaze of fire… 

And none of these infinitely disturbing events could have prepared him for what he now saw. 

Spike stood on a folding chair hanging paper streamers along the ceiling while Anya sat at his feet, tying off balloons. She was laughing, and as Xander listened in, he realized she was laughing because Spike was telling her knock knock jokes. 

Really, really bad knock knock jokes, like the one about the oranges and bananas and Sam and Janet Evening. 

Big scary mean things with horns and teeth had nothing on this for sheer terror-inducing madness. Xander felt like screaming and running for the hills, but before he had the chance to bolt, Anya noticed he’d come home. 

“Hi!” she said, scrambling to her feet. “Spike has been very helpful this afternoon. We’re going to have lots of fun tonight!” 

“Best check on your sauce, luv,” Spike said, applying a final piece of tape to a streamer. “Starting to come to a boil over there.” 

“Oo, thanks!” She scurried to the hot plate. 

“Okay, who invited him?!” Xander demanded. “I thought this was just gonna be you, me, Buffy, and Willow tonight!” 

Anya frowned. “Xander, you’re being awfully rude. Spike lives here. We can’t just kick him out when it’s time to eat.” 

“He’s a vampire!” Xander said. “Unless your sauce is made of plasma, I don’t see why he’d even want to stick around.” 

Spike hopped down from the chair and shot Xander a look. “Once again, you manage to distill everything into myth and legend, Harris.” The corners of his mouth turned down petulantly. “Maybe I like spaghetti,” he muttered. 

Xander rolled his eyes. “Gee, sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he shot back. 

“You did,” Anya said. “Xander, be nice. After all, he cleaned your bathroom.” 

“He did what?!” 

“Cleaned your bathroom,” Spike said. “The grout was gettin’ a bit moldy, you see, and I picked up this great stuff what eats it all away right quick.” Now he was smiling like a proud housewife. “Took infinitely less elbow grease than you’d suspect.” 

Anya laughed. “You looked very manly in the pink rubber gloves.” 

Spike punched Anya playfully in the arm. “Quiet, you. That was s’posed to be our little secret.” 

Xander clenched his hands into tight fists. 

“That comin’ along good? Give us a taste, eh?” Spike asked, pointing to the pot of marinara sauce. 

“You’ll just have to wait along with everybody else, William,” she said.  

Xander blinked. “William?” 

“Honey, jealousy doesn’t work on you. Please stop,” Anya said. “You and I spoke at great length about our exclusivity. I’m not going to sleep with him just because he’s terribly amusing and has abs you could bounce quarters off of.” 

“Anya!” 

Spike chuckled. “She’s a pistol, Harris. Lucky bloke you are.” 

“Okay, quit being all friendly and… and… cleany!” Xander shot back. “It’s freaking me out.” He collapsed on the couch. “I thought you were gonna go look at that crypt today anyway.” 

“Oh, he did something better than that!” Anya said happily. “Tell him.” 

Spike grinned slyly. “I was gonna save it for after dessert.” 

Xander glared at both of them. “What’s going on?” 

“Spike got a job!” Anya announced. 

“Aw, ducks, I wanted to say it.” 

“I’m sorry. It’s hard to contain my enthusiasm sometimes. Besides, you were being slow about it,” Anya said. “It was annoying me.” 

Xander was trying hard to process this information, but finally gave up and decided he must’ve stepped into another dimension at some point during the day. It’s just some kind of Bizarro Land, he thought. So once we talk to Giles about opening a portal or chanting something while burning smelly herbs, it’ll be fine. Just play along. 

“You got a job. Why?” 

“So I can see about payin’ your folks a spot of rent and such. Earn my keep,” Spike explained. “Nothing too grand, just pulling drinks a few nights a week at the Fish Tank, but I should do well on tips and whatnot.” 

Pay rent? Wait. That meant that – 

“Oh, no, peroxide boy, you are so not staying here indefinitely!” Xander stood up and stalked toward the vampire. “This arrangement was not supposed to be indefinite! It was supposed to be very unindefinite! Like… um…” 

“Finite?” Anya supplied. 

“Yes! Finite! As in a beautifully short amount of time. Temporary with a capital ‘temp’!” Xander was only about an inch taller than Spike, but he stood up straighter and tried to will that inch to convey as much intimidation as possible. 

Spike quirked an eyebrow at Xander. “Calm yourself, lad. Won’t be any trouble at all.” 

“What makes you so sure?” This was getting beyond strange. There’s gotta be some twisted reason he’s doing this. He’s planning on setting the house on fire while I’m asleep. 

Spike glanced at Anya, then turned his attention back to Xander. “If you must know, I’m…” He sighed heavily. 

“He’s trying to be sort of good or something,” Anya finished for him. “He won’t tell me why.” 

Spike looked pained. 

“Sort of good?” Xander asked. 

“Not good, no!” Spike replied with a hint of indignation. “I just… well, it’s like this, mate.” He started to pace the room. “If I can’t kill anybody ‘cept for demons and such, then figured I might as well throw in with you lot proper-like and just… to hell with it all, you know? All the dodgy sorts already know I’m not one of them anymore. Nothin’ else left to me, really.” 

Xander suspected there was still more to this. “So, what, you wanna be part of the gang now?” 

“Maybe,” Spike replied quietly. 

Xander resisted the urge to swipe the steak knife off the table and cut his head off for even suggesting he could ever be one of them. But Spike actually looked sad and more than a little pathetic, and it was true he was strong. If he could actually manage not to screw anything up, then maybe… 

No, this is crazy, Xander thought. If Buffy wants this, then fine. I’ll put up with him. But I’m not welcoming him in with open arms. 

“Does Buffy know about this?” Xander finally asked. 

Spike stiffened slightly.  

“You’re… you’re doing this so you can get closer to her, aren’t you?” Xander accused. 

“I beg your --” 

“You’re gonna try to kill her again.” 

Spike relaxed and let out a short laugh. “I can bloody well assure you on that one,” he said. “Got absolutely no intention of that.” He regarded Xander evenly. “I just wanna help. All there is to it. Be a spot more on the up and up and such.” 

Xander looked at Anya. “You believe him?” 

She gave a sideways nod. “Mostly, yes. Yes, I do.” 

Xander took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s how it’s gonna work around here,” he said. “You do anything remotely weird, one strike and you’re out on your skinny white bum. If I find out this is all some grand plan to mess with us, you’re dust. And as for earning your keep, damn skippy you’re gonna earn your keep. No more making me pay you to do the laundry. We share all the chores. And if you talk to my parents at all, you’re gone. Are we clear?” 

“Crystal,” Spike replied with a grin. “Though your mum might miss watchin’ the soaps with me.” 

Xander gritted his teeth. “Tell me you’re kidding.” 

*** 

Buffy blinked, her eyes adjusting to the candlelight. Somehow, Xander’s basement had been transformed into a shabby but charming Italian restaurant, Dean Martin droning quietly from the stereo, a long folding table decked out with a red and white checkered tablecloth. She tugged at the hem of her skirt, amused at the thought that she felt slightly underdressed. 

Then Xander was bowing in front of her, grinning widely, a white cloth napkin slung over his arm. “Can I show you to your table, miss?” he asked with a wink. “The rest of your party isn’t here yet.” 

“Xander Harris, maitre d’!” Buffy said with a giggle. “Willow can’t make it. She’s helping this friend of hers with a paper or something. But I’ve been warned that if I fail to bring home leftovers, I risk being locked out of the room.” 

Anya picked her way carefully down the stairs, balancing a tray of appetizers, wobbling slightly in perilously high heels. “Xander, why is your mother so fussy about the use of her oven? Honestly, someone needs to explain to her that it’s an appliance, not her firstborn child.” She smiled when she spotted Buffy. “Oh! We have our first guest! Welcome, guest! This is our attempt to celebrate the concept of eventual cohabitation.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “I plan to do a lot of hostess-related duties once I’ve convinced Xander that he and I should share a dwelling.” 

Behind her, Xander cringed. “Uh, we’re still negotiating that,” he muttered. 

“Well, I’d say you’re doing great with the practice run here,” Buffy said. “Everything looks so pretty.” 

“It wasn’t all me,” Anya admitted. “I had a little help --” 

A deep voice cut through the room: “From me.” 

Buffy whirled around, eyes darting around until they finally fell on Spike. At the sight of him, she felt all the blood rush away from her head. Dark spots bloomed in front of her eyes, and she locked her knees to keep from falling over in a dizzy heap. 

He slowly separated himself from the shadows clinging to the corners of the basement and stepped forward. Spike’s ubiquitous black t-shirt had been eschewed for the night in favor of a dark charcoal sweater, and his hair was lightly disheveled, a tangle of damp, messy curls. The scent of soap hung in the air around him, and Buffy tried desperately not to connect this with the idea that he’d just come out of the shower. 

Wet, naked… No! No! No! Do not go there! 

He regarded her for mere seconds, but in that brief stretch of time, Spike’s gaze was obviously appreciative. The side of his mouth drew up into a subtle cross between a smile and a leer, and just as Buffy’s mind fumbled for something resembling a neutral greeting, his attention was drawn elsewhere.  

“Let’s break open that vino, eh, Harris?” 

Not even a hello? Buffy pursed her lips tight, shoving the disappointment away. Whatever. Nothing’s changed. I’m sticking to my new plan of action: ignore lusty feelings, and they’ll go away. I hear Denial Land is very nice this time of year. 

“Buff?”  

She suddenly realized Xander was holding out a glass of wine to her. “Thanks. Sorry, did I spaz out for a sec?” 

“Kinda.” Xander frowned. “You okay?” he asked quietly. 

Buffy nodded. “I… there’s an exam on Monday. In, um…” 

“That history class of yours?” Spike asked. “Told you, need some help with that, be happy to give it a go.” 

And then he was beside her, sipping from his own glass, but not looking at her, not directly.  

Xander shook his head bemusedly. “Yeah, dead boy here’s really old. Take advantage of him.” 

Buffy’s eyes flew open. “Take ad… what? There’s no taking… er…” She took a nervous sip of her wine. 

“For the homework help,” Xander clarified. He narrowed his eyes. “What’d you think I meant?” 

Spike cleared his throat. 

Oh, no, you don’t! You are not saying anything, mister! 

Buffy plastered a huge smile on her face. “Boy, something smells really good over there!” She scurried over to Anya. “What is it? Garlic bread? Garlic sauce? Tell me this mean involves copious amounts of garlic.” 

“Another misconception, that,” Spike announced. “Rather enjoy garlic.” 

“Then our only hope is that she boiled the spaghetti in holy water,” Xander said. 

“Dry up, you git,” Spike shot back. 

“Yeah, see, that’s the guy we’ve come to know and loathe,” Xander replied. “I knew this whole ‘I’m good now’ thing wouldn’t last.” He dramatically pulled his sleeve away from his watch and studied it. “Who put their money on two hours without him insulting someone?” 

“Damn. I had four hours,” Anya replied. “Oh, well.” 

“Wait, what?” Buffy asked. “What do you mean the ‘I’m good now thing’?” 

“Fang face is trying to turn over a new leaf,” Xander said. “But as you can see, he’s still very attached to his old, evil leaf.” 

“I think we should be patient,” Anya said. “It’s very traumatic trying to go from bad to good so suddenly. There’s an adjustment period.” She turned back to the hot plate and began ladling pasta into a serving dish. “Honey, can you go get me one of those unflattering quilted mittens so I don’t burn myself?” 

“Sure.” Xander cast a warning look at Spike. “Try not to kill anyone while I’m gone,” he said. “I have ten bucks on your murder spree starting at eleven fifteen.” He sprinted upstairs. 

