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Author: Ameeya
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: S.3, during Lover’s Walk.
Summary: Spike returns to Sunnydale to kill the Slayer. He’s just too drunk to do it properly, and ends up getting himself into the deep without even realizing it. Perhaps worst of all, he has no memory of his actions the next day.
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em; I’m just playing. Please oh please, do not sue me.

Author’s Note: All right. Here it is. Finally some talk of Spike lacks so drastically in the knowledge of claims. I so appreciate everyone who’s trusted me this far. You guys are so incredibly awesome. ***HUGZ***

“I just thought of something.”

Giles didn’t even bother glancing up from his book. For the past ninety minutes, Angel had done nothing but pace and mutter things anxiously to himself. They had decided the night before to orchestrate a confrontation with Buffy after school—sooner rather than later. Today seemed as good a day as any.

That didn’t mean that Giles was prepared for Angel to arrive as early as he had. It was growing more and more difficult to ignore the urge to dust the prat.

“I can’t tell you how much I don’t care,” the Watcher finally replied, his tone dull and disinterested.

“Spike probably doesn’t know that he claimed Buffy.”

Giles froze and looked up slowly. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t think Spike knows that he claimed Buffy.”

“How exactly does that work?”

Angel sighed and cast a hand through his hair. “He wouldn’t…it’d have to be instinctual. I’ll bet everything that he was drunk. And if he was drunk, it could be that he has no earthly idea that he claimed Buffy.”

“Then how is it that he…what is it, oh yes, claimed Buffy?”

“It would’ve…” He trailed off, his eyes darkening as his jaw clenched. “If Spike claimed Buffy, it would’ve been a purely natural reaction to being…aroused. Or something equally disgusting. It’s possible that his demon felt or sensed something on a level beyond Spike’s understanding, and claimed Buffy based on that sensation.”

“A level beyond Spike’s understanding? That only leaves every level of human reasoning.”

“Spike doesn’t know how to claim.”

“What do you mean, he doesn’t know how to claim?” Giles demanded, his eyes narrowing. “It’s not applied mathematics. It’s one bloody word. You mean he has made it this far as a vampire without knowing how to claim someone? He does know he’s allergic to sunlight, right? And to stay from garlic?”

“Claiming is a very complex ritual!”

Giles scoffed. “Oh yes, very complex. ‘Mine. Yours.’ It’s right up there with ‘you’re it, no tag-backs.’”

“You do a lot of demonic claiming in the Watcher’s Council?”

“I’m glad you feel so comfortable using that tone with me, Angel. Really, I am.”

“I never taught Spike about claiming. He heard about it by accident, and I discouraged him from looking it up.” Angel paused. “Kind of like slayers. It was something that just slipped out when we were on the run from a mob. Darla and I were talking one night and he overheard us mention a mated couple we knew. We explained it to him, and I told him that he could never have Dru. Never. She’d never accept him, and if he tried, he was as good as dust.

“Last year, while I was…evil, Dru told me that Spike had considered claiming her after I left the fold, but she sensed it before he could research it to find out what it was or what he had to do to claim her. Before he knew what it meant. She told him in no uncertain terms that she would never accept him. Never. She thought it was funny…the look on his face when she told him, and I did too, at the time…” Angel sighed, his face a picture of self-loathing. “It’s possible that Spike researched it anyway, but I highly doubt it. If Dru put an end to his thinking that she would ever accept a claim, then he would have let it die. She was the only one he’d ever consider claiming.”

“And yet, you seem to think he claimed my slayer.”

“Well, it’s not like vampires always had research to rely on,” Angel replied. “Claiming is an instinctive thing. Something a vampire is driven to when he’s around someone he feels is…well, a worthy mate. If Spike claimed Buffy on a purely instinctual level, it’s possible that he recognized her strength or her…something and it struck him as compatible with his own strength or…something.”

Giles’s brows perked. “You’re saying that vampires claim each other based random whims?”

“No. Not typically. But Spike’s never been a typical vampire.”

“So my slayer is potentially mated to an atypical vampire. Lovely.”

Whatever Angel was about to say died on his lips. The library doors flew open.

“Giles, I can’t stay long today,” Buffy was saying, her eyes light and vibrant, a slight skip in her step. “I’m gonna hit every cemetery tonight. I am! And then I’m gonna…” Her cheery mood vanished the next second. She stopped cold when she saw Angel. Her light faded to dark, and she stared at him with pure loathing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Such a good question,” Giles drawled.

“Buffy, I—”

“No.” She dropped her backpack shortly and stormed up to him. “What the hell is this?”

Angel’s hands came up. “You need to calm down. I can explain—”

“Angel seems to think that when you were afraid of being pregnant with his child, you were actually afraid of being pregnant with Spike’s child.” Giles shrugged unapologetically when they shot him identical horrified looks. “Just this once, I would like to get something accomplished rather than dance around the issue for a half hour.”

Buffy turned back to Angel, her eyes flaring dangerously. “Where the hell do you get off talking to my Watcher behind my back? You arrogant, conceited, big-haired jackass!”

“You hadn’t told him!” the vampire protested. “You were blaming it on me!”

“He reached that conclusion all on his own!” She paused when Giles cleared his throat pointedly, then continued with an apathetic shrug. “Okay, so I did nothing to dissuade him, but there is a reason this is called my life and not yours. It’s mine. And I don’t care if I think I got knocked up by the Dalai Lama, if I think I’m pregnant, it is in no way your business.”

“You thought you were pregnant with my child!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“No, you didn’t, but that’s what you told people!”

Buffy shook her head furiously. “That’s what people concluded on their own.” Giles cleared his throat again, and she flushed. “Even if I didn’t straighten out their incredibly flawed thinking.” At her Watcher’s indignant huff, she spun on her heel, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Oh, come on, Giles! Pregnant with Angel’s child? What the hell do you take me for?”

“Someone who wouldn’t sleep with vampires, for one thing. And yet, you’ve managed to prove me wrong.” A beat. “Twice.”

“Hold on,” Angel objected, holding up a hand. “The first time was love.” If he saw the look of disgust that flashed across Buffy’s face, he didn’t comment on it. “We loved each other. We couldn’t have known what would happen. And the second time?” He turned back to her, his brows perked. “I can only assume that he was drunk and got a little too—”

The stricken look that overwhelmed his slayer’s eyes shot a bullet through Giles’s heart.

“A little too what?”

“No.” Buffy had regained her footing, and was shaking her head furiously. “Absolutely not. Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Just stop.”

“It’s not your fault if he—”

“He didn’t. I never said that he did anything.”

Angel’s nostrils flared. “You didn’t deny it! That night in the cemetery, I told you that it would’ve been because he was drunk, and you didn’t deny it!”

“So not acknowledging every lame ass theory of yours automatically verifies every lame ass theory?”

“Buffy, if he forced you—”

“He did not force me.” Buffy’s face went blank, unreadable. Her skin was pale and she was shaking. She was shaking so hard Giles feared she might collapse. “He didn’t force me. He kidnapped me, but he didn’t force me.”

“Wait a second—”

“He kidnapped you?” Giles demanded. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because I’m still in one piece and there was no reason to tell you.”

The blank look was melting away slowly; she was slipping into a façade that Giles knew well. All too well. It was the same look she had when she made excuses for not patrolling. The same look she adapted when she’d done something wrong that she didn’t want to confess. The look she’d worn for days after her return from Los Angeles. The look that had sharpened each time he asked her about Angel’s death until she finally told him exactly how her boyfriend had died.

She was lying, and she was doing it to protect herself.

“Spike didn’t do anything to me. He kidnapped me, and got drunk. And when he got back, I-I was afraid. I was tied up and he was very, very drunk. I didn’t know if he was going to kill me or…what.” She drew in a deep breath. “So I seduced him.”

Giles didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“You what?!”

Okay, so perhaps he overreacted over something that he was almost certain was a lie. But it was still rather startling.

Angel just stared at her in horror.

“That’s right,” Buffy continued, nodding. “I-I seduced him. And talked him into letting me go. And yes…” She tossed a pointed look at her ex-boyfriend. “He has been following me around a bit…because he keeps having…flashbacks of what happened. He doesn’t remember it all, see. And he’s confused. But there you have it. I was kidnapped. I seduced him. I escaped. I wigged. Of course I wigged. Why else would I think I was pregnant? He’s a vampire, for crying out loud.”

Giles just swallowed and nodded.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” Angel demanded. “That he kidnapped you and—”

“Because that’s how much what happened to me isn’t your business.” Buffy kneeled forward and collected her backpack from the floor. “I’m going home.”

She almost made it to the door. Almost.

“Buffy.” Angel inhaled and stepped forward. “Did he bite you?”

She didn’t bother turning around. “What?”

“Spike. Did he bite you?”

There was a long, deafening pause. Buffy pressed her thighs together and shook.

“No,” she replied. “No. He didn’t.”

She was gone without another word.



To be continued…

ETA: Explanation for why Buffy lied at the end of the chapter is coming in the next chapter. But let’s just say, her incredibly skewed logic is at it again.

Oh, and for anyone who might have forgotten, refer to Chapter 4 for a hint as to where Buffy got the idea to use seduction as an explanation.

Her oh-so-brilliant plan was failing miserably. It had been nearly two days since she last saw Spike, and in that time, the ache in her bones had grown unbearable. Her mother had refused to let her out of bed, which was just fine, because she couldn’t move. Not even forty-eight hours had passed; a short, insignificant, incredibly painful forty-eight hours since she’d last seen Spike, and she was trembling. Her skin was feverish, her stomach queasy. She couldn’t slay a fly, much less patrol. And it was because she hadn’t seen Spike. Because they’d kept her from him.

It was all Giles’s fault. Giles and Angel and their stupid buddy-buddying. The second she’d gotten home, her mother had all but forced her to stay home.

“Faith is patrolling tonight,” she’d explained. “I just got off the phone with Mr. Giles, and he says it’s important that I keep you from going out.”

Her heart had about stopped. “What?”

“Faith is patrolling tonight.”

“I heard that part. Why does Giles need me to not patrol?”

Joyce had frowned. “He didn’t say. Something about how you’ve been through enough recently and he doesn’t want you out there after everything that’s happened. Which brings me to…Buffy, what exactly has happened?”

She’d fed her mother some bull story before scurrying upstairs to get her stuff ready for patrol. Giles’s commands couldn’t stop her from seeing Spike any more than her mother could. However, when she’d shimmied down the tree outside her window, she’d found Angel and Faith waiting for her. And try as she might, she hadn’t been able to shake them. Every step was trailed by her ex-boyfriend, and every step made her absolutely nauseous.

Needless to say, Spike hadn’t shown. Chances were, he’d seen her with Angel and bolted. So she hadn’t seen him. Not on patrol, not later at her house. He hadn’t shown at all. He was probably pissed out of his mind, and she couldn’t blame him. Her first attempt at this plan of hers, and she’d failed miserably.

The sickness had never felt like this. Not so soon.

Not even two days since she’d seen Spike, and she was thoroughly miserable.

Which didn’t explain why she was at the Bronze. The last thing Buffy felt like doing was Bronzing it, and yet she’d allowed Willow to drag her out of her room. And while she knew that she should be patrolling, she wasn’t so hardheaded that she didn’t recognize that she was too weak to face anything that actually might attack her. If Spike didn’t show up, or if he didn’t find her first, she might well find herself in a very bad situation.

At the very least, he might know to look for her at the Bronze. Then again, perhaps he was punishing her for showing up on their patrol date with another slayer and her ex-boyfriend in tow. Perhaps he was staying away to make the hurt worse.

Buffy whimpered and dropped her head into her hands. She was alone at her table. All her friends were dancing. All her friends were having a good time. All her friends had dates.

All she had was a growing ache in her belly and a sickness in her heart.

She was alone.

She was alone.

Spike hadn’t taken his eyes off her since Buffy and her mates waltzed through the door. Now she was alone.

Finally. Two bleeding days had gone by, and not sodding once had she been alone. Now all he needed to do was summon the strength to walk downstairs.

He had no idea why it was worse now, only that it was. Though true, each separation following each heated encounter had gotten a little worse, it had never been so fast before. It had never been like this. He’d been dying for her ever since he left her side two nights prior—it’d happened fast, so fast; he was losing himself quicker than he could brace the fall.

If this was Dru’s punishment, it was a fitting one. Make him ache for the Slayer; haunt him with the fear of loving the one girl he could never have. Of being so bloody broken for her that he didn’t know if it was worth being who he had been if it meant he couldn’t touch her.

The worst part? Spike knew how to suss out feelings manufactured by spells and feelings that generated as the byproduct of spells. Whatever he felt for Buffy was real. The lust might have been forced upon him—granted, he didn’t put up too much of a fight—but the soft, gooey feelings couldn’t be blamed on anyone. Not Dru. Not the spell, if there was one. No—if he was falling in love with Buffy, he had no one to blame but himself. It had been his bright idea to try to be the man that could deserve her. He was going soft. She’d given him more outs than he could count, and he’d turned them all down for want of her golden smile.

He was losing sight of what was important, and why it had been important. The past few days, when he fed, it had only been to survive. He hadn’t killed. He hadn’t even felt the drive to kill, which worried him. Furthermore, for the first time since he’d crawled from his grave, he’d made a point to avoid taking blood from women. It was wrong. It felt wrong. Every time a chit eyeballed him, he found himself cringing and looking away, wishing for Buffy’s smiling face so he could jump to her side and proclaim himself taken, whether he was or not. If he couldn’t stomach looking at other women, there was no sodding way he was going to use them for food. The thought alone made the part of him that couldn’t get sick feel sick; if he was going to taste any woman’s blood, it would be Buffy’s. And it wouldn’t be for food.

Spike shuddered, his eyes falling shut. He imagined how she would taste as her body trembled into orgasm around him. As she screamed his name, her pussy clenching around his cock, her nails scratching at his back, her legs tightening around his waist. God, she was a fucking vision when she came. And while he didn’t deserve to taste her—while her blood was perhaps the last thing he deserved—his eyes couldn’t help but cross at the thought of how spectacular it would be.

Only he shouldn’t be thinking of drinking her blood without going in for the kill. He shouldn’t avoid sampling other women. He shouldn’t feel that he was betraying Buffy when he accidentally bumped into some faceless brunette—or redhead, or non-Buffy blonde, or anyone who wasn’t, well, Buffy. He shouldn’t, but he did.

Spike tried hard to wish things differently, but he couldn’t. He wanted to want to be elsewhere, but he was hopeless. He was completely hopeless for her.

And despite wanting to care, he didn’t. Buffy had awakened him in ways he hadn’t thought possible—as much of a wanker as that made him sound. She was everything he shouldn’t want, and the very idea of her made him weak at the knees. So he was trying to be the man she deserved, even if he was cutting corners. The man she deserved wouldn’t dine on citizens, whether he was killing them or not.

He didn’t want to bag it. He wanted so much to cling to this last semblance of who he was. However, if she asked him, Spike was terrified he’d throw in the towel and swear himself hers for all eternity.

That didn’t scare him as much as it should have. It didn’t bother him as much as it should have. Amazingly, after only a couple of days, none of it did. The only thing that truly bothered him, other than his obviously unstable mental condition, was the fact that it hurt like hell whenever they were apart.

Only Buffy was alone now, and there was no longer a reason to be apart. Especially when all the cheeky looks from the single women in the club were making his stomach coil. It had been a while since he’d been around so many non-Buffy females, so he truly hadn’t had time to appreciate how fantastically he couldn’t stand the opposite sex. These stupid come-hither looks were really beginning to annoy him, the women behind them—the women that weren’t Buffy—made him want to heave. He was a catch, to be sure, but surely they didn’t think he needed assistance looking for a bedmate. Did he look like he was in the market? There was only one girl in the whole sodding world that could tempt him.

And she was sitting just a few yards away.

There had never been such sweet relief. Buffy felt him the second before he touched her. The second before his hands curled around her arms, the second before his chest pressed at her back. She felt her insides cleansing—a ritual, inner baptism that washed away all the hurt and the tenderness and left only reprieve.

“It’s all right, kitten,” he murmured, his mouth immediately drawn to her neck. “I’m here now.”

Buffy had to choke back a sob. It felt too good to be real. “Spike…”

“An’ I’m holdin’ onto you to make sure you don’t fall over.”

A shrill, strained giggle tickled her throat. “Good, ‘cause I think I would have.” She sighed and leaned back into him, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips caressed her skin. “Where have you been?”

“Around.”

“We were supposed to patrol yesterday,” she murmured, sighing when his arms linked around her middle. He tenderly chased away the pain. She never would have thought his touch could be so gentle. “Why weren’t you there?”

His grip around her tightened. “You were with him.”

“I so was not.”

“I saw you, Slayer. You were with him. An’ some chit who desperately needs to have her arse handed to her.”

“You mean Faith.” Buffy’s nose wrinkled. She so did not like the idea of Spike seeing Faith. And yet, to be a complete masochist, she swallowed hard and continued. “You didn’t think she was pretty?”

“Hell no.”

“Most guys think she’s pretty.”

“She’s certifiable. Am bloody amazed that Angelus managed to keep his fists from connectin’ with her mouth.” Spike tugged on her earlobe with his teeth, then pressed his lips to the base of her neck again. “Besides, I din’t pay too much attention to her. You were there.”

Buffy tried and failed to keep from turning into a puddle of slayer-goo. “You paid enough attention to note that she needs her ass handed to her.”

“That only meant I was listenin’.”

“You could have come to see me after I went home.”

“Yeah, but then I jus’ would’ve ended up shagging you silly, an’ you said there could be no more of that.”

Had she? With the way he was kissing her skin, it was hard to remember why.

He nipped at her neck and she trembled with a moan. Yeah, definitely hard to remember why.

“Buffy…” Spike murmured raggedly. “I need to take you…outside.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He scraped his teeth along the long column of her throat and purred. “You might wanna tell your friend.”

“What friend?”

“The one starin’ at us.”

She blinked dazedly and glanced up. Sure enough, Willow was standing just a few feet away, a dumbfounded look on her face. Buffy exhaled and relaxed, her body falling pliant against her vampire. She was relieved beyond relief that it was Willow; her resistance was completely worn down—she was too lost in Spike’s sinful touch to give a damn if the whole world saw her.

Well, she cared enough to be incredibly relieved that it was Willow, but not much beyond that.

“Hi, guys,” the redhead said weakly, offering a half-hearted wave. “Not that this isn’t sufficiently awkward enough with my being here, but you might wanna go elsewhere. I think Cordelia and her man-whore are on their way over.”

Spike quirked a brow. “Man-whore?” he echoed, his mouth ardently peppering kisses across Buffy’s neck.

“Xander,” Buffy whispered.

“Man-whore,” Willow huffed before her cheeks rouged. “Anyway, yeah. I’d make with the escape. Not all Buffy’s friends are as cool as I am.”

Buffy grinned and slid off her stool. “You’re the coolest, Will. We’re just gonna…ummm…”

“Pop out back for a bit,” Spike supplied, lacing his fingers through Buffy’s and tugging. He barely gave Willow a second glance. “Come on, pet. Wouldn’t wanna fuel the man-whore.”

Buffy giggled and bounced eagerly after him. She felt so deliciously scandalous, like the girls who used to sneak off during lunch at Hemery to give their boyfriends blowjobs in empty classrooms. At least, there had been rumors. And while it hadn’t appealed to her at the time, there was something to this feeling. She felt womanly and liberated, naughty and bold. And the fact that it was Spike leading her into the alley made all the difference.

This isn’t a part of the plan, her mind warned. You’re totally breaking the rules.

Her body couldn’t care less. Her body was celebrating the fact that Spike was there at all. That his hands were on her. That he had dragged her into the brisk Sunnydale night. That he had shoved her against the Bronze wall. That his mouth was wrestling hot, needy kisses from hers as he thrust his denim-clad cock against her.

“Unh…”

“You wore a skirt,” Spike commented, his voice annoyingly calm considering the wild look in his eyes.

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, her hands clutching at his forearms. Two can play at this game…though God, he was so much better at it. “I am a girl, you know,” she replied, trying to sound as breezy and casual as he did, and failing miserably. He’d chosen that moment to latch his mouth onto her clothed breast.

“Baby,” he growled, hiking her skirt around her waist and tugging on her panties. “No need to tell me.”

“G-good.”

“Unzip my jeans.” He left her breast with a parting kiss, moving northward until his face was buried in her neck again. She felt his tongue lap against her pulse point, and her heart jumped, her hands anxiously tugging at his belt. “You taste so sweet,” he purred, nipping at her teasingly. “So fucking sweet.”

One last strain at logic fought for air. The plan. The plan.

Purely Sensual Buffy scoffed. Logic was terribly overrated, especially when her better senses were fogged with lust. Especially when Spike bunched the crotch of her panties aside and sank his fingers inside her wet pussy. The fire blazing through her veins roared in triumph, and she found herself pulling so hard on his jeans that the button popped.

Spike chuckled. “Eager, are we?” he asked, his thumb grazing her clit.

“I can’t wait. I can’t wait.” Buffy hooked her left leg around his waist, positioning him at her opening. Then she met his eyes and melted. He was looking at her like she was an angel.

Her heart quivered and ached. This is why you had the plan.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, the slick head of his cock nudging her sopping flesh. “Wrap your arms around my neck.”

She kissed him and obliged. The taste of his moan against her lips was worth the world. She loved the way he kissed. The way he tasted. She could live off Spike’s kisses and never want for anything.

He whispered her name against her lips and drove himself inside her, and the world around her dissolved. The brick at her back, the grime in the alley, the sound of cats scrounging for food in nearby trashcans, the thrum of the band playing inside. Everything vanished. Spike was kissing her, his cock was inside her, and she felt like she had finally come home.

“Oh God,” she whimpered. “Oh my God.”

“Lemme guess.” Spike grinned and began rocking against her gently, though the flash in his eyes told her that it wouldn’t be sweet and tender for long. He was in need—he was in as much need as she was. She needed release more than tenderness. “First time against a wall?”

“First time outside,” she countered.

Something menacing flashed across his face. “You’ve done this against a wall before?” he growled, his thrusts rocking her harder. “You fucked Angel against a wall?”

The thought made her want to hurl. Again. “No,” Buffy protested. She drove her hips forward, desperate to recapture him every time he slid from her body. After being so long without him—barely two days—the agonized bliss of his cock stabbing inside her was nearly too much to handle. “No. Two firsts. Two.”

“Against a wall.”

“Yes.”

“Outside.”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes!”

“You like the firsts I’m givin’ you, don’t you?”

He grinned and kissed her, and she melted. The feel of his lips on hers while his cock was thrusting inside her was so completely singular to anything she’d known. She couldn’t remember if Angel had kissed her during their one and only night together—though, she was sure he had. And even then, it hadn’t made the ground move. It hadn’t even made the bed move.

Angel had never done to her what Spike did to her, and the knowledge rendered her shaken.

Did she like Spike’s growing list of firsts? Her mind was a jumbled mess of dead-ended confusion, and it was all his fault. She had talked herself into seeing him every day on the basis that this wouldn’t happen anymore. That she wouldn’t allow him to woo her with his wonderful words and his incredibly tasty kisses. That, as much as she loved the feel of him thrusting into her pussy, she needed to walk away from this with her heart in one piece.

She needed him to say something if he felt what she felt. She couldn’t be the first to say it. Not again. Not after last time. Last time, she had confessed everything—she had given Angel so much power, he’d ripped her to shreds with just a few well-aimed barbs. And while her mind was doing a good job of persuading her that Spike felt something more, she was half-convinced that she was just seeing what she wanted to see.

Two nights ago, he’d cuddled with her in her bed. He’d kissed her and loved her body so thoroughly that the next morning, she’d wondered if she’d dreamed herself into a smutty romance novel. The soreness between her legs told her differently. Thank God her mom had gone to work early; she’d felt bow-legged all morning, and the last thing she needed was an impromptu interrogation on Buffy’s pronounced limp mixed with the sounds that had undoubtedly reverberated through the walls.

“Say it, Buffy,” he growled against her mouth. “Say you like it.”

Like it?

“You love the firsts I give you.”

Oh, God. He’d been expecting her to answer that?

“I love it,” she gasped, choking a sob as his thrusts grew harder. She was slamming helplessly against his body and the wall at her back, and she loved every second. “I love it. I love it.”

“You want me to rub your clit?”

“Oh God.”

“Tell me, Buffy. Tell me what you want.” The next thing she knew, his cock had slipped from her entirely, and he was sliding his length between her pussy lips. “You like this?” he demanded roughly. “I can make you come anyway I like, but I want you to decide. You wanna come like this?”

“Spike!” she whimpered, wiggling desperately and thrusting her hips against him. “Spike, please!”

“Spike please…what?”

“Please! I need…I need…” She bit at his lower lip and gasped when he growled. “Inside me. I need you inside me. Please!” She seized his left wrist and guided his hand between so that the tip of his fingers grazed her clit, and she jumped in his arms. “Please.”

Evidently, she’d done something very right. Spike’s gaze turned molten and he favored her with a leer that managed to both turn her to liquid goo and fill her with fuzzy warmth.

“Hold on, baby,” he practically snarled, rubbing his spongy head against her slit, then slamming back inside her. The cry that tore through her throat was guttural, barely human, and made his eyes shine as though she’d handed him the world. “This is gonna be a rough ride.”

Buffy buried her face in the crook of his neck and squeezed his leather-bound arms until she heard him moan in pleasure-laced pain. He didn’t lie. He pounded her into the wall, growling things that sounded like words, stroking her clit as his balls slapped noisily against her and swirling his hips with every thrust. She wanted to scream, but didn’t dare. It likely wasn’t as fast as it felt, or even as hard, but her back felt bruised and her legs were sore simply from where his jeans rubbed against her skin.

She wanted to feel his fingers on her bite mark. She wanted to feel his fangs in her throat. She wanted to feel so many things, and she had to bite her lip, lest she scream something to give herself away. Instead, Buffy fisted a handful of platinum hair in her right hand, drawing his head from her throat so she could smash her lips to his, swallowing his growl and dropping her other hand between them.

The second her fingers slid over the bite mark, it was over. She broke their kiss with a hopeless cry as he sent her spiraling down the most powerful orgasm her body had ever known. Her nerves were singed, her blood was humming, and every inch of her shook. She felt deliriously weak, but happy. Borrowed happiness. It couldn’t last—not forever—but she held onto it while she could.

“Oh, Buffy.”

He sounded as helpless as she felt. Buffy pressed her mouth against his shoulder and screwed her eyes shut, absorbing every delicious sound that tumbled through his lips as he sputtered and came. The world tumbled around them, and for a few, scrumptious seconds, she thought she might black out again. Like she had that night in the cemetery. The night he’d made her dizzy with pleasure and she’d blacked out.

She didn’t this time, but she came close. In fact, the only thing that saved her from unconsciousness was the defeat of Purely Sensual Buffy, now that her body was sated. Logical Buffy stormed through the haze, and her eyes popped open.

Oh God.

“Spike!” She reeled back and scowled, slapping his shoulder. “This wasn’t the plan.”

Spike just blinked and stared at her. “The plan.”

“Yes, the plan.”

“The strictly platonic, no snogging, no shagging, only-handholding plan.”

“Unless you know of a second plan.”

He blinked again. “Love, must we really discuss this while I’m inside your cunny?”

Buffy flushed. “Just saying. I’m trying to be responsible here. We need to stick to the plan.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking about that sodding plan after what we jus’ did.”

“Spike, please.” She glanced down, which was bad, because her eyes automatically fixed on where their bodies were joined, and a fresh wave of lust crashed over her recuperating nerves. Oh damn. “This is why we can’t go days without seeing each other.”

“We risk having a good time?”

She wet her lips and tried not to wince. The last thing she wanted to be was a good time. Only a good time. The old standby that always put out. And while she knew she was quite a ways from Spike viewing her as such, the prospect terrified her all the same.

It didn’t matter how good it was; until he told her that he wanted something more, something beyond the spell or whatever they were under, there could be no more of this. No more earth-shattering sex against brick walls. No matter how much she wanted it.

Spike sighed, his jaw ticking. “Yeah, okay,” he said, slowly sliding his cock out of her. Buffy dropped her legs to the ground again, her balance wobbly. “We’ll jus’ call this a glitch, yeah?”

A glitch. It sounded so cold compared to what it was. But at least he’d stopped arguing with her.

“Yeah,” she agreed numbly, straightening her skirt as he tucked himself inside his jeans. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Don’t wanna bollocks up the plan.” He favored her with a defeated grin and cast a hand through his hair. “Honestly, Buffy…I din’t mean for this to happen…but it wasn’ just me.”

“I know.”

“You wanted it, too.”

“I know.” She held up a hand before he could speak again. “It was both of us. But Spike…I—”

He just smiled and nodded, and the understanding in his eyes moved her beyond words.

He gets it.

“The plan,” he said.

“It’s the responsible thing to do,” she explained matter-of-factly.

“An’ we’re responsible.”

“You bet your sexy little butt we are.”

Spike favored her with a long look, his eyes dancing. “Buffy,” he said softly. “Don’t go patrolling with Angel or what’s-her-name again. Not if you don’ want this to happen. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s getting worse. I’m not gonna be able to control myself…especially if you’re not gonna be able to control yourself. If you want this plan of yours to work, we should probably give it a shot, right?”

“I didn’t mean to go patrolling with—”

He held up a hand. “Jus’ saying.”

Yeah, and she heard him loud and clear.

The only thing was, every day was getting worse. Every encounter left her aching for more. So what happened when nightly patrols weren’t enough? For, despite her attempts to keep her emotions road blocked, Spike already owned too much of her heart.

They had to get this corrected before she had nothing left.

Author's Note: Hey, everyone! As always, thanks again for your incredibly awesome support. *hugs*

Gee, I never really say anything profound, do I? But I do love and appreciate all of you for giving me a chance, and for the warm reception to this fic. You guys are so awesome.

I should, however, mention that my updates might slow down a bit. Like, rather than updating every 24 hours, it might be every 48 hours. ***hides*** One of my betas, Meredith, is a little behind, and I want to give her a chance to catch up. I also want to maintain a healthy lead in the chapters I have written versus the ones I have posted, so...just a heads up. The speedy updates will continue...just not as speedy.

Angel simply couldn’t take no for an answer. For the third straight day, he was waiting for her in the library after school, and for the third straight day, Buffy had to refrain from popping him in the nose. Not that the idea of punching him didn’t have its perks, and from the ever-ill-humored look on Giles’s face, she doubted her solution would meet with any objection.

Only Giles, with as much as he barely tolerated Angel, still tolerated him. And that meant that something was up.

And if something was up, she was going to be somewhere very else.

“Stalker much?” Buffy spat, turning on her heel.

“Hey—”

“Honestly, Angel, do you not know when to let go? Get a hobby and leave me alone.”

“I want to see your neck.”

She made a face and tossed him a nasty look. “Yeah. Of all the things plausible to happen in this world, can you imagine how far down I’ve put ‘letting vampires check out my neck’ on the list?”

“Spike bit you, Buffy. I know he did. We need you to talk to us.”

The mark on her thigh burned. Buffy stopped short and pivoted, her arms crossing. There was no way in this life or the next that she would ever share intimate details with Angel—not of her bite mark, and certainly not of Spike. It would just add something else to the growing index of evidence that supported the theory that something was wrong with her.

The questions were beginning to drive her insane, particularly the subject of Spike and vampire bites. In fact, so many of their arguments came back to that point that she was beginning to think that they were attempting to blame her strange defensiveness on a vampiric infection. That her unwillingness to say anything negative about Spike was due to the mark on her thigh. And the more Angel asked, the more Giles prodded, the more determined Buffy became to keep her bite mark a secret. It was hers; not theirs. It had significance inasmuch as she rubbed it on occasion to get off, and it tended to hurt during periods of long separation. Nothing totally unexplainable, especially if Spike’s theory of a curse had any ground.

The last thing Buffy wanted was Angel telling her that everything she felt for Spike had been manufactured by a pair of fangs. Her feelings were real. Incredibly real. And the bite was absolutely none of his business. The bite was the one thing that was hers. It was private. It was hers. Completely hers. In the fallout of the confusing forced-sex and the even more confusing pangs of lust, the bite mark was the only thing that had offered some stability. It was hers, and she wasn’t about to stand and listen to how wrong and evil it was.

Not that her feelings were public record, but Buffy wasn’t dumb enough to think that Angel or Giles had accepted her explanation for what had happened the night that Spike had kidnapped her. Angel believed that Spike had raped her, which was completely wrong, only in a way that was not so much. Things had been so confusing after that night—so confusing that she wasn’t even sure when her confusion had turned into pain, or if it had been pain all along. Hell, she was still confused, and the last thing she needed were words of wisdom from her Spike-hating ex-boyfriend.

“Let me see your neck,” Angel said softly. “If you have nothing to hide—”

“You’re not seeing my neck!” Buffy glared at him, shooting a glance to Giles. “Do something!”

Her watcher had a frighteningly pensive look on his face. “Why don’t you want him to see your neck?” he asked softly.

“Because, hello! It’s my neck. And it’s a vampire that, not too long ago, was seriously campaigning for my death.” She turned back to Angel. “What’s more, you’ve seen my neck. It’s not like I’ve gone around wearing turtlenecks and scarves.”

“I want to see it again.”

“Well, I want a pony. Give me mine, and maybe you’ll get yours.”

“Buffy.” Giles’s eyes were trained on the ground. She didn’t like the note in his voice. “Please. Don’t make this more difficult than need be. Just show Angel your neck, and then you can leave.”

“What? No!”

“Buffy.”

It wasn’t as though there was anything incriminating on her neck. Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. There would be no winning with either of them, and she was tired of having this argument. So, very carefully, she pulled on her collar until her left shoulder was exposed.

“Lift your hair,” Angel instructed.

Buffy huffed indignantly, rolled her eyes again, and obliged.

Giles gasped tightly. “What are those?”

“What?”

“You have a few red marks here,” Angel said, his fingers grazing her skin. She jumped as though scathed, her stomach rolling in disgust. “What’s this?”

Red marks? How would she have red marks on her throat? Spike would have told her last night. Last night…when he was busy giving her those red marks.

Buffy groaned inwardly. Great. Found out by a hickey.

It must have hit Angel at the same time. An odd look of betrayal and horror flashed across his face. “Where were you last night?”

Getting pounded into a wall. And yourself?

“None of your business.”

Giles sighed. “Buffy—”

“No. Since when do I need permission from either of you to have a social life? I went out with Willow and Xander. We danced. We partied. We did the teenage scene to death. You want Willow to vouch for me?” Oh God. Not a good idea. While she was certain that Willow wouldn’t say anything that Buffy didn’t want said, there was no way that she would do it convincingly.

Which meant it was best to vamoose and get her cover story settled with Willow before Angel and Giles took her up on her bluff. “Look,” Buffy said, turning to reveal the other side of her neck as well as her right shoulder, also doctored with hickeys but no fang marks in sight. None aside from the Master’s, of course. “There. Are you happy?”

“Not even close,” Angel muttered.

“Good,” Giles commented, turning his eyes back to the text he’d been reading. “Be sure to stay as miserably unhappy as possible.”

“Not much of a stretch.”

Buffy spread her arms. “Is that all? Can I go?”

The confusion on Angel’s face was panoramic. She wished she had a camera. “There were no bite marks,” he murmured. “No bite marks.”

“As I’ve been telling you for days now. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna tend to the matter of my job.”

Buffy spun around and was out the door before either of them could respond.

“So this plan of yours?”

Buffy scowled at her reflection and tossed yet another blouse to her growing pile of clothing rejections. “The plan is in full motion,” she said, waddling over to her closet. It was surprisingly difficult to rummage for non-date attire for what was essentially a patrol date, especially with the phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder. “Last night was…”

“A glitch?” Willow supplied. “He actually called it a glitch?”

“It was a glitch of epic proportions.”

“You did seem kinda dazed when you came back to the table.”