Buffy perched nervously on the arm of the sofa, a hint of realization setting in. “You’re trying to be good?” she asked. 

Spike sucked in his cheeks and looked down at the floor. “What of it?” 

Buffy peeked at Anya, who was still engrossed in her food preparations. “Are you doing this for me?” she whispered. 

He shrugged. “Yes and no, I s’pose.” Spike ambled toward the sofa, settling himself beside Buffy. “What you wanted, though, innit?” 

What do I want? Buffy wondered. All completely physical things aside… what the hell do I want him to do? To be?  

Suddenly, Buffy’s world didn’t seem so black and white. When she’d first been called, everything was pretty clear: vampires and demons evil. Killing them good. The end. But then there was Angel, and, heck, even Anya, and now… 

Welcome to the cosmic airport. The grey zone is for the unloading of your personal morality only, a voice in Buffy’s head intoned like a loudspeaker. 

She dared a glance at him. His expression was scared, tentative. 

The white zone is closed indefinitely. 

She plucked the wine glass out of Spike’s hand and set it on the floor. 

Check your baggage before entering. 

Buffy interlaced her fingers with his. 

*** 

When the doorknob rattled, Willow felt her cheeks flush. She sat up straighter, trembling fingers fluttering up to her hair, making sure it was all in place, which she knew was silly. I wasn’t doing anything, just… maybe thinking about doing things, she assured herself. Buffy doesn’t even know Tara anyway, it’s not like she’d suspect something. 

The door opened. “Hey,” Buffy called, tossing her jacket onto her bed. She held up a small brown lunch bag. “Leftovers as requested.” 

“Oh, oh, right, yeah, thanks, Buffy,” Willow said, her voice tight. “Just put it in the fridge. I ate earlier.” 

“How goeth the homework?” 

Willow glanced at the book open in front of her, which was still on the same page it was when Buffy had left for Xander’s. “It, uh, it… goeth,” Willow replied. She slammed the book shut and whirled around to face Buffy. “Sorry I had to miss the fun. Was it fun? Were there strippers? I always miss the strippers.” A small feeling of dread nagged at Willow when Buffy failed to even groan at her attempt at humor; she merely crossed the room, kneeling in front of the mini-fridge.  

Buffy placed the bag inside slowly, her expression unreadable. “I wouldn’t say fun,” she said quietly. 

Willow frowned to herself, then forced a tentative laugh. “Uh oh. Was there a disastrous dessert incident?” she asked. “Did you have to pretend to like Anya’s attempt at tiramisu or something?” 

Buffy stood up and kicked the refrigerator door shut gently with her foot. “No. It…” She turned around and took a deep breath before continuing. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to freak out?” 

Willow opened her mouth, then closed it again. “No,” she finally replied. 

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “No?!”  

“No,” Willow repeated. “Since I have no idea what you’re going to say, how can I know if it’s worthy of freaking out or not?” 

Buffy’s lower lip jutted forward. “Because!” she squeaked. “That’s in the best friend handbook or something! You have to be all supporto-girl, especially with things I say that follow ‘do you promise not to freak out’! I mean…” Buffy folded her arms in front of her and looked at Willow pointedly. “I’d never freak out about something all dramatic you had to tell me.” 

Hoo, boy. She’s got you there, especially since you probably have some big stuff to tell her eventually, Willow realized. 

“Okay, fine. No freaking out.” Willow drew an “x” in the air above the left side of her chest and held up three fingers. “Witch’s honor. I am totally in the zone of support here.” 

Buffy screwed up her face, looking like someone about to bungee jump for the first time, a mixture of terror and elation crossing her features. “I think Spike and I are a thing now.”  

The words came out so quickly Willow wasn’t sure she heard correctly, nor was she sure she was interpreting them right even when she did grasp what Buffy said. A thing? Like a… oh, crap, like a thing! 

“Say something, Will,” Buffy pleaded. 

“What happened to ‘I’m trying not to have a crush on him’?” Willow finally asked. Must remain calm, must remain calm. Cool blue ocean. Buffy is not in love with a vampire again. Everything will be okay. Serenity... peace… 

Buffy cast her eyes down guiltily. “That kinda didn’t work.” 

Willow sighed. “Okay, you’re probably gonna hit me for saying this, but…” Ugh. This isn’t where I want my mind to go, but maybe this is the only option here. “When you say ‘thing,’ do you mean, like, a full-fledged thing where you call each other ‘pooky’ and ‘bunny’ and you wear his ring around your neck? ‘Cause I gotta say… boyfriend material? Um… not so much. Maybe…” Willow’s voice began to waver nervously. “Maybe you just need to, uh… you know. Get certain things out of your system. I – I wouldn’t judge you if you just…” 

Buffy chortled. “Willow, are you saying I should just do him and see if that cures how I feel?” 

“Thank you for saying it so I wouldn’t have to,” Willow replied with an exhale of relief. “I’m not very good with the advice about stuff in that department.” 

“Is that what you would do, if you were falling for somebody you shouldn’t?” Buffy pressed. 

Maybe, Willow thought. Things haven’t gotten that far yet. 

“I… I might, if it seemed…” Willow shrugged. “I don’t know, Buffy.” 

Buffy sat down on the floor beside Willow’s chair, her eyes wide, looking up beseechingly at her friend. “He’s changing, Will,” Buffy said quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to rush into anything here, but… things have been different ever since…” Her gaze softened, and she smiled. “It’s your fault, you know.” 

“My fault?!” 

“The spell,” Buffy explained. “Ever since the spell, he’s been different. I’ve been different.” Her smile broadened. “Everything’s completely screwed up, but you know what? I’m weirdly okay with that.” 

“Weirdly is right,” Willow said. “Buffy, seriously, think about this…” 

Buffy nodded. “Trust me. Much thinking to be done still. We’re not running off to elope tomorrow. Just… promise me you won’t tell the others yet, please.” She didn’t wait for Willow to answer, just hugged her tightly before going down the hall to shower. 

“I wouldn’t know how to explain it to them if I tried,” Willow mumbled as the door shut. 

*** 

He lingered against a tree near the front door of the dorm, cigarette clamped between his lips. Twice already he’d started to proceed to the entrance, only to slink back to the shadowy comfort of the tree. 

It wouldn’t do to push her. 

She’d come out to patrol sooner or later, wouldn’t she? It was her thing, after all. Daphne Do-Right, she who kills the beasties… wouldn’t miss a night of shoving wood into the tickers of the undead… 

Spike felt a little twinge in his own chest. He stamped out his cigarette angrily on the ground and turned to leave. 

“Wow, somebody’s lacking in the patience department.” 

He stopped, but didn’t face her. Let her come to me if she wants. I got restraint. 

Wiry arms wound around his waist from behind. Spike shuddered. 

Well, a little restraint. 

“Off to kill somethin’, luv?” he asked. 

She brushed her cheek against his back. “I was,” she said. “But I’m thinking maybe that can wait.” 

He felt Buffy press herself closer against him, small breasts flattening themselves beneath his shoulder blades, then she shifted, arching up to plant the softest whisper of a kiss on the nape of his neck. 

That did it. 

He spun around and grasped her gently by the wrists, looking hard and deep into her eyes. Their little moment at Xander’s had been just that – little, nebulous, fleeting – but what he’d feared was just a brief lapse on her part, a fleeting gesture of comfort… 

Well, I’ll be damned. She’s bloody well comin’ around to it… comin’ around to me. 

When she grinned at him slyly, a sweetly coquettish cant to her head, he steeled himself, drawing a sharp, unneeded breath, and gritting his teeth. 

“Have somethin’ else in mind, did you?” His voice was rough. Spike brushed his thumb along the underside of her wrist. 

Abruptly, she dropped the flirtatious attitude and pried herself from his grip. His heart sank, and he backed up a step. 

“Spike, I --” 

He shook his head and gazed at the sky, dead light blinking its way down with a silvery beauty that seemed to mock his disappointment.  

“Just don’t,” he said. “Knew it was too good to be true.”  

Never gonna be what you need, no matter how much you want me. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets and strode across the damp grass. Five seconds later, the world was upside-down, and he was sputtering clumps of the lawn out of his mouth. 

Recovering from the tackle, Buffy straddled him, pinning his arms down with her knees. “God, you are such an idiot!” 

He coughed, feeling dewy sod on his tongue, and glared up at her. “What brilliant new reason you got for sayin’ that, Slayer?” 

“I like you, you jerk! I was just…” She sat up, moving her kneecaps from his forearms. “I still don’t know how I feel about this, and I just need some more... I don’t know. I want to believe you can be trusted, and I’m not sure if I do yet. Not entirely.” 

Fair enough. 

Spike struggled up onto his elbows. He took in the wistful pout of her lips, aching to kiss her fiercely, but knowing it’d be the tender touch that’d do him the most good right now. 

He placed a hand on the small of her back, fingertips skimming along her spine. “Put me to the test, then,” he urged. “Show you I can bloody well be trusted.” 

Buffy studied him carefully. “Seriously?” 

He nodded, then pulled her back down close to him. “Not all blood and fangs, pet,” he said. “Capable of all kinds of things, I am.”  

When their lips met, it was soft and cool, leisurely but not without need, and they stayed joined together, mouths and tongues and hands gentle, sweet, until Spike abruptly pulled her to her feet. 

“Campus security’d be a bit put out if you started tearin’ my clothes off right here, luv.” He grinned at her and began down the sidewalk toward the cemetery.  

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Excuse me, you’d be the one doing the tearing, mister. I have self control.” 

He slowed his pace, letting her catch up with him. “Of course you do, Slayer,” he said with a wink. “Of course you do.” 

*** 

“You care to tell me what this is about, eh?” 

Buffy merely gave Spike a half shrug as a grin slowly spread across her face. 

He arched an eyebrow at her. “This what I think it is, then?” 

“No,” she replied quickly. “This is something… different.” 

“Something different, you say? Oo, Slayer, never took you for the whips and chains sort.” He smirked at her. “You gonna tie me up, then?” 

Buffy rolled her eyes and unlocked the door. 

The living room was dark, and behind her, Buffy heard a low thump, followed by a muttered curse. She giggled. “Vampire sight, huh?” 

“Your mum moved that table, Slayer,” Spike grumbled. 

“She did not.” 

“Bollocks.” 

Buffy fumbled for the switch on the nearest lamp. “I’ve always meant to ask you, what does that mean anyway?” She whirled around to find Spike massaging his left shin. 

“What’s that?” 

“‘Bollocks,’” Buffy replied. “I asked Giles once, but he just got all flustered, started polishing his glasses, and told me to look it up.” 

Spike chuckled and straightened up. “You might do well to do just that, luv,” he replied. Crossing the room, he smiled almost shyly at Buffy. “Now, out with it. What’re we doin’ at your house? And don’t tell me laundry.” 

Buffy cast her eyes downward. “Mom’s away,” she said softly. She felt Spike’s hand reach for her cheek tentatively, his thumb sliding across the corner of her mouth.  

“So we play, that it?” he murmured. 

She stiffened slightly, but it was enough to cause Spike to drop his hand and step away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his duster.  

“Wait, don’t think that I’m not interested in --” Buffy began. 

Spike shook his head. “No, I get it, Slayer,” he interrupted. “Know exactly what you’re doin’, and it’s fine. Told you to, after all.” He looked back at her, his expression stern but resigned. “You want to go about testin’ me, see if I’m trustworthy. Right, then. Have at it. Any way you see fit.” 

A thousand and one little tests suddenly sprang to Buffy’s mind, but she discarded the majority of them. She’d already known what she planned to do once her feet led her, almost on autopilot, back to her house. The whole way over, Spike had let her thread her arm through his and lean her head on his shoulder. 