Buffy flushed in spite of herself. Dazed was putting it mildly. She was amazed she’d had enough strength to walk, almost as amazed as she was that Xander and Cordelia had barely noticed her rather considerable absence. It had taken several minutes to finally get Spike to go home—wherever his home was. Since last night had been a glitch—a wonderful, earth-shattering glitch—he’d utilized it as an excuse to do some of that inappropriate fondling she loved so much. The night had been a failure, after all. The plan officially restarted tonight.

“The plan is totally on,” she affirmed with a nod. “Completely on. There will be no more glitches.”

“Uh huh.”

“No more glitches to speak of.” Buffy sighed and held up another top. Mmm. Potential. “Hey, Will. You know that burgundy camisole that I bought last Christmas?”

“The one that’s totally a date top and not for patrol? Sure! You look awesome in it.”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, that’s happening.” Willow giggled conspiratorially, then singsonged, “Buffy’s got a boyfriend.”

“God, what are you, three?”

“And a half, thank you.” She giggled again. “So, once this plan of yours completely blows up in your face, are we gonna be able to come clean?”

“You make it sound like I’m keeping it a secret. Everyone knows that I slept with Spike, and that I’m not particularly apologetic about it.”

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who knows how much you’ve slept with Spike.”

“Unless you decide to give Cordy a ring, you mean.”

“Hey…” Willow trailed off helplessly. “Shut up.”

“So the cami and my gaucho pants? You think that’ll look good?”

“So good that Spike won’t be able to keep his hands to himself. That is what you’re going for, right?”

Buffy flushed and rolled her eyes, tossing her selected outfit onto the bed and planting a hand on her hip. “What do you know?”

“That you’re secretly dating Spike.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“To go on your secret date?”

“You know, there are times when I violently dislike you.”

Willow laughed. “Only because you know I’m right.”

“You are in no way right.” She shook her head. “I gotta go. I’m meeting him in fifteen.”

“Okay. Have a good date.”

“Good patrol.”

“That, too.”

Buffy made a face at the phone and switched it off. “You’re wrong,” she said weakly, tossing it onto the bed. Right next to her total non-date attire. “I am not secretly dating Spike.”

No. She totally wasn’t. And she wasn’t dressing up for him, either. Just as she hadn’t shaved her legs today knowing that they might end up around his waist. Just as she hadn’t stopped by the lingerie shop in the mall that afternoon so he’d have something frilly to pull off…just in case.

Buffy sighed and pressed her palm to her brow. God, she was hopeless. There could be no dating Spike. There could be no sleeping with Spike. There could be no touching, aside from the aforementioned handholding, of any kind.

The plan officially began tonight.

Chapter 27

Buffy sighed and checked her watch. The minute hand had barely budged. She was still early. Spike was still on time. She didn’t have a right to be angry yet. He wasn’t late. In fact, he had five whole minutes—make that four minutes and twenty-six seconds—before he was officially late.

Not that being late for patrolling was a bad thing. No. No, of course not. And it totally wasn’t like they were meeting for a date. No, she was just out, meeting a guy for some vampire-slayage. And the fact that she had dressed up had absolutely nothing to do with said guy. She just really liked her vintage gauchos. And the camisole? She hadn’t had a reason to wear it since she bought it. What better time to try out a new outfit? Patrolling was where she met all the interesting guys. All the interesting dead guys. Not that she was out here to meet interesting guys. Just one. But it wasn’t a date.

Buffy huffed a sigh and checked her watch again. Three minutes and fifty-two seconds. Dammit, Spike still wasn’t late. And she was just some crazy person, dressed to the nines, standing out in the cemetery.

Figures he’d be the type to be right on time.

“’Lo pet.”

Before she had a chance to fall over in surprise, two strong arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her against a familiar chest. “Now, now,” Spike murmured. “None of that.”

Stupid heart. It didn’t know when not to melt. “Oh. There you are,” she said lamely.

He chuckled and helped her upright. “I honestly didn’t mean to startle you, luv. It just happened.”

“You didn’t startle me. I just happen to like…falling over and looking like an idiot.”

“Well, you’re very good at it.”

Buffy scowled playfully and dusted herself off. “Jackass.”

“I do what I can.”

“And hey! You broke the rules.” She pointed. “You touched.”

Spike’s hands came up. “I din’t fondle!”

“There was non-handholdy touching involved!”

He blinked. “’m sorry, Slayer. Next time, I’ll let you fall on your arse.”

Her lower lip jutted out in a pout. “I didn’t say I didn’t appreciate the breakage of the rules. I mean, mitigating circumstances and all. But don’t take that as a starting point to mark tonight as a failure of the plan.”

“Not a failure.” Spike grinned and his gaze dropped and slowly raked her body in a way that made her heart beat way too fast. And from the way his eyes widened and the strain in his jeans became more pronounced, she figured that she had a stamp of approval from her total non-date. “You’re all dolled up.”

“You noticed.”

“I’m neither blind nor a eunuch, luv.”

“Those are both things that I happen to know firsthand.”

Spike smirked and ran his hands down his front, hooking his fingers through his belt loops and thrusting his pelvis forward just slightly. “Refresh my memory?”

She flushed and somehow managed not to melt or tackle him, which were both good things in her book. Well, not good as much as infuriatingly frustrating, but good for the plan. And what was good for the plan was good for Buffy and the not-breaking-of-her heart. “In your dreams,” she replied weakly.

“Every single night.”

Damn. Stupid vampire. How was she supposed to ignore him when he said things like that?

“We have patrolling to do,” Buffy said quickly, wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her hips. “And…it’s not gonna get done just…standing here talking about…stuff.”

Gee, that was profound.

What was it about being around him that turned her into an incoherent mess? Buffy heaved a sigh and shook her head, spinning on her heel. “Okay, so patrol. Kill us some bad guys…present company excluded.”

“Thanks ever so.”

“And then I need to get home and attack my evil homework and maybe even study for the even eviler test on Wednesday, and—”

“Buffy. Aren’t you forgetting something?” When she turned around, he was right behind her, his hand reaching for hers, his eyes burning. “It’s the rules, remember?”

Oh God.

Don’t melt. Please don’t melt.

“Y-yes.” She did her best not to tremble so hard that she pulled them to the ground. But the way her skin tingled as her fingers laced through his could not be outmatched. There was something in his touch that unwound her completely. “The rules.”

“An’ if I din’t mention it before, you look amazing.”

“So your plan is to be completely wonderful and have me melt at everything you say?”

“Yes.”

She scowled playfully and poked out her tongue. “Asshole.”

Spike arched a brow. “Be careful with that thing.”

“Always am.”

“What a shame,” he replied with a smirk. “So, luv, is there a routine you follow, or are we wingin’ it?”

Buffy frowned. “A routine? My routine is that I patrol.” She paused. “Well, okay. Usually, Giles tells me if there were any suspicious deaths in town…vamp or otherwise. I hit those graveyards first…the places where the suspicious deaths were buried. If it was a vamp, it’ll take a day or so—”

“No need to tell me that, pet.”

“Hey, you asked.”

“I asked about your routine.”

“And this happens to be a part of the routine. If we think that new deaths might be vamp related, I go to those cemeteries every night for about a week…because, as you know, every rising is different.” Buffy shivered and found herself squeezing his hand. It was odd talking to a vampire about her slaying pattern, and where she would have feared condemnation, she sensed only respect. The sensation was overwhelming. “But other deaths that might be demon related are different. We’ve had zombies and stuff. And…other half-breeds. Not much, but some. So I just go wherever Giles and the obituaries tell me to go.”

Spike nodded slowly, his free hand sliding into his duster pocket to retrieve his cigarettes. “What happens on nights when you don’ get any action?”

I go home and rub my bite mark.

Buffy’s cheeks flushed. “Faith…um…the other slayer. She talks about how you can feel…uhhh…unsatisfied if you don’t get a slay in. Or if a demon gets away. Especially if there’s a fight involved.”

He perked an interested brow. “Is that right?”

“Well, it’s what she says.”

Spike winced in disgust, puffing on his cigarette. “I don’t give a rot what Faith says. What do you say?”

Buffy couldn’t help the rush of excitement that flooded her veins. Spike’s open distaste for the other slayer made her happy in all the wrong ways. Ever since Faith had discovered that Angel wasn’t a bad guy, she’d been rather open in her interest in exploring a relationship with a vampire. And Angel, while he didn’t encourage the idea, certainly wasn’t as opposed to it as Buffy would have liked. Well, once. If he wanted, he could do everything aside from get perfectly happy with Faith, and Buffy would feel nothing but relief. Angel smooching on someone else would indicate that he was over her, and would stop asking about bite marks and hickeys.

It was almost surprising how much that knowledge failed to bother her.

“What do I say?” she repeated. “I…um…well, I go home and usually have a cup of non-fat yogurt and then…” Shower while touching my bite mark and thinking of you. “Go to bed.”

A low smirk stretched his lips. “You li’l liar,” he said slowly, blowing out a pillar of smoke.

“Am not!”

Spike just grinned and tugged her to a standstill. “Look at me,” he said, his eyes dancing as they searched hers. “Ah, yes, there it is.”

“There what is?”

“When you lie, your eyebrow does this little thing.” He mimicked the alleged eyebrow-thing, and he looked so damnably good that she had to press her thighs together and bite her lip. God, her pussy was on fire, and from the telling look on his face, he knew it.

“My eyebrows are perfectly normal.”

“Lie to me.” He was still grinning like an idiot; Buffy couldn’t decide if she wanted to hit him or tackle him to the ground with kisses. Well, okay, so she knew which she preferred—it just happened to be what she should not prefer. “Tell me you don’ want me to kiss you.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yes,” he agreed, stomping out his half-smoked cigarette beneath his boot. “But you want me to kiss you.”

“Do not!”

“Aha!” Spike pointed victoriously, and while she resented it, his smile was infectious. “There it is again!”

Buffy ducked her head and forced her mirth away, turning to resume their brisk pace through the graveyard. “Whatever,” she replied, trying to tug her hand from his. His fingers were locked; he wasn’t about to let her go, and though inconvenient, the larger part of her couldn’t help but swell with warmth. “Come on. The sooner we patrol, the sooner I can go home.”

“Then by all means, woman, slow down.”

“Spike—”

“What? A bloke can’t want to spend time with you?” He poked his lower lip out, and she forced her eyes back to the path ahead. He was too adorable when he pouted, and it was in no way fair. “I like spending time with you.”

“You just want me to be out here with you so you have more time to say more wonderful things and I’ll swoon, and the plan will be postponed until tomorrow.”

“That’s not at all my objective, but I wouldn’t complain.”

“The plan is on. It’s working.” She held up their joint hands and squeezed. “See?”

Spike smiled softly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s workin’ like a charm.” He released a deep breath and was quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his tone was lighter and somewhat forced. But he was making an effort, and that was all that truly mattered. “Anythin’ exciting happen at school, pet?”

Buffy arched a brow. Okay, effort making aside, it was just weird hearing him ask about her day. “It was…it was good. I guess. Class was the same as always. Giles has me working on some project that involves identifying these stupid crystals. He says it’s crucial for my training…I dunno. It all sounds bogus to me.” Bogus and boring, but she wasn’t about to rant on the many ways that Giles was annoying her recently. “Then Angel dropped in and—”

Spike froze so fast that he nearly pulled her to the ground. “Angel?” he spat. “Angel was at your school?”

She blinked. “Ummm…yeah.”

“What the sodding hell was Angel doing at your school?”

“He knows.”

“He knows?”

Buffy squeaked inelegantly and nodded. “Uhhh, yeah. Kinda.” She paused. “Well, I did kiss him—”

Spike growled and his eyes flashed. “Slayer…”

“You knew about that! Me kissing him, and then yacking on him like some sort of…I dunno, gross-type-person-who-yacks-on-people? And I moaned your name. He also knows about the kidnapping incident—” When Spike growled again, Buffy tugged her fingers free of his and threw her hands up defensively. “Which he totally guessed on his own. He guessed it. I told him it was none of his business, but he went to Giles and now they’re all ‘let’s study Buffy’ about everything.”

“For Chrissake, Slayer—”

“I told him—I told them both—that I seduced you.”

Spike’s head shot up in astonishment. “You what?”

“I didn’t tell them…I didn’t tell them what really happened.” Buffy averted her eyes quickly to the ground and kicked at a clump of grass, feeling awkward and self-conscious. “You said that morning…you said that I’d tricked you into…doing what you did and…”

“Buffy—”

“So I told them that that’s what happened.”

“But it’s not.” His eyes were heavy and he was breathing hard. The guilt she saw there nearly knocked her off her feet. “Buffy, I—”

“No. Well…I dunno. I don’t really know what happened that night, but it’s not something…I dunno.” She smiled awkwardly and reached for his hand again, doing her best to ignore the way her skin tingled when their fingers entwined once more. “I just didn’t want them after you. If they’d known what actually happened—”

“So you took it all on yourself.”

“Well, I was upfront about the kidnapping.”

Spike shook his head. “God…you…” He trailed off helplessly and just looked at her. And for a second—for one blessed instant—she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. Something big. Something significant. Something life-changing. It was gone in a blink, if it ever existed. But she could have sworn she saw it. “You take my breath away.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “Spike, you don’t breathe,” she said.

“Not easily when you’re around.” He dropped his eyes to her mouth, and her heart stopped. “Buffy…”

God, he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to tell her that she was everything in the world to him and that he’d be around forever. That he’d be in it for the long haul. That she was worth the world—worth changing for—and that he’d love her in ways that made them both forget that they’d lived at all before they found each other. She wanted so many things.

Spike started for her lips. He was going to kiss her. Only he seemed to remember himself before he could, and before she could scream her protest, he forced himself to detour. His hand trembled around hers. His lips caressed her cheek, and he breathed raggedly against her skin.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Sorry?

“Broke the rules.”

The rules. Of course. Those stupid, stupid rules. Buffy blinked dazedly and nodded. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s…it was just…”

Everything.

It was everything.

The little bit of her heart that he didn’t own was beginning to chip away. There was no way she was walking away from this unscathed. No way.

Not when she feared that she could love him.

Author’s Note: Heehee! So you guys seemed to like the patrol non-date? ***bats eyes*** Thank you so much for your continued enthusiasm, support, and oh-so kind reviews!!! ***hugs***

Not quite 48 hours, but I told myself I’d post before bedtime. And since I’m going to bed very, very early tonight, now would be it. =) I’m still in the “every other day” mentality as far as a revised posting schedule goes…just give or take a few hours. Need my betas all caught up before I run out of chapters.

“Capris just don’t look good on me,” Buffy complained, tossing the khaki pants onto her bed with a huff. “I’m too short.”

Willow shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side…you can wear them as pants.”

Buffy pouted and kicked at the bed. As much as she loved her friend, there were just some things that fashion-challenged people didn’t know to appreciate. Willow was not cursed with a small stature. Rather, she had what a million girls would kill for; height, a full figure, and burgundy hair. She just didn’t know how to accentuate her assets, which explained why her favorite outfit was a sweater and a pair of overalls.

“Hey! That’s a good thing!” the redhead replied. “There aren’t many stores around here that carry petites.”

“Ugh. This is a nightmare.”

“You are just dressing up for patrol, right?”

Buffy made a face and held up a skirt to her waist, glaring at her reflection. Mirrors just really did not agree with her, as of late. She needed to beg her mother for access to her MasterCard again. “Patrol can be very fashion-challenging,” she replied defensively. “Ugh. What the hell was I thinking when I bought this?”

Willow arched a brow. “That you’re a knockout and you can wear sackcloth and still get men drooling over you?”

“This just does nothing for my hips.”

“It makes them less naked.”

She scowled at Willow through the mirror. “You’re not helping.”

The redhead paused and waved a little. “Ummm, hello? Remember me? I’m your fashion-impaired friend. The one that would wear flannel and fuzzy bunny slippers to prom if I could get away with it.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. If you want fashion advice, I am so not your girl.” Willow leaned over the side of the mattress to scoop up a magazine that had been collecting dust for God-knows-how-long. “Besides…” She glanced up coyly and grinned, “it is just patrol…right?”

“Of course,” Buffy replied, very intently ignoring the way her cheeks singed with heat. “Totally just patrol…with absolutely no sexy smoochies or naughty touching or anything that would…” A long sigh rolled off her shoulders. “I’m in such deep trouble.”

“Sounds like.”

“I honestly don’t know what to do. None of what I’m feeling makes sense to me.”

Willow shrugged. “Makes plenty of sense to me. You like Spike. You like smooching on Spike. You want Spike smoochies. Spike smoochies make Buffy a happy slayer.”

“That is entirely true except for the part where you’re incredibly wrong.”

“Huh?”

Buffy was quiet for a long second. “I don’t just want Spike smoochies, Will. Do you have any idea how easy it’d be if making out was the most I wanted from him? His lips are fantastic, I’ll grant you, but…they’re not all I want.”

“I’m still not seeing where I’m incredibly wrong. You’ve always seemed on the plus side of happy every time I’ve seen you post-nummy-Spike-encounter.”

“Yeah, well, that’s usually just the…erm…post-coital high.”

Willow flushed. “Ohhh. You mean that thing I have absolutely no way of knowing about?”

“No way? You have Oz.”

“In our incredible abstinent relationship, yes.”

Buffy frowned and stared at her. There was something in her friend’s voice that she’d never heard before. A sort of edge that only those who had experienced sexual frustration would know to identify. And for the first time in months, her eyes opened to the things that were happening outside her life—to things that were happening to her friends. Things that she should have noticed.

Willow had been a good sounding board recently, aside from her fantastic blunder of revealing the bogus pregnancy to the whole continent. And since then, she’d more than made up for her gaffe. She’d been all with the non-judgmental advice, and had even, at times, encouraged Buffy to pursue her feelings for Spike. All the while, Buffy had ignored her own duties in the best friend department. If Willow was having serious sex thoughts about Oz—serious cherry-popping thoughts—she wanted to be here to offer her sound advice.

Not that Buffy’s sound advice in the world of deflowering was all that great. Her first time hadn’t been one for the record books. But the second, third, fourth, and…okay, her skin was doing that blushy thing again. The thing was, Willow had to be sure that Oz deserved the privilege of being her first. Willow had to avoid making the mistakes that Buffy had made. She had to not wake up alone with a monster that wanted her dead.