That was test number one: willingness to engage in minorly sappy public displays of affection. Check. 

The next one would be a little more difficult, not necessarily just for Spike, but for herself, too. 

“Are you sure?” she asked him. “Because this might be, um, a little hard.” 

“Piffle. I laugh in the face of hardness,” Spike scoffed. 

Buffy felt her face flush, and she grinned. 

Spike suddenly looked infinitely interested in what Buffy had planned. “Got your mind in the gutter, pet,” he said. “I’m likin’ the sound of this already.” 

Wordlessly, Buffy took his head and headed for the stairs. When they reached her bedroom door, she turned and abruptly kissed him, eagerly and with complete abandon, her arms flung around his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair. Spike was clearly surprised at first, but responded almost immediately, pulling her closer to him. When she felt the shocking coldness of his hand sneaking under her shirt and along her back, she broke the kiss, but didn’t move to free herself from his embrace. 

“No more tonight,” she said gently. 

Spike looked at her, puzzled and still slightly heady with desire. 

“This is the test,” Buffy continued. “No more tonight.” She finally moved out of his grasp and opened the bedroom door. “But you’re staying.” 

“Uh, come again?” 

“That’s just it,” she said mischievously. “Not even a possibility. But you’re staying.” 

Buffy sat down on her bed and patted the comforter beside her. 

“Wait a minute,” Spike said with a frown. “Let me get this straight. You want me to stay.” 

Buffy nodded. 

“Here. With you. All night.” 

She nodded again and smiled softly. 

“But… when you say ‘no more tonight,’ you mean we’re not --” 

“There will be no illustrious guest starring appearances by Spike Junior,” Buffy said, managing with some difficulty to keep a straight face. “There will be no more kissing, overt groping, and absolutely no inserting of Tab A into Slot B.” 

“So you’re testing me by making me…” 

“Cuddle,” Buffy supplied. “That’s the test, Spike. We’re going to spend all night cuddling. And that’s all.” 

Spike sniffed haughtily. “Please. That’s it, Slayer? Can do that with one hand tied behind my back.” He paused, frowning. “Well, metaphorically. ‘Cause I realize this whole thing rather requires the use of both arms and whatall.” 

“Soooo, it’ll be easy, then, huh?” Buffy asked brightly. 

“Of course,” Spike replied. “What, you think I’m just some animal who can’t…” 

His voice trailed off as Buffy began to slowly unbutton her blouse. 

“Er, what’re you doing?” 

“Making it not so easy,” she answered. 

She winked at him and continued to undress. 

Spike clutched the side of her bureau, staggering against it slightly.  

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered. 

*** 

Buffy stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving Spike’s, and let her blouse fall from her shoulders to the floor. The filmy bra she wore left little to the imagination. Even in the pale moonlight streaming from the half-open curtains, Spike could see the rosy outline of her nipples, the swell of each breast: small but perfect, rising and falling with her quickening breath as she reached around to the back of her skirt. 

When he heard the sound of a zipper, he shut his eyes and swallowed hard. 

“Fine, you win,” Spike said, his voice low and rough. “Not goin’ to be easy. Not by a long shot. Happy now?” 

He heard her laugh softly. “Not quite yet, but I’m getting there.” 

Spike dared a peek at her again. Her skirt was pooled around her ankles now, and as his eyes traveled up her legs, she hooked a thumb into the waistband of her gauzy panties. 

He moved quickly, gently drawing her hand away from the garment. 

“How goddamn difficult do you really want to make this, Slayer?” he growled. “Even a bleedin’ saint’s got his limits, you know.” 

Buffy’s bottom lip jutted out, and she sighed. “Fine. We’ll compromise.” 

“Nothin’ else comes off ‘less you want me to go stark ravin’ mad, got it?” 

She fingered the right lapel of his coat and nodded. “Nothing else comes off me…” 

Spike grinned broadly. “Oh, I don’t know, luv. Awfully big step to take there. Got to know you really care ‘bout me ‘fore I let you --” 

He stopped talking when Buffy tugged his duster off his shoulders and began working to free his arms from the sleeves. 

“Bit eager are we?” he chuckled. He took a step backward, out of her reach. “Let me do it, pet. Don’t want you bruisin’ the leather in your haste.” 

Buffy sank onto the bed, scooting up against the pillows and watching him intently as he slung his coat over the back of a chair.  

Make her suffer a bit, Spike decided with amusement. 

With deliberate slowness, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and whistled absently, pretending to ignore Buffy’s quiet whimpers of impatience. 

“Hurry up,” she finally whispered. 

Spike cupped his hand to his ear. “What was that, pet? Sorry, didn’t hear you.” 

Buffy groaned. “You’re evil,” she spat out. 

“Ah, but I’m tryin’ to cut back,” he replied with a wink. “Now, what’s that they say about patience? Virtuous as hell, innit?” 

Buffy frowned at Spike petulantly, and he laughed. 

I do believe that’s enough suffering for now. 

Spike proceeded to unbutton his shirt more quickly and tossed it across the room. He heard Buffy draw in a sharp breath. 

Like what you see, do you, luv? 

He crouched down and went to work on his boots, nimble fingers flying rapidly to free the laces from the maddening number of eyelets, briefly wishing he’d swiped a pair of Xander’s sneakers. Pulling the boots off at last, he stood, grinned wickedly, and glanced down at his jeans.  

“Would go further,” he said, “but I seem to recall a mandate ‘bout certain things not makin’ an appearance tonight.” 

“Um, we could bend the rules a little…”  

Spike shook his head solemnly. “Ah, but that would be cheating, wouldn’t it, Slayer?” He crossed the room to the bed and stretched out next to her. Immediately, she rolled onto her side, facing him, and smiled gently. 

“Okay, so maybe you’re not unredeemable,” she said. 

“Don’t rush to judgment,” Spike replied, his tone turning serious. “Night’s still young. Could still bollocks this all up, I could.” 

Won’t, though. No matter how agonizing, I refuse to ruin this. Not something that feels so bloody right. 

“You know, if I stay here, I’ll be stuck. Won’t be able to leave once the sun rises,” he pointed out. 

“That’s okay,” Buffy said. “Mom won’t be back ‘til Sunday, and I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.” 

Spike grinned. “Well, then. Kidnapped me right good.” He trailed his hand along Buffy’s arm, and she snuggled closer. Her scent would be all over him now, and he found himself relishing that notion. “Got me right where you want me, I’d wager.” 

Wrapped clean around your little finger. 

Carefully, Buffy sat up, gently easing Spike down onto his back before lying down to rest her head on his chest. He curled his arm around her shoulders, her hair tickling his chin. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.  

As Buffy’s body softened against his, it dawned on Spike that this little test she’d designed hadn’t quite done what she’d meant it to do. Obviously, she’d assumed no evil, soulless creature – especially a male one – could stand the temptation of sharing a bed with a nearly-naked girl without trying something. But the fact that Buffy would allow herself to contentedly fall asleep in his arms without fear or worry… 

Well, if this isn’t a declaration of complete and utter trust, I don’t know what is. 

For the briefest of moments, Spike could’ve sworn he felt his dead, shriveled heart actually beat. 

Bird’s got me imagining all sorts of things are possible. Bugger me, but I’m in this now, deep as hell. No denying it, no turning back now. 

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and drifted off to sleep. 

*** 

It was one o’clock, and he wasn’t there yet.  

Bastard. You could never trust one of them, no matter what they promised. 

She paced nervously, finally settling down on a bench, one foot tapping in agitation on the dewy grass. Why he’d wanted to meet in the park at this hour was beyond her, but he’d said something about neutral territory, veil of night, inconspicuousness… after he’d started getting too grandiose about the whole thing, she’d stopped paying full attention.  

There was a whoosh behind her, and she whipped around, craning her neck and scanning the perimeter. 

God, why had she agreed to do this without any backup? 

“There you are,” came a voice to her left. She gasped and turned, clutching at her chest as her heart started to pound. 

“I’m sorry, did I startle you?” he asked placidly. He cocked his head to one side, but she found his expression difficult to read. Was he mocking her? 

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m just glad you came.” 

Without being invited to, he drew his cloak around himself and sat down on the bench beside her. 

“So?” she asked. “You said you knew where to find it.” 

He sighed heavily, a strange rasping sound that breezed along his fangs. “I do,” he replied, “but, really, I must remind you that I fail to see the point in this endeavor.” 

Of course he didn’t. He wasn’t human. He probably didn’t get common emotions like justice or vengeance or… 

Well, no, he probably got those quite well, come to think of it. 

“It’s the principle of the thing,” she said. “Surely that makes sense to you.” 

“Yes, but…” He paused, the wrinkles on his already misshapen forehead deepening. “It’s simply that we’ve never dealt with one of his kind in this fashion before. There hasn’t been a need.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “I could make things very difficult for you,” she reminded him. “Our agreement is --” 

He waved his hand through the air. “Subject to change without notice on contingency of blah blah blah,” he interrupted. “Yeah. Got that.” 

“Well, then, you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your kind, would you?” 

She heard her voice crack and cursed herself. Dammit, she was in control here! She was always in control, and it wouldn’t do to have an inhuman creature usurp that. He had no power over her. Their alliance was merely a matter of convenience. 

Still, she was human, after all. And no matter her line of work, sometimes these beings still scared the daylights out of her. 

He stood up dramatically, and she noticed again how tall he was. Among the specimens she’d come across over the years, he was certainly one of the more impressive. 

“I’ll bring you what you seek,” he said solemnly. “I do not wish to quarrel here, and it’s really no skin off my nose.” 

He started to leave, but she raised an index finger at him. “Actually, about that,” she said with a tense smile. “It wouldn’t be possible to actually collect any skin off your nose, would it? Just for research purposes, you understand.” 

He blinked at her. 

“Ah, right, right… kidding, of course…” she said hastily. 

“Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired, Professor.”  

D’Hoffryn raised his hand and disappeared in a flash of light and billow of smoke. 

Maggie scowled. “Just a harmless question,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t see what it could’ve hurt to at least ask.” 

Her annoyance quickly abated, however, when she realized that if the demon came through for her, she’d have Hostile 17 back in his cell in less than twenty-four hours.  

And then things would really start to get interesting. 

*** 

He stood on the beach, staring out at the first hint of dawn as it pinked the horizon. The waves were coming in gently, and he smiled as he closed his eyes, taking in the scent of salty air. Another scent jointed the sea spray, the piquant note of her heady perfume. He felt her fingers run lightly through his hair. 

“It’s you,” he murmured contentedly.  

He heard her high, girlish laughter as she pressed herself against his back, snuggling her cheek between his shoulder blades. 

“Honey,” she said softly. “It’s time.” 

“Is it?” he asked. He opened his eyes and pulled her arms around his waist. “You think we’re ready?” 

He felt her nod against him. “We always really have to be, you know. Ready.” 

Suddenly, she pulled away from him. He spun around to see her lovely face screwed up into an expression of extreme irritation. 

“An?” 

Anya drew back a fist and decked Xander across the jaw. 

Xander bolted upright, his t-shirt clinging damply to him. Anya stood above him, frowning. 

“What the hell?!” he gasped. 

She looked at him askance. “You were dreaming, Xander,” she explained. “I was just trying to wake you up.” 

“By hitting me?!” 

Her frown deepened. “I didn’t hit you.” 

“You did, too! In… wait.” He felt his jaw, which seemed to still be in the right place. “Okay, you hit me in my dream, I guess.” Xander blinked up at his girlfriend. “You, uh, wouldn’t really hit me, would you?” 

Anya took far too long to consider this. 

“Anya!” 