Which meant that if Oz and Willow did get as far as doing the horizontal mambo, they should do it as far from a full moon as possible.

Buffy sighed and wandered back to her closet. What would the world have been like had she discovered this insane attraction for Spike prior to falling head over heels for Angel? What if Spike had been her first? Okay, so their first time together hadn’t been one to write home about, either, but it had beaten her time with Angel hands-down. Not only had Spike stayed with her until morning, he’d done the almost-sweet thing in…panicking that he’d forced himself on her.

God, that morning had been so confusing. It still was. But she couldn’t find it within herself to think ill of him for it. The more she grew to know Spike, the more she liked him, and the more she felt his horror at what he’d done. The Spike she knew now would never, ever force himself on a woman. There were times when she saw him gaze off thoughtfully; times when she felt him tense, and knew exactly what he was thinking. Even though she was more or less over the emotionally damaging part of that night, he still found himself mired in guilt.

He was more a man than Angel had ever been in all the time she’d known him. And he did it all without that soul that her ex found so handy.

Buffy blinked and shook her head. She’d gone from thinking about how bad a friend she’d been to Willow by focusing on her vampire-relationship problems, and had then proceeded to focus on her vampire-relationship problems.

“Will…are you thinking about…with Oz, are you two…?”

The redhead’s face flamed. “I…uhhh…I dunno. I mean, I think about it sometimes. Okay, a lot. All the time. But…but Oz wants to make sure I’m ready and I don’t think I am…just yet. I mean, I know it’ll be Oz when I am ready…but being ready is just not…” She fidgeted uncomfortably. “Do we really need to talk about this? I thought we had the pressing matter of your wardrobe to contend with tonight.”

“I just want to you to know that—”

“I can talk to you. Yes. How about stilettos?”

Buffy blinked. “You’re being avoid-o girl.”

“Yes. I’m not ready to discuss this. Really. Just the idea of me…and sex. Blah!” She made a face and shuddered. “I’d like to be the quivering virgin a while longer. Once I stop the quivering part, maybe we can focus on the…other part. But really! Stilettos?”

Buffy sighed and decided to let it go. If Willow didn’t want to talk about it, she wasn’t about to press the issue. “Stilettos?” she repeated. “For patrolling?”

Willow fidgeted again. “I actually don’t know what kind of shoes those are. Only that they’re shoes and they’re popular—and hey! At least I knew the term.”

“You did, at that.”

“So no stilettos?”

“Not for patrolling. Not unless I’m trying to attract demons in need of a good hooker.”

“Something tells me Spike wouldn’t like that.”

Guh. Willow had mentioned the S-word again. Buffy could in no way be to blame for the way her mind did the wandering thing while her heart flip-flopped. After all, she hadn’t mentioned the S-word.

Willow swung her legs over the edge of her bed and leaned forward intently. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“You’re just now picking this up?”

“No. But I am impressed that you acknowledged it rather than running headfirst into denial.”

“When have I ever done that?”

“Every single time I’ve mentioned Spike.”

Buffy shook her head. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping track.”

Willow grinned and shrugged. “I don’t see the big, really. I mean, yes, I can see where Giles and Xander, to name two people, will freak to epic proportions. But really, Buff, you should see…you. I know it’s causing you a lot of grief, but I’ve honestly never seen your eyes do the light-up thing before. Not even in the pre-killing-of-us days with Angel. And as totally weird as this sounds…Spike seems to care for you.”

Her heart thundered. “He does?”

“Well, I mean, I’ve only seen him twice. Once at the Bronze and then…that other time at the Bronze. But both times—”

Buffy exhaled softly and her shoulders slumped. Oh. “Yeah, both of those times, we were in massive…something with each other. Call it what you want. His eyes do a glowy thing whenever we’re together again after being apart for so long. It’s the lust spell, or whatever has us under this thing. It doesn’t mean he cares about me.”

The redhead didn’t look convinced. “Ummm…”

“And even if he does…care…once the spell is lifted, he won’t anymore.”

“Ummm, I was under the impression that you don’t know you’re under a spell when you’re under a spell.” She waved a little. “Remember last year? I came at Xander with an axe—a totally deserved axe, by the way, that rat bastard—and it was because of a stupid love spell. I didn’t know I was under a spell at the time. Neither did any of the other three hundred girls that wanted him dead—rightfully so—then.”

“That doesn’t mean all spells follow a certain pattern, though. It might be that the spell Dru put us under has us very aware of what we’re doing, and that’s where the revenge part of her plan is coming in.” Buffy sighed again and worried a lip between her teeth. The problem with that theory was that everything that she was feeling right now was authentic. The circumstances might have been otherworldly, but she liked Spike because she liked Spike, and not because a spell was making her like Spike. And perhaps that was it—perhaps Dru’s plan was only to seek revenge on Spike. Perhaps Buffy had just fallen in the crossfire of a bitter breakup, and she was falling for him as an added bonus for the scorned lover.

Only, from the sound of things, Spike was the scorned lover, so that didn’t make sense.

She shuddered. If she started thinking about their situation like that, her mind just might succeed in convincing her that Spike did care. She so wanted to believe it. She wanted everything they had to be real. But she couldn’t take the leap of faith just yet. Not yet. Not until the spell was over. If the spell ended and Spike was still making moon eyes at her, if he still felt all the heat and passion that he felt now, she would fall all too readily into his arms.

Until the spell was over, she’d just have to wait it out.

“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit, Buffy,” Willow said softly. “You haven’t seen the way he is with you.”

“I have so,” she protested weakly. Dammit, the last thing her Spike-lusting mind needed was prompting from Willow to get with the Spike-lusting program. “I admit…he’s…”

“Yes?”

She was quiet for a minute, weighing her words carefully before everything collapsed. “God, Willow, I can’t. I just can’t. Let’s just say that I do throw my rules and my plan out the window. Say Spike and I do a lot of naked aerobics and I fall head over heels for him and then poof! The spell’s over. And then he hates me. He hates me and wants to kill me and goes on about how Dru is better than I am in every way and God, I couldn’t take that. It’s gonna be hard enough already if it happens. I’ve already had the…the physical stuff with him. Now we’re getting into the other stuff, and if I throw in physical on top of other, there’s just now way…”

“But you don’t know that’s going to happen.”

“Yes, but I don’t know that it’s not going to happen, either. I just need the spell to be over so we can see where we stand. If he still wants me when it’s over…” Buffy shook her head and glanced back into her closet. “Oh, screw it. Jeans and a halter top.”

Willow smiled weakly. “He’ll drool all over you.”

“That’s so not the objective.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not. It’s…” She trailed off miserably and sniffed. “I’m totally screwed, aren’t I?”

“I think you are just a little.”

“Gee, thanks.” She sniffed again. “Where’s my stock best friend reassurance?”

Willow frowned. “Oh. That was one of those moments?”

“Yes.”

“I totally dropped the ball.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry.”

Buffy stared at her for a minute, then chuckled humorlessly and shook her head. “I need to start getting ready,” she said weakly. “Meeting Spike in a half hour.”

“Watch how he watches you.”

“Will—”

Her hands flew up defensively. “I’m just saying. The guy has it bad. I don’t see how you’re blaming that on a spell, but if it’s your prerogative, go right ahead.”

Buffy scowled and planted her hands on her hips. “So about the having sex with Oz?”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “Shutting up now,” she squeaked, and mimed zipping her lips.

“I’m wearing jeans and a halter.”

“But not stilettos.”

“Right. Because I’m not a hooker.”

“And because they’re not patrol shoes,” the redhead said, nodding.

“That’s right.” Buffy stared at her closet unblinkingly for a minute, then sighed dramatically. “I am so screwed.”

“Yeah. Looks like.” Willow quickly found herself on the receiving end of another glare. “I dropped the ball again, didn’t I?”

“Tossed it right into your court, and you dropped it.”

She nodded and practically sprinted for the door. “I’ll just be leaving now. Have fun on your not-a-date.”

“Have fun thinking of ways to have sex with Oz.”

“You know, right this minute, I don’t like you very much.”

“You can imagine how much of a problem that is for me right now.” Buffy didn’t move, didn’t even tear her eyes away from the closet. “Call you tomorrow?”

“Gossipy goodness,” Willow agreed perkily.

Thank God. As annoying as the redhead could be with her insightfulness—particularly with regard to all things Spike—Buffy depended on her right now for unloading of her Spike-related problems. She was the one person in the world guaranteed to not judge her, and if that meant tolerating her sense-making arguments on why she should be jumping headfirst into a relationship with her former worst enemy, then it was worth the price.

She could only hope that her heart agreed with her in the end.

It should be illegal for any man to look that good, particularly since Spike’s looks tended to bring out the side of her that was gravity challenged.

“Spike!” Buffy gasped. She would have fallen on her face had she not found herself in his arms the next second, her heart pounding furiously against his cool, still chest. “Ohhh. Guh.”

“Gotta say, Slayer,” he rumbled amusedly. “If you don’t stop falling at my feet every time I see you, I’m gonna develop a complex.”

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re patrolling, remember?”

Oh, she remembered. She’d just scribbled a note to her late-working mother about said patrolling. Sure, she was running a few minutes late after going through every outfit in her closet twice, but not late enough to require a search party.

Finding Spike on her doorstep was a surprise totally worthy of falling-on-her-face, humiliating as it was.

“Sorry,” she explained hurriedly. “I know we’re patrolling, but I thought we were meeting at Restfield. Am I running that late?”

Spike shook his head, his eyes roaming her body predatorily. “No. I’m early, actually. Jus’ wanted…fuck, you look amazing.”

She flushed. Seems jeans and a halter top had been the way to go, after all.

“Oh, this old thing,” she replied teasingly. “It’s just—”

“Amazing.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “Shall we?”

Oh God. We’ve been talking for thirty seconds, and I’m already melting.

“Ummm, yes.” She returned his smile weakly and nodded at the front door. “Just let me lock up and we’re all set.”

All set. Good God. He was here to pick her up. Like they were on a date.

And he was already reaching for her hand.

Buffy whimpered inwardly. Her heart was so doomed.

Their fingers were laced, and their palms rubbed together with every step they took. Every few seconds, Buffy felt her eyes wander to their clasped hands, and warm butterflies filled her stomach. He was so close to her that a breath of air could not pass between them.

These patrol not-a-dates were the highlight of her day.

“So I’ve been thinkin’…”

Buffy’s head shot up. “You’re not going to try and talk me out of the plan, are you?” Because, at this point, I wouldn’t mind it if you gave it a shot. “Because the plan…is set in stone.” Really, really fragile stone. “Stone.”

Spike just grinned at her and shook his head. “No. I’m not gonna try an’ talk you outta the plan.”

That so wasn’t disappointment sliding down her spine. Really.

God, who am I kidding?

“Oh.” Buffy swallowed hard and forced a grin. “Okay. Then what is it that you’ve been thinking?”

“I don’ know if it makes sense for Dru to have cursed me because of infidelity issues.”

Gah. The butterflies were back. Maybe he was going to tell her that there was no curse. There was no spell. The pull between them was the natural force of attraction—pure attraction. Perhaps it was a vampire thing. Perhaps it was a slayer thing. And the only reason it hadn’t been there with Angel was that he wasn’t the one she was supposed to be with. The Powers had avoided giving her these feelings until she found Mr. Right. Because he was right. His scorned ex-girlfriend, psycho or not, cursing him to lust after another woman because she felt betrayed? Sense was so not with the making there.

Then again, it wasn’t as though her ephemeral flight of fancy had a ton of logic supporting it, either. Perhaps it was more the knowledge that her heart was in trouble, so her mind was looking for an out. A way to have Spike and not get hurt in the process.

That much made sense to her. Overactive Buffy brain, trying to override the rules of her own plan by providing escape hatches along the way. The fact of the matter was that her heart was going to end up in the shredder either way. Now she was split down the middle—panicking over her imminent heartbreak, and searching desperately for a way to keep Spike in her life.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “If it’s not Dru, then what—”

“Oh, I still think it’s Dru.”

No. That was not the sound of her heart screaming. That was the wind. “Oh. Okay.”

“She wouldn’t get back at me by giving me you, though. Truth of the matter is, I don’ think she cares very much.”

His tone surprised her. For as much the love of his unlife as Drusilla allegedly was, he didn’t give the impression of missing her, or caring that she didn’t care. Or hating her for leaving him. Or hating her for cursing him. Or hating her…period. Matter of fact, she didn’t detect any feeling whatsoever. It was as though he didn’t care about Dru at all.

That had to be wishful thinking. Of course he cared about Dru. He loved Dru. The second he was freed from being tied to her, he’d shake off whatever residual feelings this curse had given him and hop the first ship back to South America. Buffy would be lucky if he didn’t add insult to injury by trying to kill her first.

“So why would she curse us, then?” Buffy asked.

“I think it’s ‘cause you an’ I united to bring down her precious Angel.” Spike shrugged nonchalantly and lodged a cigarette between his lips. “She wanted to get back at us by makin’ us want each other bad.”

Buffy frowned. “So why give us the warm fuzzies to go along with it?”

Spike paused and glanced to her, smiling softly. “You have warm fuzzies over me?”

Guh. He was so gorgeous when he smiled like that. Okay, so he was pretty much gorgeous all the time. Being on the receiving end of his smile, though…there was nothing Buffy wouldn’t do to keep that smile aimed at her for the rest of her days.

“Well, I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers,” she replied lamely.

“No. You kicked me outta bed because of some barmy plan.”

“Hey!” She pouted. “There will be no dissing of the plan!”

“Well, I gotta blame somethin’. You’ve had warm fuzzies about me, an’ you still managed to talk yourself into kickin’ me out of bed.” Spike shook his head and tsked. “Slayer, Slayer, Slayer. Whatever will I do with you?”

A good tongue-lashing oughta do the trick.

Buffy shivered. It was no wonder her heart was in such a perilous place, especially if these were the thoughts that kept her in check. “Well…I dunno if the warm fuzzies are just…me. Maybe Dru made it so—”

“No, sweetheart. They’re definitely not just you.”

Her face flamed and her heart swelled. “Oh.”

“I think she cast the spell thinkin’ that we’d go into this hatin’ each other. An’ maybe it was that at first.” Spike shrugged carelessly. “Don’ reckon I ever hated you.”

“You did.”

“Can’t seem to remember it.”

She shuddered again and squeezed his hand without thinking. “I do. And I remember…well, I remember a lot of things. Just a few days ago, you weren’t too wild with the idea of…well, me in general.”

Spike frowned and tossed her a wounded look. “I seem to recall makin’ up for that,” he replied. “At least, I tried.”

With sex. The last time we were supposed to have sex. Only we did it again after deciding on the plan. Oh, and again at the Bronze.

“Are you saying that the warm fuzzies aren’t generated from the spell, then?” Buffy asked, treading carefully. “Because if they are—”

“Doesn’ really make sense for Dru to get us panting over each other and enjoying it at the same time if it’s for revenge.”

She licked her lips. “So what you feel…the non-hatred, non-wanna-rip-your-throat-out stuff…that’s real?”

Spike domed a brow. “Wait,” he said, cigarette protruding from the corner of his mouth. “Those don’ count as warm fuzzies?”

Her insides flushed cold. “In so many ways,” Buffy retorted, jerking her hand from his, “bite me.”

“That literal, pet?”

“Spike—”

“Of course I’m feelin’ something. An’ gimme your hand back.” Before she could blink, he had her fingers curled around his again. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“Obviously, yes.”

“Well—”

Logical Buffy intervened before he could speak. Suppose he said something wonderful. Suppose she melted into slayer-goo, and suppose she took this new theory at face value. It was all well and good until they discovered that the theory was just that—a theory—and the true reasoning behind their behavior was something else. And then they were back to square one. As feasible as Spike’s hypothesis sounded, they had nothing with which to support it. She couldn’t let him trap her under the illusion that everything was so readily explainable. Not when her heart was very literally on the line.

“Spike, stop.” She sighed heavily and shook her head, squeezing his hand for support in spite of herself. “The fact of the matter is, we don’t know.”

“Huh?”

She shrugged and met his eyes helplessly. God, they were so incredibly blue. She could lose herself in his eyes. “We don’t know. As wonderfully simple as your…Dru idea is, we can’t know if it’s that or something else. It could be a thousand things. Of all the demons I’ve pissed off, of all the demons you’ve pissed off, the odds of us discovering the culprit on the first guess are slim to none.”

Spike was quiet for a minute. He tore his gaze from hers and focused on the ground between them, his demeanor reminding her of a pouting child. “Second guess,” he replied insolently.

“What?”

“My firs’ guess was over infidelity, which is laughable. Dru could give a fuck about me.” Again with the odd non-caring in his voice. She really, really couldn’t read too much into that. “An’ even if I cheated on her a thousand bloody times in my head, she was the one that actually went off to shag some slimy-antlered demon.”

“I still don’t get that.”

“She din’t like me thinking about you, pet, an’ I’ve done little else since you first barreled into my life.”

Buffy blinked, stunned. “What?”

Spike smiled softly. “Don’ look so surprised. Fact of the matter is, that was my second guess.”

She looked at him for a few more dazed seconds before forcing herself to break away with a resolute shake of her head. “No. It was the first guess modified. And even so, we don’t have anything but a guess to go off of. And so we’re back to the beginning.”

“What beginning?”

“The beginning of not knowing why we feel this way.” She held up a hand before he could interrupt her. “Can you honestly say you’re positive that, once this is over, you won’t want to kill me?”

“Yes.”

Buffy blinked again. “Huh?”

Spike shrugged and grinned slightly, puffing on his cigarette. “You asked, pet.”

“Well…I don’t know if I’m positive.”

“About wanting to kill me?”

“About you wanting to kill me.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you suddenly know my feelings better than I do?”

“That’s not what I said—”

“Funny. That’s exactly what it sounded like.”

Buffy shook her head. This was not at all how she’d wanted tonight to go. “Can’t we just—”

The roar pierced the air the second before her gut twinged with a delayed spider-sense, and in a blink, Buffy found herself torn from Spike as a thick, intrusively male body barreled her to the ground. Her head smacked against a headstone hard enough to make her dizzy but not enough to knock her out. The vampire on top of her was smelly and dirty—obviously newly risen—and he was eying her like she was the prime rib special.