She shrugged. “Well, I might. If you deserved it.” She brightened and reached for his arm. “Anyway, you have to get up now.” 

Xander groaned. “But it’s Saturday, sweetie. Why do I need to get up?” 

“Buffy called. She’s in hysterics. There’s been a series of unfortunate events.” 

Xander stood up and began searching for his clothes. Anya kissed him on the cheek and bounced toward the coffeemaker.  

“Okay, if there’s a bad thing, why are you so happy about it?” he asked, pulling on a pair of worn jeans. 

Anya grinned. “She’s in love!” she announced, then tilted her head to one side. “Mm, no, actually, not in love. Yet. She’s in lust, however. I predict this will do much to allieve her general air of grumpiness.” 

Xander slumped back down on the bed. “Wake me when this is an actual emergency,” he said, flinging the covers back over his head. 

“This is an actual emergency!” Anya told him, whipping the blankets off. “Someone kidnapped Spike.” 

Xander sat up. “And to that I say again, wake me when this is an actual emergency.” 

Anya shook her head. “Xander, you don’t understand. Buffy. Spike. There are things going on of a carnal nature. Or there would’ve been if a barrage of soldiers hadn’t broken into her mother’s house in the middle of the night and dragged Spike off. An over-eager man in fatigues apparently hit Buffy with a rifle.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “People are so rude these days. Why, there was a time a soldier wouldn’t have dared to strike a lady.” 

“Is she all right?” Xander asked, panic-stricken. “And, wait, why were they together when --” 

Anya sighed wearily. She leaned over and plucked a sweatshirt off the floor and threw it at Xander.  

“How many times do I have to tell you?” she asked impatiently. “They were together because they’re together!” 

Xander pulled the shirt on and gaped at her. “She told you that,” he said flatly. “Buffy told you that she and Spike are together.” 

“She didn’t have to. Hello, spending the night together! You were really unobservant at dinner last night, honey.” 

Some part of Xander’s brain shut itself down. This was simply news he couldn’t process. 

Buffy and Spike and… ew. No. Big, huge no. Don’t think about it. 

He allowed himself to be dragged out of the basement and didn’t even protest when Anya asked to drive. 

*** 

It had all happened so quickly, she hadn’t had a chance to react. Lulled into an obviously false sense of security by the feel of strong arms around her as she fell asleep, Buffy hadn’t heard the attackers until they were upon them, roughly pulling Spike out of her grasp. Spike had roared, called her name as he elbowed one man in the stomach. Buffy barely had time to sit up before one of the others shoved the barrel of his shotgun into her face.  

She heard the impact of metal slamming against her cheek, and then everything had gone dark. 

She’d let the worries about the commando guys work its way to the back of her mind in the past few days, and when she woke up to an empty house, she mentally kicked herself for being so derelict in her duties. 

Slayer first. Always. There’s zero time for normalcy. Don’t ever forget that! 

Spike had apparently put up a good struggle, though, by the looks of things. Her nightstand was knocked over, the alarm clock broken, and the frame around her bedroom door was cracked and splintered in several places. The rug on the staircase was askance, and when she ventured down to the living room, she found the front door wide open. 

Buffy trudged back to her room, pulling on clothes absently. Most of Spike’s things were still strewn around her floor. She fingered the soft leather of his coat briefly before calling over to Xander’s. 

She could tell by the way Anya reacted to the news that there was no way she was keeping her relationship – Is that what this is now? A relationship? – with Spike a secret for long, but Buffy was past caring. The soldiers hadn’t just taken him. One of them had knocked her out, leaving her with a nasty bruise on the side of her face and a migraine-inducing ringing in her ears.  

If the gang hadn’t suspected it before, Buffy knew now: these guys were definitely not on their side. It didn’t matter that they were in the business of vampire neutering and demon slayage. Something else was up with them if they were willing to hurt civilians in the process. 

After Anya assured her she and Xander would be on their way, she proceeded to call Willow, but hung up the phone on the first ring when she called Giles. 

Okay, so maybe I’m a little worried about his reaction here. We can handle things with just the four of us. For a while, anyway. 

She busied herself with making coffee while waiting for the others to arrive, her hands shaking as she fought the sick, worry-filled images that sprang to mind: Spike being eviscerated, subjected to weird X-Files-esque experiments… Spike being dusted or set on fire…  

Or even worse, even more impossibly daunting: a hundred black-clad men swarming the streets of Sunnydale with machine guns, shooting anything that moved. 

Those guys don’t even have the excuse of soullessness, Buffy realized.  

She slumped against the kitchen counter, reeling from fear and defeat. Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, she listed off to herself. Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer… all human. All evil. 

If some vampires, soul-enhanced or not, could be redeemed, assimilated, worthy of affection and respect, and if some humans weren’t even that worthy… 

Oh, my God, what’s even the point anymore?  

Buffy slid down to the floor, her forehead resting on her knees. 

When Willow swung open the back door ten minutes later, Buffy was still sobbing. 

*** 

As soon as his gag was loosened, Spike spat it angrily from between his teeth. 

“What the fuck is goin’ on here?!” he demanded. 

A man in a white lab coat approached him, a long silver wand in hand. “I’m more than willing to subdue you,” he said evenly. He pressed a button on the wand, and its tip fizzled and buzzed, blue sparks of electricity shooting from it. 

Spike quieted immediately. 

“Someone will be along shortly to prepare you,” the man went on. “I suggest you relax.”  

Spike’s eyebrow shot up. He glanced around the room, a stark white operating theatre. There was an array of menacingly sharp instruments on a nearby tray.  

He knew he could make a break for it. The doctor was the only one in the room, and – creepy phallic tazer gizmo or not – Spike could’ve taken him; to hell with the headache snapping his neck would cause. 

He could have and would have… if only he weren’t strapped into a straight jacket, the buckles of which were securely chained to the sides of the stretcher he sat on. 

He thought of trying to struggle out of his restraints anyway, but if there was any chance it wouldn’t work…  

Best not think of that at present, he decided. Easy enough for this berk to make me vacuum fodder. 

A soldier entered the room, and the doctor moved to confer with him. Their voices were low, but Spike could make out the gist: if he moved while the doctor was gone, the soldier was to tranq him, not kill him. 

Weird, that. What’s the plan here? 

The doctor glared at Spike momentarily before sweeping out of the room. 

The soldier stood at attention, his eyes fixed on him. Lad looks familiar somehow, he noticed, but he couldn’t quite place him. 

He gazed ceilingward and sighed. Slayer’ll come, bringin’ the cavalry with ‘er. It’ll be right as rain soon enough, he tried to tell himself, even as something else nagged at him. 

If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be in this bleeding mess in the first place. 

*** 

There were voices, but they didn’t make any sense… sneakered feet were rushing around, a glass of cool liquid was pressed against her lips, but she couldn’t drink, couldn’t move. Her head was screaming with thoughts, but her throat wouldn’t work, words wouldn’t come. Her lips moved silently even as her brain shrieked. 

There was ice on her cheek, a hard cube of frozen water wadded up in a rough paper towel. It hurt, and she flinched. Hushed, girlish tones spoke insistently to her – Willow? Anya? – saying something about getting the swelling down, that she’d bruise, and it would be unsightly. 

She decided it must’ve been Anya. 

A lower voice began muttering angrily about putting her to bed, letting her get some rest, and leaving Spike to rot where he belonged. 

Spike! 

She tried to yell at him, knew it was Xander, and knew also that his deeply-rooted loathing for the undead wasn’t going to be useful here. That they had to get Spike out, because… because… 

Because he’s Spike. And because I don’t know what else to do. Should we leave him? Ignore this? We can’t! Please, we can’t. 

She whimpered. It was the first successful sound she’d made since the others had arrived. Willow’s face was before her, looking both relieved and worried. 

“Buffy, what happened?” she asked tensely. “Please. Talk to us.” 

“It’s all wrong,” Buffy whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m wrong. I…” 

Willow shook her head sadly. “Buffy, what do you mean? What’s --” 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. She leaned up and pulled Willow close, hugging her so tightly that the other girl began to sputter and cough. 

“Careful,” Willow choked out. 

Buffy released her and scooted closer to the safety of the kitchen cabinets. “This is all my fault. I let my guard down.” 

Willow rubbed her neck. “No, you just need to remember not to engage Slayer strength mode when you hug me, that’s all.” She smiled weakly. 

Buffy moaned. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

On the other side of the room, Anya cast a sidelong glance at Xander. “Should we throw water in her face? Slap her? Perhaps shake her vigorously?” 

“Not helpful, An,” Xander said sternly. 

“She’s right,” Buffy said. “Hit me. Hell, I deserve it.” 

“Buffy, no.” Willow put the makeshift ice pack back up to her cheek.  

“I all but asked for this, Will! I let him in, and now…” She drew her knees up to her chest and gently swatted Willow’s hands away from her face. “He’s gone, and it’s hurting me. It shouldn’t hurt me. It shouldn’t matter.” 

Because he’s a vampire. He’s evil. People took him, and that should be fine by me. 

“But it does, doesn’t it?” Willow asked. “It does matter.” 

Buffy nodded, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“Well, then, we’ll do something about it.” Willow stood up and turned to Xander and Anya. “We’re gonna get him out.” 

“Willow!” Xander glared at her. “We are not rescuing him. These commando dudes may be big with the sketchy, but they do the same stuff we do. Make Sunnydale a monster-free zone. Since when did we decide to take a detour to Crazy Town here? Spike, vampire. Army guys, kill vampire. Spike, dead. This is all good.” 

“Shut up.” 

Xander blinked. He looked over the counter at Buffy. “Excuse me?” 

She raised her head, her eyes narrowing at him. “I said shut up, Xander.” She stood up on wobbly legs, clutching at the sink with one shaky hand. “You don’t like this plan, you can get out.” 

“See? I told you. She’s in lust with him,” Anya said. 

Buffy turned to Anya. “Really not the time to go there, got it?” 

Anya cast her eyes downward. 

Buffy squared her shoulders and summoned up her last vestiges of strength and clarity. “Look, I know, I know. Lecture me all you want. After. But right now, we don’t know what these people are going to do to him. And say what you want about Spike, but I still don’t trust a bunch of mystery men doing God knows what in their little hideaway. For all we know, they’re not in the same business as we are.” Buffy scanned her friends’ faces carefully. “We’re going to find their base of command, and we’re going to get Spike away from them. Once we do that, he’ll probably have a lot of information for us that we can use to figure out what the hell really they’re up to.” 

“What makes you think he’ll talk this time?” Xander asked. “I mean, last time, he wasn’t exactly with the forthcoming-ness.” 

Buffy took a deep breath. “Trust me, he’ll want to be as helpful as possible,” she said. “I’d bet my life on it.” 

*** 

“Who, me? No. No, sir…” 

A feeling of dread and panic settled on Riley. His head shot up, and he peered intently at the hostile. 

“Another pal of Xander’s my ass!” he yelled. 

The hostile looked startled. “Come again?” 

Riley strode across the room and drew back his fist. “Who the hell are you? Really?” 

“Uh… is this a trick question? ‘Cause I’m sensin’ whatever answer I give’s not gonna be the right one, lad.” 

He’s HST number seventeen, Riley reminded himself, attempting to keep his anger in check. But he was hanging out with Buffy and Willow and… 

A worrisome thought dawned on him. Keeping his eyes pinned on the hostile, he approached the foot of the bed, from which hung a metal file folder. Riley yanked it quickly off its hook and whipped through the pages. 

“William the Bloody, a.k.a. Spike,” it read. “Sired in London, England, UK, 1880. Research into the files of branch affiliates in Los Angeles reveals…” The file went on, describing the lineage of the vampire and his associates, culminating in the Initiative’s first capture of him the previous fall. 