Fledglings, she thought irritably, moving quickly to shove him off of her. He’d interrupted her…well, argument, but he’d still interrupted. And patrol not-a-date or not, she didn’t like disruptions while she was speaking.

Something funny happened when she tried to shove him off. Her strength was zapped. Incredibly zapped.

Oh God.

The thought was accentuated with a particularly brutal punch to her face. And it was then that her body registered the pain splitting through her veins.

“Word of advice,” Mr. Smelly snarled. “If you’re walking through a cemetery, don’t get into a loud argument with your boyfriend, hmmm?”

The weight was gone the next second. Buffy sat up, gasping, just in time to see Mr. Smelly smash into the wall of a mausoleum hard enough to crack the stone.

Spike was in game face, and he looked furious.

“Dude, you’re a vampire?” Mr. Smelly said in disgust, dusting himself off. “What gives? You weren’t eating her, so I thought she was fair game. I’ll just—”

In all her years, Buffy had never seen such a display of rage. Spike roared and lunged. He didn’t just kill the fledgling; he slaughtered him. He beat him until there was nothing left to beat. Until his hands were bruised and stained with the vampire’s blood. Until the air around him was flecked with red dust. And he roared the entire time.

He made the headstones shake with the sound of his fury.

It was monstrous. It was beautiful. And it was for her.

The second the fledgling was dust, Spike growled and ran to her, collapsing to his knees at her side. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, his hands everywhere at once. “Show me where you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Buffy?”

“I’m okay,” she replied, but she didn’t feel it. Her head was spinning. Her muscles were flaccid. For the first time in four years, she felt completely powerless. “I…”

“You’re not okay,” Spike decided, lifting her into his arms. “What the fuck was that?”

“I got dizzy.”

“Is dizzy all? You’re not hurtin’, are you?” He met her eyes, and the wealth of concern burning through him warmed her insides. “You’re not hurtin’…in the way that only I can fix?”

She shook her head, but that made it worse. Her arms flew around his neck.

What is this? Why now?

“Spike…” she whimpered. “I’m…it’s all spinning.”

“I’m taking you home.”

“Spike?”

“I’m taking you home, Slayer.”

Her body protested. No, she didn’t want to go home. If she went home, the patrol non-date was over. She didn’t want it to be over. She wanted to stay out here with him. “It’ll pass.”

“Yes, an’ you’ll be home when it does.”

His tone told her that there was no arguing with him, so she gave up trying.

There was nothing to do but let Spike carry her home.

The island in the middle of the Summers’ kitchen was home to many things. A fruit bowl, a half-finished crossword puzzle, some rudimentary plans for a new branch of the gallery, and some clean dishes that both Buffy and Joyce had ignored for a few days.

It took half a second to sweep the surface clean.

“Spike—”

He wasn’t listening to her. “Gently, now,” he murmured, tenderly setting her atop the island. “Let’s see that cut.”

From the frown that marred her face, Buffy clearly hadn’t realized she was bleeding. She hadn’t, but oh, he had. With every step, he had to school his demon from growling possessively and licking the wound closed. The rich scent of her was driving him mad. She’d been hurt—a vampire had dared hurt her in front of him, and the knowledge had his demon reeling.

He needed her like he needed nothing else in this world.

“Cut?” she replied dazedly.

“Your head hit the grave marker,” Spike replied, gently turning her head to the side so he could determine just how bad it was. “When that…” Hot, burning outrage seared his insides. “When he—”

Buffy blinked rapidly and took his hand. “It’s over now.”

“He hurt you.”

“I get hurt a lot on this job.”

Spike shook his head. “Hold still, now. I’ll be right back.” He marched intently over to the sink and grabbed the nearest hand towel—one that smelled clean and looked unused—and soaked it with cold water. “You’re not supposed to get hurt when I’m with you,” he said over the hum of the faucet. “Not with me there. I could’ve stopped it.”

“We were kinda in the middle of a fight.”

Was that what that had been? Spike’s lips tugged upwards in a ghost of a smile. A lover’s quarrel? About how she was afraid his feelings for her were the product of a spell or some other ridiculous notion. He hadn’t figured that for arguing. It couldn’t be an argument; not with how bleeding ecstatic he’d been at the idea that he wasn’t the only one with feelings like that.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. Obviously, he sensed that Buffy liked him. He knew it from the way she talked with him. Looked at him. Touched him whenever they were together. Oh yeah, he knew that she liked him. He just hadn’t known it was like that. Beyond being physically drawn to each other, he hadn’t known that her feelings could ever be dubbed as, in her own words, warm fuzzies.

But she was bleeding terrified that his reciprocal feelings were the product of some poncy spell. Ridiculous. Absolutely absurd. After a century of living, and then some, he’d been under enough spells to detect when feelings were manufactured and when they weren’t.

Though he knew that she had a reason for believing the way she did. She had a thousand. And he cared for her too much to press the issue. Not now.

Not when she was succumbing to dizzy spells on patrol and nearly letting herself be done in by fledglings.

Spike was back at her side in an instant, lifting her chin with his fingers. “Hold still, pet,” he murmured, raising the washcloth to her wound. “You notice how all your head injuries of late have been when I’m around?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but her cheeks blushed prettily at the reminder. “You’re gonna give me crap for walking into the wall, aren’t you?”

“To be fair, it was hilarious.”

“For you, maybe.”

Spike grinned and nodded, dabbing the cut gently. “Well, yes.” His mirth vanished the second her eyes slammed shut and she hissed in pain, and in a blink, his outrage returned tenfold. “Did I hurt you? Am I usin’ too much pressure?”

“No.”

“Buffy—”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“You let yourself get tossed around like a sodding rag doll by a weakling vamp. I don’t think that qualifies as fine.” He frowned and pressed the towel to her cut and held for a second. “Do you have a First Aid kit around here?”

“I don’t need First Aid.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Slayer healing. It’s not that bad.” Though from the look on her face, she was having trouble selling that idea to herself. “I’m not dizzy anymore.”

“Well, then by all means, let’s toss you around a bit.”

“Spike—”

He arched a pointed brow. “First Aid?”

Buffy glared at him stubbornly for a few seconds, then sighed and motioned vaguely with her hand. “Oh, what the hell. You’re being sweet and possessive and who am I to pass that up?”

Spike grinned. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”

“It’s in the bathroom. The one upstairs. First drawer on the left.” She grabbed his arm before he could bolt, and the lack of strength behind her hold made his heart wilt. The slayer grip he’d come to cherish was gone. There was nothing behind her hold but pure human. “Quietly. I don’t think my mom’s home, but you never know. And she hasn’t quite gotten over the last time you were here.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “I was a saint the last time I was here.”

“Well, technically, the last time you were here, we had raunchy sex in my bedroom, so I don’t think that counts.” She flushed brightly, and he found the look so unbelievably cute that he had to refrain from kissing her gorgeous lips and telling her how much he adored her. “But I mean…with the killing of Angel and…stuff.”

“I was referring to that, too.”

“You weren’t a saint.”

“I was as close as I ever wanna come.” Spike kissed her cheek before he could help himself. “Don’t move, Slayer. I’ll be right back.”

It didn’t take long to find the kit, though once he had it in front of him, Spike had no earthly idea what to do with it. It wasn’t as though time and experience had granted him much need for antibiotics. Usually, just swathing wounds with a wet cloth was enough stimulation for his enhanced cells. It was one of the many perks that came with being a vampire.

It was supposed to be a perk of being a slayer, too. Buffy was the best slayer he’d ever known; she wasn’t supposed to get tossed around like a rag doll. When it’d happened, he’d been so bloody stunned that he couldn’t get his legs to move. His insides had filled with fire; his demon’s screams could have moved continents.

Spike huffed angrily, glancing up to the bathroom mirror, and was greeted with the reflection of the wall behind him. God help the git who tried to hurt her.

He found Buffy as he’d left her. Her ankles were crossed and she was gripping the edge of the island. She looked every part the warrior—injured, but not defeated. And none of that—none—had to do with strength.

Not the kind of strength that bent steel, anyway.

“Your mum’s not here,” he said, placing the First Aid kit on the counter. “So if this stings, feel free to scream your heart out.”

“I’m not going to scream,” she replied.

“Jus’ saying, the option’s open for you.” He heaved a sigh and laved a cotton swab with whatever disinfectant the kit provided, winced at the thick smell, and approached Buffy tentatively. “Here. Lean toward me, kitten.”

“Oh God.”

“What?”

“You look sick.”

“Smells bad.” He tapped his nose with his free hand. “Heightened senses can be a bloody bitch. Now, come here.”

“Look, I can do it if—”

“Bollocks to that. You think I’m not man enough to tough this thing out? Besides, you’re more important than my nose.” He grinned when she unlocked her ankles and parted her legs for him. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, stepping between her thighs. “Grab hold of my arm, luv, an’ squeeze hard if it stings.”

“If I squeeze hard, I might tear your arm off.”

Spike pursed his lips. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“Easy now,” he murmured, and dabbed her cut. Buffy hissed and her hand closed down on his arm, capturing him in a tight hold that would have been bloody painful were she at full strength. Were she at any measure of slayer strength at all.

She wasn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Spike dropped a kiss to her bare shoulder. God, she tasted sweet. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” she replied through clenched teeth.

“Of course.” He forced himself away from her heavenly heat to retrieve the bandages he’d left in the kit. “Good news is, worst part’s over.”

“You’re gonna bandage me?”

Spike blinked. “Well…yeah. It’s what you ruddy pulsers do, right? One of you gets hurt; you fix it with sticky tape an’ cotton. Or am I behind the times again?”

“Hello! Slayer, here. I’ll just tough it out.”

“What happened to me being sweet and possessive?” He held up the band-aid with a pout. “Wantin’ to patch you up isn’t being sweet an’ possessive?”

“So you’re gonna guilt-trip me into becoming Patchwork Buffy?”

Spike shrugged. “If it works. Hold still, luv.”

“You’ve said that like fifty times. Have I moved?”

He arched a brow. “Now you’re getting testy. You don’t wanna beat up on your sweet, possessive Spike, do you?”

“You’re never gonna let me forget I said that, are you?”

“It’s not lookin’ that way, no.” With cool dexterity, he slid the band-aid over her cut, and leaned back to admire his work with a grin. “There we are. All better.”

Buffy just looked at him for a minute, then blinked and sighed and averted her eyes to the empty space between them. “Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s been…a long, long time since I’ve ever needed…well, not that I know I needed anything or not…it’s been a long time since anyone really worried over me like that.”

Spike smiled. “My pleasure. Now…” He exhaled slowly and wedged himself between her thighs again. “If you’ll just hop back in my arms, I’ll carry you upstairs an’ tuck you in.”

“What?”

“If you’re lucky, I’ll even read you a bedtime story.”

“Whatever happened to walking? And…I can tuck myself in, thanks. Plus I’m all grimy and gross from patrol, and—”

“Pet, you gotta let your vanity go every now an’ then. You’re exhausted.”

“That’s not the point—”

“Make it the point for tonight, hmmm? Come on, then.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, then glanced almost reluctantly to the sanctuary his arms provided. “You’re really getting off on being the manly man, aren’t you?”

Spike shrugged and smirked wickedly. “I get off in many ways.”

“I don’t wanna know.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

Buffy stared at him a minute longer. “This,” she said, sliding effortlessly into his arms, “is humiliating.”

“If it was, you’d be walking.”

There was nothing about this that he didn’t love. The feel of her against him was remarkable—something he wouldn’t trade for all the blood in China. He loved the way she protested being the dainty female; it was refreshing, it was different. She was a woman who could take care of herself, and hated being pampered even when she deserved it.

Too often, during the last few decades of their relationship, Dru had capitalized on her illness by making Spike her all-too willing manservant—which, at the time, had been just fine with him. He hadn’t complained; he hadn’t known to complain. He hadn’t felt anything but pride in taking care of his woman.

The pride he felt in taking care of Buffy, though, was divine. He felt as though he was helping a fallen goddess—someone who didn’t reach out to many when she needed a hand, and he’d been lucky enough to be standing within reach. Buffy was so proud, so gloriously stubborn, and she wouldn’t accept help from just anyone. Similarly, she wouldn’t trust just anyone to see her weakness. To see her when she was less a deity and more a human. She was so accustomed to that bloody pedestal that her friends put her on—that her Watcher and her stupid brooding hulk of an ex put her on—that she didn’t know when to stop. When it was all right to look around and see if anyone was willing to lend her a hand, or at the very least, a willing shoulder.

Buffy didn’t depend on anyone but herself, and though she might think relying on him now was a sign of weakness, it was perhaps the strongest display he’d ever witnessed.

“Don’t s’pose you need me to help you change into your jams, do you?” Spike asked, lowering her steadily to the floor. “I…what the bloody hell is that?”

Buffy blinked dazedly. “Huh?”

He pointed to the mountain of clothing protruding from her otherwise normal-looking mattress.

“Oh,” she replied with a flush. “That. Erm…I was…having trouble. That is, I didn’t know what to wear tonight.”

“So you tried on the whole bloody town?”

“Hey! I didn’t…ummm.” Buffy shifted anxiously, pivoting on her heel and pressing her palms to his chest. “I need a minute. I need to…change. Oh.” She turned again and dove for the mountain of clothes, surfacing a minute or so later with a pair of flannel bottoms and a tank top in one hand. “I need to be in the other room to change.”

“Why?”

“I just do!” she insisted, brushing past him and marching intently toward the loo. “Don’t touch anything!”

Stubborn bint was going to shower anyway. Spike huffed and turned back to her room bemusedly. And he wasn’t supposed to touch anything? How the hell did she think she was going to get into bed over the mess she’d made? He had two hands and some time to kill—might as well make it easy for her.

It didn’t occur to him until he had the mountain successfully shoved onto the ground that the only engagement she had planned for the evening was patrol with him. She’d worried herself silly over her wardrobe for a non-date patrol…with him.

Spike found himself grinning like an idiot.

Buffy had dressed up for him. For him.

That was almost worth not breaking her trust by leaving her panties where he found them. He smirked to himself and shoved a few pairs into his duster pocket. Almost.

She didn’t leave him alone for long. Her scent hit the air the second before her voice did. God, she smelled divine.

“You touched things.”

Spike whirled around and shrugged. “Jus’ wanted to lend a hand, pet.”

She arched a brow pointedly at the pile of clothing that now resided on the floor.

“Never said I was any good at this housecleaning business.” He took a few steps forward, squinting at her bandage. “How did you manage to shower an’ not rub that thing off?”

“Feminine ingenuity,” she replied, then shuffled when his focus shifted to her scanty attire. “Don’t.”

“What?” he asked, his eyes glued to her breasts. Her nipples were saluting him through the thin fabric. God, it’d be so easy to reach out and touch her. Taste her. Caress her. He’d have her on her back and halfway to the stars before she thought to shoo him away.

“I should…” Spike expelled a deep breath and cast a hand through his hair. “I should go. Let you rest.”

Buffy’s eyes softened. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Spike…” The next thing he knew, she was pressed against him, her hands splayed across his chest. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable; the tease had vanished. It was as though she was just coming to terms with what had happened. As though she was just realizing that a vampire had been at her throat tonight, and she would’ve been dead were it not for him. Her former worst enemy. Her not-quite-boyfriend. Her not-quite anything.

Spike shivered. Boyfriend. The Slayer’s boyfriend. How was it that he suddenly craved that title above all others? What had she reduced him to?

Why didn’t he care more?

“When I…squeezed your arm downstairs,” she said slowly. “It didn’t hurt, did it?”

He swallowed. “Slayer—”

“Tell me.”

A beat. “No. It didn’t.”

“And earlier…” She frowned and trailed off. “Is this…is this another side-effect? Another symptom of…Dru’s spell or whatever?”

“I don’t know, pet. I don’t think so.”

Buffy’s frown deepened. “I could’ve…”

“No. You wouldn’t have.” He held up a hand. “I don’ bloody care if I was there or not. You’d’ve found a way to do it. To off the bastard that hit you.” The very thought made him shake. “An’ it’s prob’ly jus’ a glitch.” He swallowed hard. “You’ve been through a lot, recently. Rest up, kitten. Tomorrow’ll be better.”

He was going to walk away; he really was. But then, something strange happened. Something he couldn’t have predicted. Buffy’s small hands cupped his face, and the next thing he knew, he was in paradise. A moan scratched at his throat and his hands seized her shoulders. Her mouth whispered against his, her soft, silky tongue imploring his lips for entrance. He devoured her, determined to drown in her taste. It had only been days—Christ, just days—since he’d known the simple rapture of her kiss, but it felt like lifetimes. He’d missed her kisses. He’d missed everything. The small, panty moans she whispered against his lips. The way she thrust her hips against him, the way she rubbed against his hard, denim-clad cock as though she didn’t know exactly what she was doing. He’d missed this. God, he’d missed this so much.

But rationality shut him out. Buffy wanted him now. He could smell how much she wanted him. How desperately she wanted to lead him back to her bed and forget that tonight had happened. Forget all the bad while swallowing the good. But he couldn’t forget. Not with everything she’d told him. His body craved hers, but not in the way that had possessed him to lose control before. No, he craved her simply because he craved her. Because she was Buffy, and there was nothing to living except the want of her.

Her plan, however tortuous, had worked. The stupid thing had actually worked. They were together every night, and the pain had subsided. And he had control now. Control where he did not want it. He had the power to stop this before it turned into something she’d kick herself over.

Their argument, their lover’s quarrel, wasn’t over. Buffy didn’t think he wanted her for anything beyond what her delicious body had to offer. He was dead set on proving her wrong, and words were meaningless without action.

“Buffy,” he murmured helplessly against her lips, reaching behind his neck and seizing her wrists. “We can’t.”

She pulled back and blinked stupidly. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses.

Christ, he wanted her.

“The plan, kitten. Remember?” Spike brought her wrists to his mouth and worshipped the inside of each with a soft kiss. “I want you. I don’ think you know how much I want you. But if we do this tonight, you’re gonna regret it tomorrow. I don’t want you to go through that.” He paused, then neared to brush his lips against her brow. “I’m stopping before you become that girl.”

Buffy just stared at him in wonder.

“Pet, I’m not rejecting you. Fuck, if you need to feel how much I want you, just put your hand—”

“No. No. I…” Her head ducked and he caught the shine of what he thought were tears. And when she glanced back up, the look on her face was worth every ounce of frustration that roared through his body. “Thank you. Just…Spike, thank you.”

Warmth flooded him wholly.

He was wrong; it wasn’t just worth his body’s frustration.

It was worth the whole damn world.

“What do you mean, your strength is gone?”

Buffy looked up miserably. She’d managed to talk her mother into letting her stay home that Monday, convinced that she was sick. She felt so slack that little things, like changing clothes, had suddenly become burdensome. She hadn’t realized until she awakened how much she’d hoped that the previous night’s newbie-vamp experience had been a side effect of being near Spike. And at the time, she hadn’t bothered to acknowledge the fact that, were that so, it would not only make absolutely no sense, but also add another problem to her already lengthy roster.

Willow had called her around eleven that morning and, after listening to a considerable amount of begging, had broken one of her personal cardinal laws. In perhaps her first conscious act of academic defiance, the redhead had skipped school to spend the afternoon with her ailing friend. And while she kept casting dodgy glances to the front door, as though the mob squad would burst into the room and drag her back at any second, she seemed otherwise content to serve as the sounding board.

“Spike and I were patrolling last night, and I got attacked by a random fledgling vamp. He would’ve killed me if Spike hadn’t been there.”

Willow frowned. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Gee, you think?”

“I take it Spike saved the da…erm, night?”

Buffy inhaled deeply, trembling. Spike had done more for her last night than anyone ever had. When she’d been weak, he’d given her his strength. Never before had anyone allowed her to be the damsel, and while it was hardly a role she wanted to grow into, Spike hadn’t berated her for something she couldn’t control. He hadn’t expected more from her, hadn’t demanded more from her; had, in fact, encouraged her to rest. She’d needed help, and he hadn’t thought any less of her because of it.

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to say that her friends treated her any differently, but God, she certainly felt like they did. Xander seemed to think she was Superwoman, and was constantly disappointed when she couldn’t run faster than a speeding bullet. When bad things happened, his eyes always fell to her, silently demanding why she hadn’t done anything to prevent it.

Angel was the same way. If she slipped up, he wanted to know why. If there was an error in her judgment, he wanted to analyze every facet of her decision. If she was beaten, it was because she wasn’t strong enough. She’d let the baddies get the best of her. She’d done this. She’d done that. Anything and everything was automatically her fault, because the Powers had pointed to her in the lineup and decided it was her turn at bat. This was the only life she’d ever have, and she spent most of it feeling discouraged over things she couldn’t help. Feeling guilty for deaths she hadn’t prevented, and certainly not for lack of trying.

Buffy spent so much time trying to be a superhero that at times she’d forgotten how it felt to be human. Humans weren’t weak, as Spike’s wordless understanding had reminded her last night. There had been no condemnation in his eyes whenever she had to lean on him. When he’d carried her into her house, doctored her wounds, and carted her up the stairs like she was Scarlett O’Hara or something.

The strong-willed, strong-minded, but oh-so-female protagonist.

Spike hadn’t looked down on her for that. He’d made her realize, without saying a word, that sometimes, the strongest thing a person could do was rely on another for help.

And after that? She’d kissed him. She’d allowed her rules to fly out the proverbial window because of the way he made her feel—not as a slayer, not even as Buffy, but as a woman. As an individual who was different while still the same. Who was human while being superhuman. He’d given her so much, and without thinking, she’d cast the plan aside. The woman in her had reached for the man in him, and rather than take advantage of an emotionally confusing situation, he’d remembered enough for both of them.

He’d slaughtered the vamp that had hurt her in rage. He hadn’t used her body. He hadn’t done anything other than care for her. And in doing so, the last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. She knew without a doubt now; her heart would not survive this.

She was completely in love with Spike.

“Buffy?”

Buffy blinked and glanced up. Willow was looking at her strangely. “Oh,” she murmured. “Did I…”

“Wander off? Yes.” The redhead’s lips twitched. “I take it that I hit the nail on the head? With Spike saving the day?”

“Yes.” Damn, she hated that her voice was so shaky. “Yeah, he did.”

Willow frowned. “Buffy?”

“I don’t…” She cleared her throat and looked away quickly.

God. I love him.

It wasn’t as though the words hadn’t been floating around in her head; she’d been frightened of how deep her feelings were becoming for days now. But last night had cast aside any doubt. She was completely, insanely, and hopelessly in love with Spike. She’d never known love like this. Not with Angel; not with anyone. It felt…

Real.

Terrifying.

“I’ll…ahhh, I’ll go to school here in a while,” Buffy said softly, scratching absently at her thigh. “Talk to Giles about the…the thing that happened last night. Maybe every slayer runs out of batteries after a few years and needs a day or two to recharge or something.”

The redhead nodded helpfully. “Yeah.”

She wilted. “Or…or maybe the Powers have caught up with the news that there are two of us—two slayers, I mean—and decided that Faith should be the fulltime girl.”

“Huh? No way, Buffy. No way.” Willow frowned and shook her head furiously. “Are you kidding me? With the…it’s Faith. She’s like the dunce of all slayers. You do all her patrolling on top of yours. In the meantime, she does nothing but get into brawls and bar fights and she kills demons when she feels like it. When she needs to…ummm…”

Buffy arched a brow. Willow shifted uncomfortably.

“What’s this?”

“Well, one of those times that you and…Spike were off…at the Bronze, she came up and was all floozeyish and all over Xander.” The redhead’s green eyes flashed angrily. “Not that he minded, that unbelievable jackass. Cordy might be evil, but she doesn’t deserve being cheated on by Xander. And with Faith.”

“Xander cheated on Cordy?”

“No, but he really wanted to!” Willow nodded hurriedly. “A-at least…I think so. But Faith was going on and on about how she hadn’t gotten any good slays in and how she wanted…ummm…that. That or a fight.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Eww.”

“Yes! Exactly! Much with the eww. And there’s no way that the Powers would choose eww over you.” Willow paused. “That was an unfortunate rhyme.”

“Ahh.”

Willow was quiet for a second, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. When she spoke again, her tone was soft and considerate. “You’re not…if this no-powers thing turns out to be bigger than…you’re not worried that Spike won’t like you anymore, are you? Because you’re not the Slayer?”

Buffy froze, her eyes going wide. Truthfully, the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

“Not that he would!” Willow amended, her voice reaching a high note. “I-I mean, I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem like…he has a slayer fixation, yes, but—”

Buffy wasn’t listening. Her mind was on replay.

She knew. It wasn’t even a matter of concern.

“No,” she replied softly. Then again, louder. “No. No. Spike wouldn’t…no. It’s…he was…last night, he was…he was wonderful.”

If anything, if her powers suddenly vanished, Spike would be only second to her mother in giving her support. And even then, that was stretching it. Her calling might have brought them together, but it was also one of the things keeping them apart. No, if her powers were gone, losing Spike was at the very bottom of her concerns.

Of that list, anyway. It was probably the only list that didn’t feature her fear of losing Spike.

Whatever she was thinking must have been written all over her face.

“Buffy?” Willow asked timidly. “Ummm…did something happen with Spike last night?”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, God. It did, didn’t it? Something happened. You guys tossed out the plan? Or—”

Realization rattled her body. Buffy shook her head. “No. No. Nothing like that.” The plan failed. “No…I just…”

Willow leaned forward and placed a hand on her knee. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Buffy glanced up, blinking rapidly. “I love him.”

Then she burst into tears.

It was no longer a surprise to see Angel in the library, but Buffy couldn’t help herself. She’d just endured one of the longest crying jags in recent memory over something she couldn’t help, and while Willow had told her repeatedly that she had nothing to cry over, nothing about her current situation could be labeled okay. Her strength was gone, her heart was lost, and she still didn’t know how much could be attributed to a spell—Dru’s or otherwise.

Seeing Angel provoked a whirlwind of negativity. She needed a reason to scream; she needed a target, and he was right there.

“You know, there’s a word for people like you,” Buffy spat coldly. “Stalker.”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“No. It’s really not.” She turned her eyes to Giles, who was sitting behind the counter, thumbing through an ancient text. “And you! I need answers.”

“Hello, Buffy,” he greeted. “How was your day?”

“My day? Sucky. You know why?” She reached into her back pocket and produced a stake, then glanced to Angel. And before he had a chance to duck or even register what was happening, she hurdled it across the room in what would have been a perfect spiral aimed for his chest, and watched as it tumbled pathetically to the ground, a good five feet away from target.

“Hey!” Angel objected. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Buffy retorted, turning back to Giles. “Why didn’t that hit him?”

The Watcher’s eyes had an unusual light to them. “I don’t know. Shall we try again? I’ll hold him down, if you like.”

“Giles!”

“Giles!” Angel echoed, bending over and collecting the fallen stake from the floor, shaking it demonstratively. “She threw this at me!”

“Was that what that was?” He sniggered and shook his head. “Damn my fleeting bouts of blindness.”

“I’m way off my game,” Buffy continued, ignoring her pouting ex. “My game’s left the country. It’s in Cuernavaca. Giles, what’s going on here?”

Angel gestured emphatically. “Am I to understand that both of you are disappointed that I didn’t dust?”

They turned to him on the same dry beat and replied, “Yes,” in perfect unison before returning their attention to each other.

“It’s likely just a cold,” Giles replied airily, not meeting her eyes. “Take…forty-eight hours. I’ll have Faith cover your patrols for you.”

Buffy froze. No. No. Patrols were her time with Spike. She wasn’t about to just give that up. “Faith? Faith doesn’t even cover her own patrols. How the hell do you expect to get her to cover mine?”

Angel stepped forward. “I’ll—”

“No,” Buffy barked, not even tossing him a glance. “Giles—”

“It’s nothing. Look, you’ve been giving it a hundred and ten percent for the past few weeks. I don’t see the problem in allowing Faith to take over patrol for a night or two.” He blinked and glanced down to his text and sighed. “Besides…tomorrow is your birthday. Were you really expecting to be asked to patrol on your birthday?”

Buffy shrugged. “Hasn’t really stopped me before.”

“I thought you had a standing date with your father for ice skating.”

“Yeah, and how often has that occurred in the past three years?” She shook her head. “I’m patrolling.”

“If you’re weak—”

“I’m patrolling.” She turned to Angel and wagged her finger in warning. “And if you so much as think as of showing your abundance of forehead around my cemeteries, I’ll be throwing more than stakes at you.”

“You threw that very near the heart,” he complained.

“Yeah. Shame I didn’t make it.”

“Buffy—”

She shook her head and waved a hand. “I have to go get ready for patrol.”

This was a little thing. An incredibly little thing. It would pass. It had to.

And she wasn’t about to let Faith ruin her patrol non-date. Not for anything.

Spike didn’t like the idea of patrolling, and it didn’t occur to him until fifteen minutes before he was due to meet her that he could have looked up her number in the phone book and changed their plans. As it was, he’d spent most of his energy bolting over to her place to walk her to the hunting ground, and was only slightly shaken when no one answered his rather brutal pounding on the door.

If she wasn’t at home, she was likely coming directly from the library. And though his instincts told him to head her off along the way, he knew that, even with a town as small and pathetic as the Hellmouth, he could end up chasing her scent for hours before he finally found her. He knew where he was supposed to be, and he knew that she would be there, too.

Buffy wouldn’t be thrilled about the idea of abandoning her nightly routine, even if she was feeling under the weather. However, he wasn’t about to take another chance with her like the one last night. If it happened again, he might not be quick enough. He’d rip apart any rat bastard who was dumb enough to touch her.

In the meantime, he was hoping he could talk her into something else. Perhaps a walk or a movie or something else—and though it made him less a vampire and more a slayer-smitten man, by God, he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. There obviously wasn’t anything he could do about it—his feelings were real and they weren’t going anywhere—and it was better being the man that she could deserve and being this close than being a vampire and not having her at all.

It took less than three minutes to race from Buffy’s house to the place in Restfield where they’d agreed to meet for their non-date patrols. He was mildly concerned when he didn’t see her waiting for him, but forced himself to keep from panicking. Slayer strength or not, Buffy was incredibly self-reliant. He wasn’t going to overcrowd her with mollycoddling…but he couldn’t stop himself from worrying.

Spike began to pace, then decided that it would be better if Buffy saw him as calm and collected and not overly alarmed. He forced himself to sit atop a grave marker, his fingers immediately beating a cadence onto the surface until he occupied his hands by searching for his smokes.

A foreign scent hit him the second he lit up, and he had to fight off a grimace. It was female, and non-Buffy, and had his insides churning immediately.

“You ever hear those things’ll kill you?”

“You can imagine how much I care.” Spike slowly trailed his gaze up. It was the other one. The brunette slut-of-an-excuse for a slayer. “You’re…Faith, right?”

She grinned, pleased, and crossed her arms. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Not sure that’s something I’d be proud of, pet.”

“You’re out here waiting for Buffy, aren’t you?”

Spike stilled and blew out a cool stream of smoke. “You know, for a bint I’ve never met before, you sure do seem to take an interest in what I’m doing.”

Faith shrugged and tossed her hair. “Hey, me slayer, you vamp. I don’t need to give you a copy of the script now, do I?”

He rolled his eyes. “Somehow, you don’ strike me as the type for convention. Of all the slayers I’ve known—which is, I assure you, quite the lengthy list—I don’ believe I’ve ever had one waltz up an’ start making introductions.” He took another long drag of his cigarette and cocked his head. “Most turn arse an’ run.”

“Now, now, Willy. It’s unbecoming of you to lie to me.”

His eyes narrowed. “That's a shame, pet, 'cause I want so much to be attractive to you.”

If she heard the sarcasm dripping from his voice, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, her gaze slowly raked down the length of him and she licked her lips appraisingly. The sensation made him want to heave.

Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?

When her eyes met his again, he felt his insides recoil in disgust.

God, she didn’t honestly think I was serious, did she?

“You don’t think I know your whole sordid past?” Faith replied, arching a brow. “I know you’re out here waiting for B, which is a bust, by the way. She’s been told not to show up. And if she does, guess who gets to blow the horn?”

Panic shot to the bone. Spike was on his feet in an instant. “Why?” he demanded, forgetting himself. If she was looking to prompt a reaction and make him reveal something significant, he wasn’t doing much to stop her. Then again, she’d mentioned Buffy, so all rationality was irrevocably lost.

“Why? Didn’t you get the memo? B’s got a nasty cold. The kind that made her melt into a squishy, not to mention breakable human. We can’t have her running around thinkin’ she’s got power while the likes of you are out here waitin’ to teach her a lesson she so richly deserves.” Faith’s brows perked and she slid her hands into her pockets, taking a presumptuous step forward. “But see, the thing is, I don’t think B would mind runnin’ into a nasty if it looked like you. The girl’s got a major jones for vamps.” She paused. “From the look on your face, I’m guessin’ this is something you already know.”

Spike swallowed hard and began walking backward. Every step that she took propelled a fresh wave of nausea through his gut. But it was more than that; it was the wicked delight in her eyes. As though she knew exactly how he was reacting to her. As though she knew that he’d rather fall heart-first onto a stake than touch female skin that didn’t belong to Buffy. There was something off about her. Something dark and twisted. Something that the demon in him recognized, but rejected rather than welcomed.

Her darkness was too overbearing. Her voice struck him in the same manner as nails being dragged down the proverbial chalkboard. There was nothing appealing about her. Not to the demon. Not to the man. And perhaps that had everything to do with her not being Buffy, but to Spike, that reasoning was more than enough.

Plus, she seemed to really enjoy the fact that Buffy was elsewhere. As though she’d intentionally sought him out, knowing that he was the one to go after if she wanted Buffy hurt.

“Well, then,” he said. “I’ll jus’ be—”

She walked right up into his personal space and placed her hands on his chest, and he was hit by another wave of nausea. “What’s the rush?”

Umm, you’re psychotic?

“Look—”

“Buffy’s not here. I know she’s got you on a short leash, right?” She grinned when his eyes widened, and leaned in closer. “Oh, come on. You two haven’t exactly been discreet. If you’re gonna be her secret boyfriend, you might wanna make it more conspicuous than dates in a graveyard.”

He was paralyzed with loathing. His joints were stiff, his muscles suddenly stone. If she didn’t stop touching him, he was going to yack. And it wasn’t going to be pretty. “You stupid bint, take your hands off me.”

“Why? Buffy’s not been very giving. Thought you might want an actual ride.” Her teeth clamped down on his ear. “I’ll hold more than your hand.”

That was it. Spike’s bumpies burst through his human face and he seized her shoulders, thrusting her away from him in disgust. He wanted to lash out, make her bleed; make her scream until she begged for mercy for even hinting at what she’d practically shoved down his throat. However, his body was overwhelmed with dizzy sickness. He couldn’t move very well, let alone give her the arse-kicking she so richly deserved. “Get away from me,” he growled, coughing and reaching for a gravestone to maintain balance. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“Aww! You’re faithful! That’s so sweet.” She neared again. “But then, so was my driving instructor. Didn’t stop him from screwing me senseless in the backseat of the driver’s-ed car. So was that cop that let me off the DWI for the price of a blowjob. So was—”

He was shaking with a combination of revulsion and outrage, the inner roaring drowning out her litany of sexual indiscretions—thank the bloody maker. His demon was clawing at his skin from the inside, screaming to rip the chit limb from bloody limb. If she touched him again, all bets were off. He’d let the beast go. He’d cast the human in him aside and let the beast go. And if that happened, he’d tear her apart.

“You don’t strike me as a vanilla kinda guy,” Faith observed. “Lord knows I’ve needed a good ride—”

Spike roared and swung at her, sending her to the ground with a deliciously satisfying crash. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he demanded. “You stupid—”

The next thing he knew, her foot collided with his chest, and he was sent spiraling back until he smashed against a mausoleum wall.