Riley felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. 

“Spike,” he said gruffly. “You’re Spike.” 

“I am if that’s the answer what’s gonna get me let out of here,” the hostile replied. 

Her eyes had positively gleamed when she’d told Riley the name of her fiancé. Spike. 

My ex-girlfriend is in league with a vampire. 

Riley remembered the doctor’s instructions: do not kill, only sedate. Still, his hand twitched by his left pocket, the one that held a stake. 

“You’re pretty damn lucky I follow orders to the letter,” Riley said. “Otherwise, you’d be fitting in an ashtray right about now.” 

“Well, that’s just peachy, then, innit?” The hostile smirked at him. 

That did it. Riley reached for his stake, but instead of plunging it into Spike’s chest, he brought its point down squarely into his right shoulder. 

The vampire gasped and fell back against the stretcher. 

“They didn’t say I couldn’t injure you.” 

*** 

Willow closed her eyes softly and placed the palms of her hands on her knees. “I need quiet,” she murmured. 

The others hovered nearby, gazes intent on the map of Sunnydale spread out on Buffy’s living room floor. The only light in the room was provided by a smattering of candles flickering in a half-circle around the map, and the flames danced across the walls, casting eerie shadows. 

After a few moments, a small glowing point resembling a firefly began to sputter to life over the map, hovering at a particular spot. Willow cautiously opened one eye and peered at it. 

“Huh,” she mused. “That’s weird.” 

“What?” Buffy asked tensely. 

Willow pointed at the spot on the map. “It’s a fraternity house. But that can’t be right, ‘cause there’s no way an entire military operation is in there. Not enough room by a longshot.” 

Buffy frowned. “Well, there must be a reason the spell picked that out, though. Good a place as any to start.” She crouched down and looked at the map more closely. “Whoa, that’s… wait. Is this road here University Circle?” she asked, pointing to the path in front of the house. 

Willow nodded. “What’s wrong?” 

Buffy shook her head. “Nothing, it’s just… well, I think that’s Riley’s house.” 

“Riley?” Xander asked. “That guy you were seeing?” 

“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “Nah, there’s no way he’s mixed up in this. Can’t be.” 

*** 

Spike felt a rush of blood seeping from his shoulder through the straight jacket. He glared up at the soldier. “What the devil is your problem?” he choked out. 

“You,” the soldier snarled. “You’re not just a monster, you’re…” He faltered a moment, then swept his hand through the air. “Forget it.” 

Spike struggled to sit up, but the site of the wound felt as though it were on fire as he tried to move. He fell back again and squeezed his eyes shut tight, grimacing in pain. “Stick it, you tosser,” he muttered. “Get this bloody thing over with. Kill me if you’re going to. Sick of you lot and your mysterious plans.” 

“There’s no mystery to our plans,” the soldier said quietly. “Demons and vampires get neutralized. That’s all there is to it.” 

“Yeah, well, not terribly fond of that, ever since I became one of your little science projects.” 

“I bet it helped you get in good with her, though.” The soldier cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. 

“Come again?” 

“You’re relatively safe now, so you probably think dating a human is the way to go.” 

Spike blinked hard. Something clicked in his brain, and he finally managed to sit up. “You’re that berk,” he said, his tone accusatory. “Summers’s upstanding young man and whatnot.” His eyes scanned Riley up and down. “Right, yeah. Upstanding.” He sniffed haughtily. “Got some secrets you’re harboring from ‘er, don’t you?” 

“Like you don’t.” 

Spike’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, no. No, I don’t, actually. Not terribly much. Knows what I am, she does.” 

Riley gaped at him. “And she’s still seeing you?!” 

“What the hell are you on about? How could you possibly even know that? What, you folks are all a bunch of sodding mind readers?” 

“She said she was going to marry you,” Riley explained. 

“Oh. That.” Spike couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, that was a bit of a laugh.” 

The door slid open then and a woman in a crisp lab coat entered. She smiled down at Spike smugly. “Welcome back,” she said. “I’ve got big things in mind for you.” 

“Professor, don’t you think it’s time we had him put down?” Riley asked. 

“Finn, your services are no longer required right now,” she replied, her eyes never leaving Spike. “You may go.” 

“But --” 

“I said, you may go,” she repeated firmly. 

Riley turned on his heel and stalked angrily out of the room. 

“So, big things, eh?” Spike asked. “Wouldn’t happen to include lettin’ me go, would it?” 

“Eventually.” 

Spike perked up. “Yeah?” 

The professor glanced at her watch. “In fact, this really shouldn’t take but an hour or so, and then I have every intention of releasing you. In one piece, even.” 

Spike eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Sounds a bit too good to be true, that does.” 

The professor strode to the table full of gleaming instruments. “Well, perhaps. Obviously, there are a few matters to take care of beforehand.” 

She picked up a scalpel and approached him. 

“Lie back,” she instructed. “This will only hurt more if you struggle.” 

*** 

The frat house was dark when they reached it, not a single light visible in any of the windows. Xander looked up at the structure and frowned. “Okay, anybody else thinking something’s up?” 

Willow turned to him. “How so?” 

“Well, I realize I’m not exactly Joe College, but a houseful of guys on a weekend night and nobody’s home to be doing the drink-‘til-you-puke thing? Isn’t there a law against that?” 

Willow giggled, but stopped when Buffy regarded her somewhat sternly.  

“He’s right,” Buffy said. “This is weird.” 

“Are we going in?” Anya asked. “Will there be gunfire? Because I’d be happy to keep the engine running in the car. People do that, you know. Getaway cars are always necessary in wacky capers.” 

“This isn’t a wacky caper, An,” Xander said gently. 

Anya looked as if she were about to argue that it was, in fact, slightly wacky caper-esque, but suddenly her expression shifted, her eyes darting about fearfully. “Oh, dear.” 

“What is it?” Willow asked. 

Anya sighed. “D’Hoffryn,” she said bitterly. “He’s been here recently. I can tell.” 

Buffy’s eyes widened. “He’s not going after Willow again, is he? That whole creepy recruitment thing?” 

Anya pouted. “Recruitment isn’t creepy,” she said. “In fact, it’s all very civilized. D’Hoffryn is nothing if not a gentleman.” 

“Uh, hate to break it to you, but he’s also head vengeance guy,” Willow pointed out. “I mean, yeah, he was, you know, kinda reasonable, but still. Gentlemanly isn’t exactly something I’d call him.” She tilted her head in brief contemplation. “Maybe I’d go with ‘logical’ or ‘imposing’ or --” 

“Okay, focus, guys,” Buffy interrupted. “Anya, why would D’Hoffryn be around here?” 

Anya shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like I get company memos anymore.” 

“Yeah, but you worked for the guy for, like, ever,” Xander said. “Why might he be around?” 

“Oh, the usual,” Anya replied. “A new enrollment mission, perhaps, or maybe he’s doing a job himself.” 

“And his jobs are all vengeance-related?” Buffy asked. “So he’s probably after some guy who cheated on his girlfriend or something?” 

“No,” Anya said. “The scorned women mission was mine. Every vengeance demon has a sort of pet cause.” 

“What’s his?” Xander asked nervously. 

Anya’s face flushed slightly. “Um, basically everything,” she said with a hint of unease in her voice. “You name it, he’ll do it. Make pacts with other demons or answer the call of a worthy human, incite wars, panic, chaos, pestilence…” 

“So, the usual ending-the-world stuff,” Xander said, scowling. “Great.” 

“No, not ending the world. Just, you know, making it terribly unpleasant,” Anya clarified. “That’s all.” 

“Well, let’s put him in the ‘dealing with it later’ column,” Buffy urged. “Right now, I’m all about getting into the frat house.” She turned and proceeded toward the front steps when suddenly a blur whizzed through the air. A pair of legs flew at her head. She saw the blow coming, but it was inhumanly fast. 

Buffy saw stars as the assailant’s heels connected sharply with her jaw. As she fell, she heard a yowl of pain and a thud nearby. 

Xander rushed to her side, cradling her against his chest. “Don’t pass out,” he urged.  

Buffy shook her head. “Not planning on it,” she said, though dark spots bloomed in front of her eyes and everything around her grew fuzzy. “Head hurts, though,” she murmured quietly. 

She looked across the grass, trying to separate her attacker from the indistinct forms of trees and shrubs. Someone was moaning loudly not ten feet from her. Buffy squinted hard, her vision finally focusing on… 

“Spike?” 

Spike groaned and lifted his head from the grass. His face was bruised, clothes slightly askew. “Where am I?” he croaked out before moaning again, gripping the sides of his head in pain. “Oh, balls.” 

His head connected with the ground again, and he passed out. 

*** 

“Xander, don’t drop him!” 

“I’m not gonna drop him! Sheesh!” 

“Wait, watch his head, you’re getting too close to the door there -- Oo, damn, that looks like it hurt.” 

“He can’t feel anything. He’s out cold.” 

“God, his face looks terrible.” 

“What’s that on the side of his neck?” 

“Let’s worry about that later. Spike? Spike, can you hear me?” 

Shadows… mumbles… Go back into the darkness… Comfy, there… Do shut up. Some folks’re tryin’ to sleep here… 

“Somebody get a glass of water.” 

“Are his eyes opening?” 

“Xander, do you have any blood?” 

“Yeah, I think there’s a few packs in the fridge. Lemme look.” 

“Spike, it’s gonna be okay.” 

Why’s the bleeding Slayer here? Get out of my lair, bitch. Oh, blast. Angel got that ring, didn’t he? Got to get up, save my princess from the mob… 

Buffy threw the water in Spike’s face, and he sputtered and coughed. “Bloody hell! What was that for?” 

He’d tried for a roar, but his voice came out cracked and squeaky-sounding. Spike clutched at the blanket that covered him, flinging it off angrily. “Where am I? What the devil…” 

His eyes fell on Buffy, who looked relieved beyond all measure. 

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed, gently stroking the side of his neck. “What happened? How do you feel?” 

Spike shrank back from her touch. “Feel a hell of a lot better if you quit pawin’ me like that, Slayer.” 

Buffy’s eyes grew wide. “What?” 

Spike surveyed the room. “Why are you all gaping at me ‘stead of pushin’ wood in my chest? What the…” 

“Oh, God,” Willow groaned. “They’ve done something to his mind.” 

Spike glared at her. “Mind’s just fine, Red. Stomach’s a bit upset at present, but…” His gaze softened. “Hang on. I…” He turned back to Buffy, and felt as if a fog were slowly lifting from him. “Oh, hell, luv, I’m sorry,” he said, all hint of anger gone from his voice. “Got all muddled there for a mo’, couldn’t…” He swallowed hard as a lump started to form in his throat. “Seems I forgot m’self there, what with all the…” He cast his eyes down, letting the words trail off. 

“It’s okay,” Buffy assured him. “What happened?” 

“Did they torture you?” Xander asked brightly. “Please do tell us in lots of detail how they tortured you.” 

Spike gave a rueful laugh. “Would if I could, lad.” He tapped the side of his head. “Bit mushy at present.” 

He felt Buffy touch his neck again. “What’s this?” she asked.  

“What’s what?” 

“It’s… well, there’s this sort of thing here, it almost looks like they burned you,” she explained. “Does it hurt?” 

“Everything hurts, pet.” He groaned again, doubling over. “God, does it ever.” 

“Xander? Blood?” 

Xander passed Buffy a mug, and she held it out to Spike. “This might make you feel better.” 

Spike regarded the thick red liquid within for a moment, then began to cough. Abruptly, he sprang from the couch and made a mad dash for the bathroom. From behind the closed door, there presently came the sounds of vomiting. 

“Yeesh!” Willow exclaimed. “I mean, yeah, I get sick at the thought of drinking that stuff, but, hello, vampire! That’d be like if Xander couldn’t stomach the thought of Twinkies.” 

“Hey!” Xander pointed a finger at Willow. “My food pyramid has more on it than just Twinkies, missy.” 

“Yes, there’s also the cheeseburger and taco food groups,” Anya said. 

“What did they do to him?” Buffy wondered aloud.  

The bathroom door swung open, and Spike leaned heavily against the jamb. He was paler than usual, skin slicked with sweat. “Something a bit annoying,” he said.  

Buffy darted to his side, pulling his arm around her shoulders and easing him back to the couch. “So you remember now?” she asked. 

“Bits and pieces’re comin’ back,” he said with a curt nod. 

“So what is it?” Willow asked. “Did they mess with your chip? Make it all super powered?” 

“No,” Spike replied. “Seems those gits want to see how long it’ll take me to die.” 

*** 

“While I realize I’m not, you know, entirely Slayer-ific,” Xander piped up, “last time I checked, there was a pretty finite number of ways to kill a vampire. Making them get pukey wasn’t so much on the list.”  

“Yeah, well, science seems to be trumping the laws of magic or what have you,” Spike said. “Did somethin’ to me, dosed me with some sort of super-virus.” He turned to Buffy. “Wish I knew more, but I rather passed out after the first few injections and… incisions.” 

Her eyes widened. “Incisions?” Buffy asked worriedly. 

Spike swept a hand across his chest. “I don’t fancy assessing the damages just now,” he said, “but I have a suspicion I might look a bit of Frankenstein’s monster under here.” 

Buffy cleared her throat. “Um, guys?” she asked, looking up at the others. “Maybe a little privacy?” 

Anya blanched. “You want to have sex with someone who’s just thrown up?” she asked, incredulous. “At least make him brush his teeth first.” 

Buffy glared at her. “I want to see what they did to him,” she clarified. “That’s all.” 

“I’m not up for much else, I’m afraid,” Spike groaned, leaning his head back against the couch. 

“Still not up on this whole evilness,” Xander muttered. “Buffy, what the hell are you and Spike --” 

“Not now,” Buffy interrupted. “Please, Xand, just… not now.” 

“If you need anything…” Willow began. 

“I’ll call. I promise,” Buffy assured her. “We’ll figure out what’s going on.” 

“This is my house,” Xander pointed out. 

Anya yanked him toward the door by his shirt collar. “And you spend enough time here as it is,” she told him. “My bed is perfectly capable of keeping us both warm tonight.” 

With the others gone, Buffy gingerly lifted the hem of Spike’s shirt. “Can I see?” 

Spike nodded solemnly and sat up, pulling the shirt carefully over his head. Beneath it, his chest was a mass of scar tissue. Buffy let out an audible gasp.  

“That bad, eh?” He looked down and winced. “Bloody hell.” 

“Oh, God.” Buffy stood up and headed for the bathroom. “I’m sure there’s first aid type stuff somewhere.” 

Spike shook his head. “No, don’t bother. I doubt anything’d be much use at this point.” He coughed, leaning over his lap as the cough turned into a gagging hack that showed no signs of subsiding. 

“This is just… no,” Buffy murmured. She returned to the couch and gently stroked his back until Spike finally stopped coughing. “Xander’s right. This just doesn’t seem possible. Vampires don’t get sick, they don’t die, not like this. What’d you see? Who did this?” 

“Some stupid bint in a lab coat. Sorry I didn’t catch her name, rank, and serial number.” Spike stretched out carefully, curling his legs around Buffy’s back. “Ah, but your prizefighter was there. Seems to be part of their merry gang.” 

Buffy frowned. “What?” 

“Blank-faced ponce. Dishwater blond. Big fellow.” 

“Riley?!” 

“Give the girl a kewpie doll.” Spike shut his eyes. “God, feels like my insides are on fire.” 

“Riley was there,” Buffy said flatly. “Wow, things just keep getting better and better.” 

“Knew that one couldn’t be trusted as far as I could throw ‘im. Though right now, don’t s’pose I could throw much of anything too far.” 

Buffy looked down at him. Spike somehow looked slightly shrunken, dark shadows standing out worriedly under his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. “We’ll get this figured out,” she vowed.  

“Why bother? Evil bastard, I am. Why not just let me die?” 

Without a word, Buffy lay down beside him and took his hand in hers. She kissed his knuckles and entwined his fingers with hers.  

Spike opened his eyes and peered at her quizzically. “Slayer?” 

“What, you think something’s changed?” she asked. “Nothing has. We just got interrupted, that’s all.” Buffy kissed him tenderly. “Rest now. In the morning, I’ll… well, there’ll be research, I guess.” 

“Won’t that mean tellin’ the whole sordid tale to your Watcher?” 

“Probably,” Buffy admitted. “And I don’t care. I’m not losing you like this.” 

Spike let out a weak laugh. “How’d you feature losin’ me, then?” 

“Oh, you know. The usual. We’d go out for a few years, then you’d do something stupid, like cheat on me. Which would mean I’d have to stake you, of course.” Buffy winked at him, snuggling closer. 

“Sounds far more my style. Small blaze of glory.” 

“Yeah, well, I meant that to sound threatening,” Buffy said. “As in the ‘cheat-on-me-and-die’ sort of vein.” 

Spike smiled sadly. “We’d have to actually have a chance together for me to cheat on you, pet.” 

“Stop that, Mister Futility! Come on, I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you.” 

“And if you can’t do a damn thing about it?” Spike asked quietly. “Then what?” 

“Not even going there,” Buffy replied. “Everything will be fine.” 

“If you say it enough, maybe you’ll start to believe it.” 

Buffy tightened her grip on his hand. “If you weren’t feeling like crap right now, I’d so kick your ass,” she said. “Look, do you trust me?” 

Spike considered the question. “Mostly,” he finally answered. 

“Do you… do you care about me?” 

He paused longer this time. “What were you really gonna ask, Slayer?” 

A hint of crimson flashed across Buffy’s face.  

Spike swallowed hard, his eyes darting along her features. “Want to know if I love you? That it?” 

“Spike, you don’t have to say anything.” 

“No, I want to,” he said quickly. “I just… give us some time, eh? Bit worried about my body crumpling into a dead, useless mass.” 

Buffy nodded, relaxing slightly. “It’s okay,” she said. She closed her eyes and willed her mind to shut down, to let her sleep. 

“Startin’ to fall, hard and fast-like,” Spike whispered just as Buffy was on the edge of drowsiness. “I don’t want to throw in the towel ‘til I find out if this is what I think it is…” 

“Mm?” Buffy asked sleepily. “And what’s that?” 

Spike chuckled. “Yeah, kitten, this could bloody well be love.” 

*** 

Maggie read over her notes, her eyes bleary from lack of sleep. She nodded satisfactorily to herself. Everything had gone according to plan: D’Hoffryn had led the B team directly to the hostile, allowing him to be taken, and the procedures she’d performed on him should have the desired effect. 

She looked up at the clock. It shouldn’t be long now. The poisons coursing through him should begin to break down his organs and tissue, making it impossible for what little blood was left in the vampire’s system to circulate. Total failure of all neurological function should set in between eighteen and twenty-four hours. If he didn’t technically die from this, he would be left in a coma-like state indefinitely. Once the tracer indicated that the hostile was no longer conscious, it would be time to implement the next phase – getting the toxin into the water supply and the stores at the blood bank. It may take some time, but the virus would eventually spread to the entire vampire population. 

Sunnydale, and the world, would be safe from the creatures at last. 

Maggie rose from her desk and withdrew a medical volume from her bookcase. If her figures were accurate, the poisons wouldn’t harm living humans. If she was wrong, however… 

Well, in that case, people might die. Lots of people. Maggie had been over this problem, and each time she pondered the consequences, she told herself the benefits of the plan outweighed the potential disaster. Those afflicted would be dead before they’d had a chance to suffer.  

Much. 

She powered down her computer and left her office. 

*** 

A surge of energy coursed through him, and Spike awoke with a jolt. Against his shoulder, Buffy emitted a soft sigh and stretched languidly. “Are you okay?” she asked sleepily. 

He looked down at her. Her hair was mussed, her eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted softly. 

“Never better,” he replied. Abruptly, he crushed his lips against hers, his fingers scrabbling against her clothes. He needed to feel her warm flesh against him, needed to feel complete and whole and good again. 

Buffy pulled him atop her, her legs wrapping around his hips, her hands cupping his ass, urging him to grind against her. Spike managed to free her from her sweater, and now he stared down in awe, not at her luscious breasts or even her lips… but at her neck, her throat… 

Exposed. Tender.  

With a roar, he fell against her and buried his fangs deep into her skin. 

Buffy shrieked and sat up, her head spinning as the dream continued to grip her, even upon waking. She put a hand to her neck, but the skin was unbroken, her clothes still in place. Looking down at Spike, she saw he was still asleep, beads of moisture standing out on his brow. His face was nearly as white as his hair, his lips parched and cracked. Buffy hadn’t seen him look so bad since he’d first gotten his chip forced upon him. Back then, however, a few days of pig’s blood had restored his strength. Now, Buffy had no idea what was to be done. 

She looked around the room, catching sight of the display on Xander’s VCR. It would be dawn soon, and time was of the essence. 

Well, she decided, if Giles doesn’t want to be woken up bright and early, that’s just too damn bad. 

She began to rise, steeling herself for the phone call she dreaded making, when Spike moaned in his sleep. 

“Get it away from me,” he said in a near-whisper. “Don’t, please, for the love of God…” 

She placed a hand against his cheek. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe now,” she said softly. He rolled slightly to one side and quieted, though a frown still played across his features as he slept. 

Buffy stood up and went to the phone, staring at it for a long moment before picking it up. 

“Yes?” Giles’s voice was thick and tired.  

“It’s me,” Buffy said. “I… We need help.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Really long story,” Buffy replied. “Do you mind if I come over?” 

“Of course not.” 

Buffy glanced nervously at Spike. “Actually, maybe it’d be better if you came here first. I don’t… Well, I can’t leave, exactly.” 

“Beg pardon?” 

“You’ll understand when you get here. I’m at Xander’s.” 

“Shall I bring anything? Is this a matter requiring immediate --” 

“I don’t know what it requires yet,” Buffy interjected. “Just hurry.” She was about to hang up, when something made her pause. “Oh, and Giles? Promise me something, please.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Please don’t yell at me until the crisis is averted.” 

“Why on earth would I yell at you, Buffy? You’re beginning to worry me.” 

“Just… promise me. Please,” Buffy repeated. 

Giles sighed. “Fine. I shan’t yell at you. I’ll be there shortly.” 

Oh, you’ll wanna yell at me later, though, that’s for sure, Buffy thought.  

Spike stirred on the couch and raised his head slightly. “Slayer? Where… I can’t see you, luv.” 

“I’m right here,” she said. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

“Thirsty,” he replied.  

“Do you think you could try a little blood now?” Buffy asked. “How’s your stomach feel?” 

“Like it’s got rocks in it.” 

“Hang on.” Buffy found the mug of blood from the previous night and looked at it carefully. The liquid had congealed along the sides and appeared cold and clumpy. She set it in the sink and withdrew a fresh packet from the refrigerator. 

“No use, pet,” Spike said. “Don’t think I’m much longer for this world.” 

Buffy leaned against the sink and took a deep breath. “Please, stop talking like that,” she said through gritted teeth. “I called Giles. He’s coming over. We’ll get this figured out!” 