“Don’t tell me she’s got you tamed, too!” Faith shouted angrily. “You fucking coward. You’re all a bunch of cowards! Angel hiding behind his soul. Can’t betray little Miss Buff even though she’s out fucking another vamp, one already sans conscience who can’t be—”

Spike’s eyes widened and he rolled to his feet. “So that’s it, then? Whatever Buffy has, you gotta take?”

Faith shrugged. “She’s got so many things she doesn’t deserve. Angel’s loyalty? Where the fuck does she get off keeping him so damn faithful to her while she’s out doing evil—that’d be literally—every night? Her precious Giles doesn’t seem to mind, either. That nice house, her mom, her perky little friends…she screws up, and everyone turns a blind fucking eye. I screw up, and I got a fucking Inquisition breathing down my neck.”

He laughed humorlessly. “So, what? You think offerin’ yourself as a piss-poor consolation prize is gonna even the odds? Do you have any idea how many times you’d have to kill me before I’d even consider touching you? I can barely hold down my lunch long enough to kill you right an’ proper. You’re disgusting.” The flash of anger behind her eyes was delicious. “An’ that’s what this is about, innit? Buffy has everythin’ an’ you’ve got nothing. Boo bloody hoo. You’ve come to the wrong bloke if you’re lookin’ for pity. Tell me, how much have you worked for? How much have you sacrificed? How much do you deserve?” He punctuated his point with a severe right hook, his demon cackling with glee when she was sent crashing back to the earth. “Fuck, I don’ even know you, an’ I know the answer to that. Nothing. You deserve nothing. An’ that’s what you’re gonna get from me. Nothing. An’ you’ll never get it from anyone else, either. Not anyone with a bloody brain on their shoulders. There’s a reason she has more than you. She’s better than you. An’ you’ll never have what she has.”

“You’re smitten with her,” Faith panted, wiping blood off her chin. “And what do you get outta it beyond a stiff dick? I’ve seen you two together. She’s stopped putting out now, and she doesn’t let you touch. Never lets you touch.”

Spike’s eyes flared. “Better a saint than a whore.”

Faith shook her head. “She’s limp. She’s a fucking rag doll. If it’s strength you’re looking for, she has none.”

He laughed incredulously. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You have no idea how often I hear that.”

“So Buffy goes human an’ you think you can wheedle in an’ try to take more of what she has?” Spike shook his head. “You think that her being a slayer has anything to do with…” He broke off. “You know, you’re not even worth the air I don’t breathe.” He stomped over angrily and smashed his foot into her head with a swift kick. She collapsed, unconscious, and his demon roared his triumph. “Nighty night.”

He didn’t get two steps away. Spike stopped cold.

Buffy was standing just a few feet away, her eyes shining with tears and her jaw slack.

“Spike,” she gasped, trembling.

Something within him snapped, and a growl hissed through his fangs. She was there. She was right there. And he was in pain. He’d been touched by another female, and he needed Buffy. He needed her hands on him to wash the ache away. He needed her so much. He needed to protect her. He needed to touch her. He needed to hold her. He needed to fuck her. He needed everything.

Something snapped. Conscious thought was shoved aside. The man was gone in a blink.

And all that was left behind, raging with need, was the beast.

She’d seen it happen. She’d seen Spike look at her and then vanish. She’d seen the demon overpower him, and the only thing that terrified her more than being alone with him—with the side of him that hated without prejudice—was the knowledge that she’d recognized it. The knowledge that there had been no doubt. No fleeting bout of confusion. Spike was there and then he wasn’t, and she knew it.

His eyes were burning amber and he was growling softly as he dragged her away from the slayer that he’d left unconscious among the gravestones. Buffy didn’t try to fight him. His grip was ironclad and she hadn’t the strength to protest. Though if those fangs turned to her throat, she wouldn’t stop herself from screaming bloody murder.

Only for the way the demon’s thumb kept rubbing circles into her wrist, she didn’t think that it was his intention to hurt her.

“Spike?” she asked, feeling weak and idle. Her eyes were still wet with tears. Tears prompted by his words, his righteous defense of her honor as he kicked the living hell out of Faith. He’d moved her so much, and he’d been gone before she could tell him. Buffy gasped at his answering growl, and barely had time to collect her thoughts before he shoved her against a mausoleum wall. “Spike, it’s Buffy. Do you—”

The next thing she knew, his lips were tearing kisses from hers, sucking her tongue into his fanged mouth as he pulled her hips against him so that his hard cock was cradled in the valley between her legs. Her panic evaporated into lust, and she didn’t even have time to contemplate what that meant—craving Spike’s demon alongside Spike himself—before he pulled away with a snarl and shoved her to her knees.

“Spike?”

His demon eyes flashed with a sort of primal recognition, but nothing more. He answered with a twisted growl as his hands ripped at his fly. And when she gasped in realization of his intent, he took her open mouth as an invitation and stuffed his cock down her throat.

“Mmphhff!”

He slammed against her with a few quick thrusts, his balls slapping her chin. Buffy was paralyzed with a strange combination of fear, disgust, and arousal; she’d never done this before. She’d never had her mouth around a cock before, and truth be told, she hadn’t given the whole oral thing a lot of thought until Spike roared back into her life. Until their incredibly physical relationship took off with a giant bang.

Now it was happening. She could barely believe it was happening. Her head rocked against the fierceness of his thrusts and the instant she tried to do anything but sit dumbly with her mouth open, her gag reflex kicked in and she choked.

God, she was pathetic. Dru probably never choked when things got a little rough.

She choked again when the head of his cock stabbed the back of her throat. Spike growled, then jerked roughly, his snarls melting to helpless gasps. He blinked rapidly and glanced down. “Buffy?” His erection slipped out of her mouth and she looked up, her cheeks flaming. If the world had any mercy, it would provide a hole for her to fall through before her humiliation was complete.

“Oh God.” Spike dropped to his knees, the face of his demon melting away, his eyes wide with horror. “Your mouth. Your pretty little mouth.” He kissed her lips sweetly. “I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry, Buffy. I have no idea what…I jus’…” It shook her, how hard he was trembling. “I din’t mean to…I never meant to force you to…” His lips grazed the corner of her mouth with a tremulous sigh. “I never meant to make you…do that.”

She blinked dazedly. “Spike?”

He kissed her chin. “God, your mouth’s all bruised.”

He’d stopped her. Buffy blinked again, realization stunning her cold. He’d stopped her. She didn’t know why that stung so much. It wasn’t like she’d been any good at it—hell, she’d choked on what he’d shoved down her throat. No, she wasn’t any good, but she’d wanted to try. After what he’d said to Faith, after everything he’d done for her, she’d wanted to give herself to him for whatever he needed. Whatever his demon needed. And at that moment, for some reason, he’d needed her lips around his erection.

“Was I that horrible?” she sniffed. “Lemme try again. I’ll do better.”

Spike’s head reeled back, his eyes swimming in confusion. “Sweetheart?”

Her hand dove for his stiff cock, and she flushed with womanly pride at his answering moan. “Let me try. I’ll do better.”

“Buffy, you didn’t do anything wrong. I—”

She cut him off with a fierce kiss, her flush warming when he whimpered against her lips. “Let me try,” she murmured, trailing a path of kisses down his neck and chest. “Stand up.”

Spike moaned in protest. “Buffy—”

“Stand up.”

The conflict in his eyes was jarring, but he didn’t deny her. Instead, he nodded fiercely, kissed her, and rose to his feet. It wasn’t until she was staring at his cock again that she lost her nerve. He looked so…

“Big.”

Spike chuckled and slid his fingers up and down his length. “You bring it out in me.”

“Spike…”

He glanced down at her, and the humor in his eyes vanished. She didn’t know what did it; the change was so sudden. “Fuck,” he gasped, his jaw clenching. “Buffy…please.”

“Please what?” She didn’t mean to be ornery. Her nerves were just pulling a massive number on her. Her hand tentatively reached up and curled around his cock, and she licked her lips in anticipation. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I don’t know what to do.”

“For Chrissake pet, suck me or stand up. Stroke me or stake me. Jus’ make up your mind!” Spike was shaking hard, his eyes blazing yellow again. “I can’t look at you if you…not when you’re on your knees in front of me. I can’t take it. And I don’t want you doing something you don’ wanna do. You don’t—”

Buffy drew in a sharp breath and brushed a hesitant kiss over his silky head, and the moan that ripped through him made her blood sing. “Just tell me what to do,” she whispered shakily, her hands dropping into her lap again. “Please, Spike. I’ve never…this is another…another—”

“First?” he ventured, a ghost of a smile floating across his lips.

She nodded. “Uh huh,” she replied, sliding her right hand up his leg slowly until she was cupping his balls. “I…what do you like?”

“Your mouth.”

“Oh.”

“Buffy…please. It’s you. It’s your hands an’ your mouth, an’ do you honestly think I’m not gonna bloody well treasure whatever you give me?” He ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp in a way that made her feel cherished. “Jus’…oh God.”

Her tongue circled his sensitive head again before drawing him completely into her mouth. The sensation was odd but not unpleasant. Buffy murmured experimentally around him and reveled in the long whimper that rippled through his body. The idea that she could do so much to him by doing so little was heady, especially considering the wealth of things he did to her. The wealth of what he’d given her, none of it deserved.

What he’d said to Faith meant the world to her, and she was determined to show him.

“That’s it, pet,” he murmured. “That’s jus’ perfect, there.”

Perfect? She hadn’t done anything.

“Take me in,” Spike urged softly, thrusting his hips forward. “As far as you can go. Let me know if it’s too much.” Buffy nodded and he moaned. “An’ your hand…massage my balls with your hand.”

The request sounded illicit and dirty, but she wasn’t about to back away. She’d asked for this, and he was letting her explore. Letting her try this thing that seemed daunting and forbidden and symbolized everything she wasn’t. The girl in her was running scared, but the woman was taking over. The woman who wasn’t a vamp-slaying machine—the woman who was growing into her femininity. Spike had done so much to bring the woman out without even realizing it, and now the woman wanted more. The woman wanted to know what it would take to keep him. Her inexperience notwithstanding, there was nothing she wasn’t willing to try now that she knew that she loved him.

Spike hummed in approval when her fingers began gently kneading his sac. “Ohhh, yeah,” he purred. “That’s it, kitten. Now take more of me into…ahhh, that’s a good girl.”

Buffy flushed and bathed him with her tongue, drawing back just enough that the tip of him was still in her mouth and sucking delicately. “Keep talking,” she whispered, wrapping her left hand around the base of his cock.

“You feel like heaven,” he growled. “Do you have any idea how often I’ve dreamt of this? Of…oh, God, of your lips wrapped around me? Your tongue licking me into bloody oblivion? You feel so wonderful. So…”

She sighed around him, the hand around his cock pumping in time with her mouth, her left hand squeezing his balls every time the tip of him met her lips. His small, encouraging whimpers soon drove her nerves away, and then she settled, relaxed, sucking his skin and squeezing him as tight as she dared. Spike gasped and tossed his head back, and the sight was so gorgeous she couldn’t help but gasp.

“Oh fuck,” he roared, blinking. “You’re perfect.”

He slid from her mouth with a wet plop. “I am not,” she objected, her hand stroking him fervently, her cheeks burning.

“Oh my God.”

“Spike—”

“Kiss the underside. Ohhh, yeah, that’s it. God, your mouth is so bleeding perfect.” She parted her lips to object again and, for the second time that night, found her mouth full with his cock; only when she looked up this time, a knowing leer teased his lips.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “I can smell how much you love it. How wet it makes you. You love knowing what you do to me. How hard you make me. How much I want you. How I always want you.”

She moaned around him, and his experimental thrusts grew more pronounced.

“You love this,” Spike repeated. “Nod for me, baby. Let me know you love it.”

She nodded.

“Ohhhh, yeah…again.” He hissed and fisted a handful of her hair, and his body tensed. “Oh my fuck. Buffy. Stop. You gotta stop.”

Her mouth froze around him as her heart stopped. When she glanced up, his crystal eyes were blazing with need.

“Get up,” he said quickly. “Get up. Lift your skirt.”

“Spike—”

An impatient roar tore through his lips, his hands gripping her shoulders and dragging her back to her feet. Then her skirt was bunched around her waist and her panties ripped clean off her body. The silky head of him rubbed against her sopping flesh, his thumb settling over her clit.

“Say it,” he growled against her mouth, his cock teasing her slick pussy lips as he pressed her back against the mausoleum wall. “Say you want me. Say it!”

“I want you,” she sobbed, nodding desperately. “Please, Spike.”

He grinned and kissed her, sinking into her body with a groan of completion. “God, how I’ve missed this,” he moaned, his mouth dropping to her throat as he began moving inside her. “I’ve missed your warmth so much.”

Buffy threw her head back, her arms linking around his neck. “I’ve missed this, too.”

“Your plan’s driving us dodgy, luv.”

She knew it. God, how she knew it. Now with Spike’s cock driving into her pussy rhythmically, his hands mapping the contours of her body as his mouth worshipped her skin…yes, she’d missed this. She’d missed the peaks her body scaled when joined with his. And even more so now—now that she knew she loved him, having him inside her took on more meaning than she could have anticipated. Now that she knew she loved him, everything had changed.

He felt so different, but he was the same. His kisses were the same. The fire in his eyes was the same. The hands that caressed her were the same. The tongue that licked at her skin was the same. She absorbed him, committed him to memory. Engrained him where she could keep him forever, even after he’d left.

After he’d gone back to the place he truly belonged.

Spike slipped a hand beneath the hem of her shirt and stroked her skin, his mouth nibbling a series of wet kisses back to her lips. “You feel so good. God, you feel good.”

“You do, too.”

He smiled and kissed her. “Buffy.”

“Hmmm?”

“Our first second.” He buried his face in her throat, his fingers slipping under the underwire of her bra to caress her naked breast. His right arm hooked around her waist as his thrusts grew harder. “This is our first second.”

Her eyes watered and she trembled hard around him. Spike had done the impossible; he’d given her what no man ever had before. A second. A second time doing anything. They’d had sex several times now, sure, but somehow, Spike always reminded her that he was giving her yet another first in whatever they did. And he relished that. He loved giving her firsts almost as much as she loved experiencing them. She wanted him giving her firsts in everything.

But now he’d given her something no man ever had. And yes, it was something small—second time outside against a wall at night—but the fact that he’d noticed meant the world.

Spike’s hand abandoned her breast and slid between them once more, his mouth dropping to suck at her nipples through the thin material of her blouse. He was rocking her against the wall, rubbing her clit between his thumb and forefinger as his cock worked her pussy. He murmured unintelligible adorations around her breast, stroking her clit until she cried out and spasmed around him, clutching at him helplessly.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he murmured.

“Ohhh…”

“I love it. God, I love how you feel when you come around me.” He raised his head slowly, his fingers continuing their cool manipulation of her sensitive pearl as his body pushed forward for his own release. “I love feeling your pussy tighten around me. I love the li’l sound you make. You’re a siren. You’re a bloody siren. An’ you’re all mine.”

She felt slick and sensitive, and every time he slid back into her, every time he caressed her aching clit, her body cried out in strained pleasure. It was too much. It was all too much. She was trembling and he was going to send her over the edge again. Right along with him.

“Yes,” he growled, his thrusts sharpening again. “I wanna feel you come again, baby. You’re gonna come with me.”

Buffy shook her head in desperation, trying futilely to ignore the hot rush that flooded her veins. “I can’t.”

“Never say never.”

He was right, of course. He was always right. It didn’t hurt that his fingers almost grazed the bite mark on her inner thigh. Almost. Not quite. The near-contact of her overly-sensitive flesh with his was all she needed. As he growled and spilled himself inside her, her body exploded into bliss.

There had never been a feeling like this before. Never. Spike purred as she came down, nuzzling her tenderly, murmuring into her throat and hair and stroking her with hands that loved her. At the very least, his hands loved her.

“We forgot the plan again,” Spike breathed against her ear.

Buffy just laughed. Right. The plan. The plan. The one that she’d come up with to guard her heart. The one that had betrayed her. Her heart had surrendered, and she was already sick with the thought of what was to come.

What would happen in the end.

But for now, she had these moments with him. These brief interludes between attempts to get back on the plan. When she could calm his monster by giving over more of herself. When she could hold him and let him give her firsts, and not worry about the plan or consequences of getting off the plan until afterward. When she could pretend that she wasn’t digging her own grave a little deeper. She had this. The break. The intermission. The stolen moments.

At least until the sun came up and she found herself heartsick all over again. She had this until then.

Chapter 34

She stifled a tired yawn and shifted in his lap, blissfully blocking out the rather abrasive voice of Logical Buffy, as well as the knowledge of the ticking clock. Soon, the hours of the night were going to be spent, and she’d need to rush home before her mother found her bedroom empty.

For the moment, though, she was happy to ignore everything. She was resting comfortably in his lap, dressed only in her ankle-length skirt and her bra, as her top had been rather literally ripped off just an hour or so ago.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, slap-happy with exhaustion and too many orgasms to count. She would definitely never look at sleeper-recliners the same way again. “You’re comfy.”

Buffy loved the way his chest rumbled beneath her when he chuckled. “Gotta say, luv,” Spike murmured, rubbing her back gently. “I’ve been called many things. Comfy isn’t one of them.”

She grinned and lifted her head from his shoulder, her eyes dancing. “So that’s a first, then?” she asked eagerly.

He matched her smile, and warmth filled her wholly. “It is, at that.”

Buffy just giggled drunkenly and fell against his shoulder again, tightening her arms around him. “Yay.”

“Yay?”

“I finally found a first to give you.”

His lips brushed her brow. God, she loved it when he did that. When he kissed her cheek, her forehead, her hands, her chin—anything. Small gestures like that meant the world to her. “I assure you, luv,” he murmured. “You’ve given me many firsts.”

Buffy shook her head with a goofy grin. “You’re just trying to butter me up.”

“Mmmm…yeah, but in my defense…” He leered at her nastily, his left hand sliding under the hem of her skirt. A gasp tore from her throat and she parted her legs for him before she could stop herself. Spike just grinned and cupped her pussy, his thumb finding her clit and massaging her gently. “I love it when you’re buttery.”

“Ohhh…”

“I love the sounds you make. I love the way your eyes flutter shut. The way you pant an’ moan for me.”