Spike let out a short chuckle. “Sod that. Don’t you see? I’m gettin’ what’s comin’ to me. Deserve this, I do.” 

She turned slowly and folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe once you did,” she said. “But that’s not who you are anymore.” 

Spike struggled to sit up, eyes pinned to Buffy’s. She could almost swear his flashed gold for an instant. 

“Don’t be too sure of anything, Slayer.” 

*** 

It was in the air all around, hanging there heavy, weighted, unmistakable. The thing the instinctual, animal part of him suddenly knew he wanted and needed. He could smell it, feel it singing and throbbing, coursing through Buffy so fast, so hard… a freight train on fire, sliding along the tubes and tunnels of her veins. It was all so close to the surface, her skin a tenuous, fragile covering. He could take it, take her, taste her… it would be so easy. 

Spike’s insides screamed at him in pain and agony, pushing him off the couch and over to her. She seemed to tremble when he stood, a worried frown wrinkling her forehead, her lips parting to speak. She said something, he knew she did, but his mind was wholly focused on other matters, and he ignored her words.  

He knew he would feel cold, clammy to her if he touched her, his skin caked in dried sweat and looking ashen and dead. But the look in her eyes… she might not shrink back. It couldn’t hurt to try. 

Spike reached out hand to her, gentle at first, then slowly his grip on her shoulder tightened as the need fueled him, made him stronger. 

“Make me feel better,” he said softly. “Got a feelin’ that…” 

He eyed her neck unabashedly, then let his gaze sweep down the length of her body, nostrils flaring, searching, seeking to sort out the mingled scents that clung to her. 

“What?” she asked. “What do you mean?” 

He leaned in, embracing her, holding her so close he could feel her heartbeat as if it were his own.  

He could also hear the blood rush through her veins, his ear pressed against the right side of her throat. 

“Let me, please. It might not hurt if you let me do it…” His voice came out almost a whimper as the pain, the sickness began to whorl about in his stomach again, threatening to sweep his legs out from under him. He clung to her more desperately.  

He felt her stiffen slightly. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “The stuff they gave you… it’s…” 

“The Killer of the Dead.” 

Spike released Buffy at the sound of Giles’s voice, falling to the floor as a convulsive spasm wracked his body.  

Giles shut the door quickly, stepping into the room. “It’s the only sort of thing that would do this to him.” 

“The commandos,” Buffy explained, kneeling down to Spike, fingers skimming his face. “They kidnapped him, and when they let him out, he was like this.” 

Spike rolled to his side, glancing up to see the anger burning in the Watcher’s eyes. 

“Know what you’re thinking, Rupert,” he said. “Wanna let me die, don’t you?” 

“Giles, we can’t let him die. It’s not right. He can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Buffy said, her tone urgent and pleading. 

“Are you sure of that?” Giles asked. 

The pain thrummed through his head then, and Spike moaned. It was blinding, fierce, almost worse than when his chip fired. Unconsciousness blessedly took him, then, the room growing dimmer and dimmer until he finally slept. 

*** 

“The blood of a Slayer. You know what I’ve gotta do here, Giles.” 

Giles slammed his fist down on the table and stood up, leaning toward Buffy, his eyes flashing angrily behind his glasses. “Under no circumstances will I permit you to do that!” he yelled.  

Buffy flinched. “I thought you promised not to get upset.” 

“Oh, I’ll bloody well get upset at this turn of events! Buffy, this is ludicrous. Not only is this Spike we’re talking about, but he couldn’t even feed from you if he wanted to.” 

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Look, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, right? So there’s more than one way to drink my blood. Just, you know, hypodermic me.” 

“No.” 

Buffy felt part of herself shut down as Giles continued to enumerate the reasons why he hated this idea. The word “evil” kept getting bandied about, and each time Giles said it, the term held less and less meaning for Buffy. By the time he was finished, it was nothing more than a word… it didn’t connect in her mind with the man Spike was trying to become. 

“Get out.” Her voice was strangled when she said it, low and gravelly and tired. 

“I beg your --” 

“Get out,” she repeated. She crossed the room and opened the door, careful not to let too much sunlight spill out onto the floor and across Spike’s prone figure. “I’ll deal with this on my own.” 

Giles’s eyes narrowed, his features hardening. “Buffy, as your Watcher, I have to say that --” 

“You’re not my Watcher,” she interrupted. “I haven’t had a Watcher for almost a year. You were fired, and I quit. Remember? Free agent now, Giles.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Oh, I’m serious. If anything, if I wanted to re-up with the Council, I should be looking for Wesley right about now. You want me to do that? Fine. But this…” Buffy gestured weakly at Giles. “This is total crap, what you’re doing, what you’re saying. You of all people should realize the world isn’t the total sunshine and puppy dogs sort of place where it’s easy to separate good from evil. There’s a whole middle ground where the rest of us live.” 

“Think about what you’re doing here.” 

Buffy looked up, staring hard at Giles. “I have. Now get out.” 

Giles squared his shoulders. “If I leave now, I’m not coming back.” 

Buffy shrugged. “Fine by me.” 

She looked down at the floor as Giles brushed past her out the door, which she slammed closed after him. 

Glancing around the room, her eyes fell on a knife resting near the hot plate.  

It might not hurt if you let me do it… 

The chip fired when Spike attempted to do a human harm. If the human was already harmed, what would happen to him if he tried to drink from them? Probably nothing, Buffy thought. But, oh, God, if his chip fired now, it might kill him… 

She looked at Spike, curled up and trembling, eyes rolling beneath lids squeezed tightly shut, hands clenched into fists, skin so pale she could see stark blue veins all over his arms and neck.  

Without another thought, Buffy took up the knife and swept the blade swiftly over her left arm, just below the elbow. A shallow cut, but it still stung, and she grimaced. Blood welled up, small drops at first, but then crimson liquid began to flow more freely from the gash. 

She sank to the floor beside Spike and gently lifted his head from the carpet. “Open your eyes,” she instructed, almost coldly. “Spike, open your eyes. You’ve got to drink, okay? You’ll feel better.” 

*** 

Ambrosia, cake, absinthe, tea and honey-filled scones… “William, it’s time for breakfast,” his mother was calling.  

Drusilla’s eyes bored into his, seeing deep into his mind, his soul, as it was leeched out of his body with each ounce of blood she drained from his throat. They sank, entwined together, amongst the haystacks and grime of the alley. 

The scent of Willow’s hair mingled with alcohol and fire… his cock slamming into Harmony’s body, hard and fast, her walls clenching around him like warm silk… 

Spike pulled vanilla-scented skin closer to his mouth, his eyes still shut, but his mouth filling luxuriously with hot, pulsing nourishment, a kaleidoscope of colors blossoming behind his eyelids as a rush of memories filled his head. There was no pain, no sickness, nothing but the taste, the heat. His entire body felt hard, powerful, his muscles stretched tight beneath his skin.  

He could almost hear his veins being filled, a whoosh of fire coursing through him, beating, singing, chanting one word… her name. 

Buffy… Slayer… love… heal… oh, help me, pet, save me, I’m drowning, drowning in you… 

He realized dimly that her legs were wrapped around his waist as she pressed herself to his mouth, and he felt his pelvis rocking, a gentle upward thrust against her tailbone. Above him, she shifted, pushing down slightly against him. The skin around the gash on her arm grew warm, moist. Spike reached out a shaking hand, cupping something soft, pulling it closer. He could feel the pebbly stiffness of her nipple beneath her blouse, and he traced it in slow circles with his thumb. 

Taste you, devour you… oh, God, luv… 

He opened his eyes, and she was swaying. 

Spike took her free arm firmly, his grip tight, and tried to steady Buffy, but she fell, toppling to the floor beside him, her wounded arm spinning away from his mouth to rest above her head. Blood continued to flow from the cut, seeping into the loose cascades of her hair. 

Panic seized him, and Spike began to shake her, but he stopped when a flicker of electric blue pain skittered at the edges of his eyes. 

He growled, loud and angrily. “Motherfucking chip!” he shouted. “Oh, bloody hell, what’ve you people done?!” 

Spike covered Buffy’s still, pale body with his own and wept. 

*** 

The backyard was covered in snow, the trees black, aching, naked against the grey-white of the sky. From somewhere far off, lonely birds twittered a melancholy song. 

She blinked against the day’s colorless luster, the white-on-white burning into her sore eyes, and could almost swear that from inside the house came the sound of an accordion and violin melted together to produce the sort of melody one would hear in a bombed-out tavern. 

The air was crisp, though: a perfect, sharp coldness that flew into her nostrils and carved out her lungs. She inhaled deeply, the scents of dirt and water and bark mingling together. 

A sudden urge overtook her, and she dropped, sitting on a soft, downy bank of snow, then fell to her back, her arms spread out on either side of her coat-swathed body. She didn’t sweep her arms and legs about to make an angel in the snow, however. She merely closed her eyes and waited. 

Soon enough, he was atop her, and she didn’t find it odd that he should be there, even in the sparkling brightness of the day. As he nuzzled her neck, her eyes opened, and she let out a soft sigh of contentment. 

“Why is there snow?” she murmured. 

“I’ve taken you to Paris,” he replied, his voice caught and swept away into a whisper by the stir of the wind.  

“Paris?” she asked. “But this is my house…” 

“I’ve taken everything to Paris, sweetheart.” He propped himself up on one elbow, sinking slightly into the snow, and gazed down at her. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

She nodded and pulled him closer, her winter-dry lips warming under the wetness of his mouth. She stroked his cheek through her mittened hand. 

“Love me,” she urged. “Here, now, just love me.” 

“You’ll freeze to death, pet.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“I do,” he said. He frowned, fear and anger playing across his face as he rose to kneel with his legs straddling her hips. “C’mon, Slayer. Gotta live, you do.” Abruptly, he pressed the heels of his hands into her chest, pushing hard and fast. 

She gasped, her eyes huge and scared. She tried to call his name, scrabble at his arms to fling them off her, but he had her pinned in place, immobile. 

He continued his compressions on her chest, even as she saw his face twisting in pain as his chip fired. “Damn you, Buffy, breathe! Can’t give you air, y’know, you’ve got to get back on your own, luv!” 

And then she could finally move. She shoved his hands away and scooted off as quickly as her aching body would allow, falling across the room, her back slamming into the hard surface of the washing machine. 

Buffy’s heart pounded, and she looked around, skittish and startled. Xander’s basement. She was still in Xander’s basement, and she must have passed out. Spike was crouched tensely, a hand pressed to his head. His mouth was stained red, rivulets of sweat standing out along his chest, the hair around his forehead looking damp and matted. 

Slowly, she raised her arm, examining the wound. A scab was already forming along the surface of the cut, blunt teeth marks and broken blood vessels surrounding the area. No puncture wounds marred her skin, however. 

“You didn’t bite me,” she said simply. “You drank, but you didn’t bite.” 

Spike shook his head, lowering his hand from his left temple. 

“Are you…” 

“I’m fine,” he told her. “But you need to go to hospital, I suspect.” 

“No, no, I’m okay.” 

“You were out for a while,” Spike said. “I’d feel better if --” 

“I’m fine.” She stood up, wobbly at first, then steadied herself against a chair. “I just need a shower.” 

She brushed past him toward the bathroom, but Spike took her wrist. “Thanks,” he said quietly, his head bowed. 

She didn’t reply, merely shrugged him off and shut the door between them. 

*** 

When she emerged from the shower, Spike was no longer in the basement. Late in the evening, Buffy went to see Giles, to apologize to him, but was unwilling to offer up explanations of what had transpired. He didn’t press her for a change, merely accepted her words with a nod and let her drift back into the night alone. 

She swept through the cemetery, a whirl and a blur of weapons flashing in the starlight. She fought a newly-risen vampire with more aplomb than usual, not speaking to it, not offering up quips or puns, just pummeling the creature until she could ram a stake into its heart. As it turned to dust, she spun away from the sight quickly, not wanting to watch it sputter and dissolve from solid, human-like being to skeleton to useless, spent ash on the dewy grass. 

She hadn’t bandaged her arm, though, and in the morning she saw that the cut had faded almost entirely. The bruising that remained bloomed red and bright: a hickey, a love bite, an all-too-real reminder of what happened. 

Buffy could remember his lips wrapped around her arm, but wanted the memory gone. Something about it all got her feelings for Spike knotted up, warped and wrong-seeming, love and lust and hate inexplicably and inexorably entwined. 

Before that moment, she’d started to forget what he was, and now the reality of it was crushing her and wouldn’t let go. 

She spent two days in a fitful, twilight sleep, her mind coming alert blessedly every time she started to spiral into a dream state. 

The last thing Buffy wanted to do now was dream. 

*** 

He saw the back of her head when he entered the abandoned crypt, and the sight of the golden hair in the firelight made his shoulders sag, made him quiet his footsteps so she wouldn’t turn around. 

But she heard his entrance anyway, and as soon as she stood up, he shut his eyes. 

“Been gone awhile, pet. Sorry ‘bout that,” he muttered. 

“It’s okay. I just missed you.” 

Her arms were around him, and Spike pressed a finger to full, ripe lips. “Shh,” he urged her. “Don’t talk.”

His mind filled with Buffy, Spike shoved aside his senses and crashed his mouth against these waiting lips, pushing his tongue inside her roughly. The soft arms around his neck tightened their grip, and a leg sneaked its way around the back of his knee. 

He clasped her around the waist and pummeled her back against the nearest wall. He would take her, and that would make it all feel better, force all to be right with the world, make things the way they should be. He had to forget it, forget it all, let himself be consumed by his nature… 

“Spike,” she gasped against his neck. “Yes, oh, baby, I thought you’d left me.” 

But it wasn’t all right. The voice was too high, too eager, too kind, and it made him release her, backing away and growling. 

“Blondie bear?” Huge eyes blinked at him, worry-filled… the wrong color, the wrong size, everything a thousand times wrong…  

“I’m sorry, Harm.” He spun on his heel and stormed out of the crypt. 

*** 

“What’re you doing here?” 

He studied the flat cardboard box with mild amusement. “I bring the flat bread adorned with various cheeses and meats,” he said with a shrug. “For it is what I do.” 

She gave him a wan smile and pointed to her desk. “Just put it down. I’ll eat later.” 

“Ah, but woman cannot live by…” Xander crouched down and opened the door of the mini-fridge. “Tab and peanut butter alone.” He put the pizza on the desk and turned to Buffy. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Willow says you haven’t been to class in a week, Buff.” 

Buffy scowled at him and drew her knees up against her chest, picking at a piece of fuzz on her sock. “Willow talks too much.” 

Xander knelt in front of her bed and took her hand. “Buffy, I don’t know what happened, but you’ve gotta snap out of this.” 

She started to yank her and away, but Xander held fast, studying her wrist. 

“What the hell is that?” he asked, noticing the faint redness still apparent on her skin. 

“Nothing.” She tried again to pull away. 

“That’s not nothing.” Xander tugged her arm closer and examined the wound. “What’d he do to you?” 

“Nothing! I… I did it.” 

Xander released her, a look of shock on his face. “You what?” 

Buffy’s eyes met his. “Oh, God, no, Xand, no,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t… no. I just…” 

“You weren’t trying to off yourself?” 

“God no!” 

Xander took a deep breath and stood up. “Where’s Spike, Buffy?” 

She flopped down on her side, curling up into a tight ball. “Why do you care?” she muttered into the pillow. 

“Because you’re all with the big-time depression, that’s why,” Xander replied. “And I gotta wonder why I suddenly don’t so much have a roommate anymore. I’m thinking these things are connected.” He paused, thinking how small she looked, how faraway the gaze in her eyes was. “Did he die?” he finally asked, his voice quiet. “He was sick, the commando guys… the way he was when we left you two alone, and… and he died, didn’t he?” 

She didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, Buffy gave the tiniest shake of her head. “No. He’s alive. Because of me.” 

She stretched out her arm, and something in Xander’s head clicked. 

“You let him feed from you.” 

“I had to,” she said. “I had to, Xander, and now… oh, my God, he’s out there, and… I don’t know what to do.” 

Xander sank down, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what to tell you.” 

“You hate him,” Buffy said sadly. “You hate me for not hating him. And I hate myself for… for I don’t know what, really.” She sat up slowly. Her hair was mussed into funny flat curls that Xander longed to smooth out. He didn’t, though. He knew that was the last thing on earth she wanted him to do. 

“I do hate him,” Xander admitted. “But you’ve never let me not liking your boyfriends stop you before.” 

Buffy quirked an eyebrow up and looked at Xander quizzically. “You mean…” 

“I mean,” Xander said, “that you shouldn’t let other people dictate your life. Look, you know what he is, Buff. You shouldn’t forget that. But… I don’t like to see you like this, and that’s the most important thing to me right now: getting you out of bed and back to normal.” 

She let out a bitter chuckle. “I’ll never be normal.” 

“Normal for you,” he clarified. “Which is big with the pizza eating, the dancing, the slaying, and, as much as I hate it, the hanging out with the undead.” 

When her mouth spread into a grin and she flung her arms around him, Xander had to swallow hard to keep down the lump in his throat. 

“See, normal. Normal is good,” he murmured. “Plus, the upside here is that if he hurts you, I get to kill him, right?” 

*** 

The alley behind the Bronze… it wasn’t obvious, and yet, at the same time, it was the most obvious place of all. The first place they’d spoken. The first place they’d fought. It would be the place to wait if waiting was to be done. 

And time to wait it was. One hour. Two. The urge to give up was strong, but perseverance won out. Two hours and ten minutes. Fifteen. 

A Rechabhorn demon peered around the corner at one point, but it was quickly and summarily dispatched with a leap over trash cans and a roundhouse kick to the head. The thing didn’t even put up a fight, and even though a stake was the only weapon handy, it did the job. The demon’s scaly purple body was easier to drag behind a dumpster than its size would have one believe. 

Two hours and twenty minutes. 

“Dammit, you’re not coming, are you?”  

And then the waiting was over. A dark silhouette at the mouth of the alley, pale hair shining under the neon. 

“Well, this is a surprise.” 

Head tilted. “Is it now?” 

A nod. A smile. “Okay, not so much a surprise.” 

Lip sneaked between teeth. “Did you come here to find me?” 

“Did you?” 

“I asked you first.” 

Buffy was the first to reach out, the first to touch, and Spike couldn’t help but flinch slightly as she ran her hand down his arm. “How long have you been waiting?” 

“Not long. Maybe a few minutes.” 

She looked down dubiously at the pile of cigarette butts at his feet. 

“Right. That’d be a few minutes and a couple of hours, actually,” he admitted. 

Her face softened, but her eyes were sparkling brightly, near-gleefully. “I was going to apologize,” she said. “But do you want a whole big scene and a slobbery mess about how it freaked me out a little, what happened?” 

“Not if you don’t, luv.” 

“I don’t,” she said. She stepped closer. “Actually, I want to tell you other things.” 

Her chest was against his now, and Spike shuddered. “Yeah? What kind of other things?” 

“How you smell good.” She stood up on her toes and planted a kiss on the side of his neck. “How I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d died.” Another kiss, this one on his collarbone. “And how I know what you are.” She stepped back and took his chin in her hand. “And it doesn’t matter.” 

She couldn’t have hurt him more if she’d hit him in the gut. Spike stepped out of her embrace and slumped against the wall of the building. “It’ll matter one of these days, pet. Just you wait. I told you, I’m not good, not by half.” 

“You’re good to me,” she countered. “You saved my life.” 

“After trying to kill you how many times? ‘Sides, I wouldn’t have had to save you if I hadn’t almost drained you dry as a bloody cornstalk.” 

Buffy crossed her arms and regarded him evenly. “That’s your big flaw, you know,” she said gently. “Not the lack of soul, not your past, not any of that. Your big flaw is that you’re a guy.” 

He looked up at her. “Beg pardon?” 

Now she was smiling and moving closer. “You’re a guy,” she repeated, “and I don’t know the last time I’ve met a guy -- dead or alive -- who really had even the remotest clue what was good for him. Well, lemme give you a clue.” 

Spike couldn’t help but smirk as she wrapped herself around him again.  

“You wanna know what’s good for you, Spike?” she whispered. 

He pressed a palm against her back and moved in to nuzzle her neck. “Tell me, luv. What’s good for me?” 

“I am.” 

Over two hours of waiting were forgotten and forgiven, blissfully given over to like time spent locked together, mouths occupied, thought gone, nothing existing except the feel of each other. Any passersby would think them a painfully normal young couple, too full of heady passion to move out of the alley, too caught up in the pleasure of a thing as simple as a kiss. And for that night, even they forgot that there was something more complicated to it than that. 

~ EPILOGUE ~ 

“Miss Rosenberg, I urge you to reconsider my offer.”  

Willow gripped her textbook and defiantly bent her head down to read. “I’m not listening to you!” she said sternly. “I didn’t summon you! You can’t just barge in here!” 

“Oh, but where there’s potential, I cannot simply give up my pursuit,” D’Hoffryn explained. “Besides, you’ve been so very, very clever. That’s why I’ve stayed in Sunnydale, to observe the effects.” 

She peeked up at him. “Huh?” 

D’Hoffryn swept his cloak aside and sat down on the edge of Willow’s desk. “Well, to observe and to assist with another matter, although it was rather a case of two birds and one stone.” 

“Okay, what the heck is going on? What effects? What observing?!” 

D’Hoffryn held out a hand to Willow. “Patience. If you don’t calm down, that vein throbbing in your forehead is going to burst, Miss Rosenberg, and that would be terribly messy.” 

“Explain. Now.” 

“Your spell, dear,” D’Hoffryn said. “I thought you knew how well it was going.” 

“My… my will be done spell? I lifted that weeks and weeks ago. How could you be observing…” 

The horror of the situation dawned on Willow, and she shuddered. “Oh, God. I knew… I mean, I thought, but I wasn’t sure, and…” 

D’Hoffryn drew back slightly. “You mean to tell me this wasn’t intentional? You honestly didn’t know it wasn’t broken?” 

“Big, big, big no!” 

“Oh.” D’Hoffryn stood up, straightening the amulet around his neck. “That certainly changes things. You’re not exactly a vindictive sort, you’re merely incompetent. Sorry to have troubled you.” He vanished in a swirl of smoke and a crackling sound that made Willow’s ears pop. 

She turned to her nightstand, beginning to extricate candles from the drawer, when something outside caught her eye. Turning off the lamp and drawing the curtain back slightly, she peered out into the darkness. 

Buffy and Spike. Holding hands, strolling across the lawn. 

Willow looked back at the candles in her hand, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. 

You know what you have to do, she told herself. It’s a spell. It’s not real. You have to fix it. 

Buffy ruffled Spike’s hair and smiled at him before dropping his hand and running around behind a tree. Spike bellowed something at her and made chase, then the two collapsed with laughter and started kissing. 

You have to fix it… and break your best friend’s heart, not to mention pissing off someone who tried to bite you on more than one occasion. 

Willow began to put the candles on the floor in a circular pattern, but couldn’t bring herself to light the first one. 

“This must be what they call a moral dilemma,” she said aloud.  

Willow slid a match along the side of the box and watched the flame catch. 

~ FIN ~