Her exhaustion-induced goofiness combined with the incredible sensation of Spike stroking her clit made her especially lightheaded. “Ohhh…” she whimpered, her eyes falling closed as though by his suggestion alone. “That feels…”

“Incredible?” he ventured, suckling at her throat.

“Uh huh. Only I don’t…ohhhh…pant and moan.”

Spike smiled against her throat. “I think you do.”

She began moving her hips against his hand, her head flying back when his fingers slipped past her pussy lips and into her body. “You can think…that…but you’re wrong.”

“I don’t think I am.” Spike kissed her collarbone, pulling his head back so that his eyes could take her in. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.”

“Uhhhh…”

“I wish you’d let me taste you here,” he murmured, rubbing her clit and eliciting a sharp gasp. “Your scent drives me outta my bloody head. I wanna bury my face between your legs. I wanna see you up close.”

The thought was nearly too much. In a blink, Buffy was back in the factory, chained to Spike’s bed. His mouth was sucking at her clit, his fingers thrusting into her pussy, small growls ringing through his throat as he swallowed her whole. Aside from the fear, it had been one of the most erotic moments of her life.

But if he went down on her, he’d see the bite mark, and the thought had her thoroughly unnerved. Not for the reasons she’d initially given herself to keep the bite a secret; no longer did she think something terrible would happen if she revealed exactly what had happened that night. At first, it had been about downplaying Spike’s guilt. Despite the tangle of confused feelings that night had given her, it hadn’t taken long to determine that the long-term emotional scars were far heavier on Spike’s side than hers. Letting him know that he’d pierced her flesh with his fangs would only make it worse for him.

After she’d discovered that touching the bite mark was literally orgasmic, it had ceased being something wrong and had become something private. Something that she did nightly to quench her thirst for Spike’s touch. She’d kept it from Giles and Angel to make sure they didn’t try to blame her growing feelings for Spike on his fangs. And now that she and Spike had a new, albeit strange, understanding, she wanted to let him know. She wanted to show him what he’d done, and confide both how wonderful it’d felt, and how much she enjoyed having the mark touched.

But then she’d have to own up to having hid the mark in the first place, and she didn’t know how he’d react to that. And true, she couldn’t keep him from seeing it forever, especially if whatever they had continued once the spell was broken. If it didn’t—if her fears proved accurate and Spike left her—then there was no harm done.

If not, then she’d cross the oh-by-the-way-you-bit-me bridge when she came to it.

Although, the thought of Spike knowing about the mark—as well as knowing what it did to her—sent anticipatory shivers down her spine. She imagined him perched attentively between her legs, his lips and tongue laving the bite as his fingers played with her clit and thrust inside her pussy. The thought alone unmade her completely.

“I want it,” Spike continued heatedly, his thumb stroking her clit quickly now. His eyes soaked her up, and shone with every whimper that crossed her lips. “I wanna suck on your pretty little pearl till your eyes cross. I wanna slip my tongue inside that juicy quim of yours and taste you as you spend. Fuck, Buffy, I want it so bad.”

He pinched her clit, and she came hard on his fingers, his name wringing from her lips as her body spasmed around him. She buried her face in his throat and licked at his skin, shivering when he inhaled sharply. She felt his cock nudging her through his jeans. He’d been so good about zipping himself up earlier to avoid further temptation, though they’d both done their best not to fall asleep so that the clause to the plan was still in effect.

It took a few minutes for the haze surrounding her head to dissipate.

“You’re so beautiful when you come,” Spike murmured, fingering a bra strap as he dropped a kiss to her shoulder.

Warmth rushed to her cheeks. “I…ummm…I don’t know what to say when you tell me things like that. You…it…”

“Butters you up?” He suggested with a grin. “Imagine what’ll happen when I have a chance to eat your pussy without bein’ pissed out of my mind.”

“Spike—”

“I know I hurt you the firs’ time, Buffy, but…” He released a long sigh. “What you did for me earlier…that was bloody…I jus’ want you to experience it. An’ since you’re shagging only me for the rest of your life or else joining a convent—which would be a bloody waste, so don’t do it—I’m the only one who can give it to you.”

Buffy inhaled sharply. “Spike…I…” Am too terrified of what you’ll say when you see what else you did that night. “I just…I need time.”

He was quiet for a long minute, then flashed a small grin. “Yeah. Of course,” he agreed, nodding tersely. “’Sides, we’re still under the plan.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. The plan.”

“With an amendment.”

“Yes.” Buffy licked her lips. “Which…okay. The amendment. If we…fall off the wagon, so to speak, we let ourselves enjoy it until the next day?”

“Yes.”

Isn’t that just incentive to break the plan as much as possible?

She didn’t say that, but it must have been all over her face, because Spike’s chest rumbled with a long chuckle. “I was wondering when you’d come back to that,” he mused. “An’ yeah, while knowing I can have a night shagging you brainless anytime I like by falling off the wagon is too bloody tempting for words, I’m only proposing that we make what we’ve done every time we’ve detoured from the plan, a part of the plan.”

“Okay…”

“Meaning, luv, that if we go a couple days without seeing each other, or my demon decides to…get rough…” The light in his eyes dimmed, and she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly to let him know, yet again, that she was all right. “If something happens like it has happened, we jus’ go with it. Like we did that night at the Bronze—”

“There was just fondling after that.”

“Well, if we’d had an amendment to the plan, there would’ve been a whole lot more.”

Buffy flushed. “Well…”

“An’ isn’t inappropriate fondling also against the rules?”

“You’re forgetting appropriate fondling.”

Spike grinned. “Balls. How could I forget?”

“I don’t know, but you did.”

“’m just saying, if we end up in a situation like tonight or that night at the Bronze, the rules are already broken, so we might as well toss ‘em completely. That way, we get it completely out of our systems an’ can climb back on…” He frowned. “You know this wagon metaphor is bloody confusing since we’re talking about sex.”

Her blush deepened. “It’s a good idea,” she admitted. “Your…amended plan, that is. It’s a good idea.”

“It’s a plan based on indulgences, luv,” Spike said. “There’s no benefit from it.”

“There’s nothing lost, either.”

He quirked a brow and tilted his head, studying her intently. “You sure?” he asked. “I don’t…I’m not gonna lie to you, baby, I’m looking out for what I want on top of what I know you want. What’s good for you, based on what you’ve told me. If you don’t wanna go along with this, I won’t hold it against you. Fuck, I’m surprised you haven’t given me a much-deserved slap.”

“I wouldn’t slap you.”

“I’d deserve it.”

“Deserving or not, I wouldn’t slap you.” She grinned. “I’d punch you. Slaps are for wimps, not slayers.”

Spike waggled his brows. “So why din’t you punch me?”

“Well, because I don’t particularly think it was deserving of a punch. And…” Buffy sighed and trailed off, and it only took Spike a minute to close his eyes and mutter a curse. “It’d actually be better for me to try and…slap right now.”

“God, pet, I’m such a berk.” He paused then, his eyes going wide. “Oh, fuck, tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

“Spike…”

“I’m serious. Tell me I din’t hurt you. God, I was so rough with you outside. An’ then in here…” He drew in a sharp breath and shuddered. “I can’t…please tell me I—”

“Spike, if you’d hurt me, I would have said something. Pain and Buffy? Not so mixy…especially when Buffy has no super strength to rely on.”

He willed his eyes closed and exhaled slowly. “You should have reminded me.”

“There wasn’t a need, silly.”

“Bugger that! I could’ve—”

“But you didn’t. Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna break if you knock me over. I might be at normal human strength, but considering how hard I work out, my normal human strength isn’t something to scoff at.” She shivered. “Giles doesn’t seem too worried about it.”

Spike stiffened. “He isn’t?”

“He thinks it’s just a cold or something. And he told me that Faith would take my patrols until it was over.”

“Faith can stuff it.”

Buffy rolled her eyes dryly. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“I swear, Slayer, if I see her again, I’m gonna bloody rip her apart.”

“I really don’t mind, either.”

“So you’re giving me permission to do in my third slayer?”

She blinked and reeled back, affronted. “There will be no doing of any kind!”

Spike made a face and shivered. “God, Buffy, don’t make me sick.”

“It’s only fair. I’ve been sick over this thing with you. Quite literally.”

“That’s because you snogged Angel. That was all your bloody fault. You’re the only woman I’ve touched since I came back to town, an’—”

Her eyes darkened. “And it’ll stay that way.”

Spike grinned. “Of the two of us, who’s snogged someone else?”

“Hey! You were mean to me that night. I was—”

He batted a dismissive hand. “Excuses.”

“I think my absolutely spectacular hurling on Angel more than made up for the part where I accidentally kissed him.”

He arched a brow. “Accidentally?”

“Well, obviously I wasn’t thinking with a right mind.”

“You’d have to be in a wrong state to snog Angel in the firs’ place.”

Buffy sniggered appreciatively. “Where were you all last year?”

“Thinking that, but obviously not in a right mind to do anything about it.”

“So basically, there’s been a lot of wrong-mindedness going around.”

Spike shrugged. “Yeah, that seems fair.” He was quiet for a second. “About the other slayer, though…I’m bloody serious. If she touches me again—if she sodding approaches me again, I don’ know what I’m gonna do, but it won’t be pretty.”

“You really didn’t like her, did you?”

He shook his head. “I really din’t like her.”

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” Buffy shuddered. “Faith…she’s tried to take so much from me. And…when I saw she was with you…before I heard what you were saying…well, let’s just say, I had the very strong urge to do some limb-ripping myself.”

Spike was quivering beneath her fingers, and though she hated to see him so discomfited, she loved knowing that it was an aversion to Faith that brought it on. “She disgusts me,” he said. “She’s a…she jus’…I swear it, Slayer, if she tries to—”

Her mouth dropped to his shoulder. “If she tries,” she murmured, kissing his skin. He shivered violently, and when she looked up again, his eyes were bright with awe. “Get in line. But until my slayer strength is back, Giles wants—”

“Your Watcher should be less concerned with your patrols an’ more concerned with the fact that your strength is gone.” Spike shook his head in disbelief. “You told him?”

“Well, I tried using telepathy, but we haven’t hit that chapter yet in the Slayer Handbook.”

Her sarcasm was lost on him. “You told him an’ he din’t care?”

“He cared, he just didn’t seem to think it was a thing.”

“An’ if I hadn’t been there last night to stop that wanker from offing you?” Spike demanded, his eyes blazing. “What if you’d been hurt or…what would the professor have said then?” He broke off, seething. “Did you show him? Did you make it clear—”

“I threw a stake at Angel.”

Spike paused. “You what?”

“Angel and Giles have become best buddies, it seems. Angel’s always there when I go to see Giles.” She held up a hand before he could object. “I don’t know why. I don’t think Giles even knows why. He just is. But today, I threw a stake at him to demonstrate how my aim is totally off.”

The astonishment on Spike’s face melted into mirth, and in a blink, he was laughing hysterically. “You…at Angel?”

Buffy squirmed, feeling oddly proud of herself. “Yup.”

“I can only imagine the look on the git’s face.”

“He whined.”

“Imagine that.”

“And Giles told me to take forty-eight hours to get better.” She sighed. “So…if, after tomorrow, I’m still feeling like a weakling, then I’ll panic. But I’m determined to have a good birthday this year. I want very much to not have little kids suck me into their nightmares or my boyfriend lose his soul.” She froze and shot him a panicked look. “You’re not gonna go on a killing spree the likes of which can only be stopped by a sword through the heart and a one-way ticket to Hell, are you?”

Spike just blinked and looked at her. “Slayer…am I to understand that you’re calling me your boyfriend?”

“Just please…if you’re gonna go psycho serial killer on me, don’t do it tomorrow.”

“I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you, love.” He shrugged. “Got no soul to lose.”

“It’s sad the way that reassures me.”

Spike chuckled. “So tomorrow’s your birthday…anything special you want?”

“I’d like my strength back.”

“I’ll move the heavens to make it so.”

When he said things like that, what else was there to do but melt?

Spike brushed his lips across her brow. “Anything sparkly?”

“You’re gonna do some last-minute shopping while I’m at school tomorrow?”

He shrugged. “A bloke’s gotta occupy his time somehow. An’ I gotta think of another first to give you the next time we fall off the wagon.”

“Because of our amendment.”

“That’s right.”

Buffy giggled. “If I didn’t think it’d turn Willow an interesting shade of red, I might talk her into typing up a contract so that the rules are official.”

“I thought the rules were official.”

“A contract never hurt anyone.” She sighed and pressed her brow to his shoulder. “I should really get up and go home.”

“Only if, by that, you mean dress in something of mine an’ come with me downstairs.”

“Spike, it’s getting to that special time of night where I’m so sleepy that I’m becoming awake.”

“I know, pet.”

“I can’t fall asleep here. Mom’ll wig out.”

Spike shrugged, tightening his arms around her when she tried to wiggle off his lap. “You’re the Slayer. You have slayer-like things to do. Jus’ tell her that you were dealing with a dangerous vampire all night.”

“She knows I’m weakened. You really think that’ll make her feel better?”

“Well, seeing as you’ll be right in front of her with no scrapes or bruises when you explain where you were—”

“Spike—”

His grip was unrelenting. The more she tried to climb to her feet, the tighter his embrace became. “I’m holding you hostage,” Spike declared. “You’re my hostage.”

“Spike, really—”

“You’re free to try an’ beat me off if you like.” He paused, then grinned nastily. “Actually, I could really get into that.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“Buffy—”

“I have to go to school tomorrow, and I can’t wear this. I can’t wear the same thing two days in a row.”

“So you can wear something of mine.”

She perked a brow. “To school?”

“It’d be a great birthday present.”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Ahh, that’s right.” Spike smiled into her eyes. “Jus’…stay with me this once? I won’ break the rules, I bloody swear. I won’t touch. I won’t fondle. I jus’ wanna hold you tonight. You can make up whatever nasty story about me that you want to your mum. Let me sleep beside you.” He plucked the strap of her bra and dipped his head to nibble at her shoulder. “’Sides, I broke your shirt.”

“You tore it.”

“Yes. An’ you can only have one of my shirts if you’re wearing it with my jeans to school tomorrow. Else you’ll jus’ have to walk home in your knickers.”

“Yeah, but you broke those too. And like you’d allow that anyway.”

“Never say never, pet.” He waved a little. “Evil, remember?”

“Oh, there’s no need to remind me.”

“Stay with me tonight. It’s so late it’s early. Stay with me, an’ sleep through your first class.” He kissed the pulse point of her throat. “I’ll write you a note an’ everything.”

She giggled. “A note?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re adorable.”

“An’ comfy.”

“Totally comfy.” She leaned in and stole a kiss from his totally sinful lips, and felt the last strings of her resistance melting away. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll stay. Okay, I’ll worry my mother to death. Okay, I’ll wear your clothes to school tomorrow. Okay, I’ll sleep beside you. Okay to all the above.” She kissed him again. “You know why?”

“’Cause I’m adorable an’ comfy?”

“That helps.”

“An’ totally irresistible?”

“There’s that. But really?” Buffy grinned. “It’s a great birthday present.”

“I’ll say.”

“And you have a bed?”

Spike nodded, leaping to his feet before she could blink. She would have tumbled to the ground had his arms not been around her. As it was, she just squealed and clung to him, and enjoyed the rumble of his amused chuckle. “It’s downstairs,” he said.

Buffy blinked in surprise. “You have a downstairs?” she asked in the same tone.

“I’m a man of many surprises.”

That he was. He totally was. The entire night had been a surprise—an emotional rollercoaster, if she’d ever known one. And while spending the night with him might be yet another in a series of recent colossal mistakes, there was no contesting that it felt right. It felt deserved.

Tomorrow was her birthday, and, if only once, she wanted to wake up in the arms of the man she loved.

She awoke to the foreign sensation of a strong arm curled around her middle and a cool, comforting chest pressed against her back. He was rumbling gently, and while she had nothing but wishful thinking to rely on, her insides warmed at the notion that she made him happy enough to purr.

Buffy hadn’t thought it possible to sleep easily in jeans, but she hadn’t wanted to leave herself bare from the waist down. Not only did it leave her open to temptation—especially with the justification that it was her birthday and she should treat herself—but she didn’t want Spike discovering the bite mark accidentally. So she’d dressed in his proffered clothing, and despite the confines of denim, she’d been asleep within seconds.

Spike was small and wiry, but that didn’t stop his clothes from hanging off her. And though she knew it did nothing for her figure, she couldn’t help but swell in adoration, especially under the look he’d given her when she’d modeled his clothing for him.

It made her seriously doubt the power of halter tops and gaucho pants if a baggy tee and loose-fitting jeans could make him pant as hard as he had.

Buffy didn’t want to consider how late she’d slept. With as well-rested as she was, it had to be almost noon. So now, not only had she likely worried her mother into an early grave, but she would need a seriously good excuse or an extremely convincing note from Dr. Spike to keep Snyder off her back.

Then again, it was her birthday.

She knew the second he awoke. The arm around her tightened, and he began stroking her stomach lazily, but with such affection that she rapidly descended into a puddle of Buffy-goo.

“Morning, pet,” he purred.

“Is it morning?”

“Almost ten.”

Buffy blinked. Was it possible she’d slept so little? As exhausted as she’d been when her head finally hit the pillow last night, she’d thought she’d sleep the day away, especially without the additive of an alarm clock.

“You do mean…ten in the A.M, right?”

“’Course.”

She sighed. “I’m gonna have to get up and get ready, then. School. Homework. Teachers. The like.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly well-rested and really, really comfy.”

“Your strength?”

Buffy flexed and sighed. “Still on vacation. I’ll talk with Giles today. He’ll just tell me to wait until tomorrow, but I’ll talk with him today.” She paused, her lower lip jutting out. “I don’t wanna go to school.”

“Then don’t. Stay here.” Spike’s hand became more boisterous, slipping under the hem of the tee to stroke her bare skin. His mouth quickly fell to her throat, peppering her with soft, sweet kisses. “Stay with me.”

She whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “You’re breaking the rules.”

“Sod the rules.”

“Spike…”

In a blink, his hand and mouth abandoned her, and she was instantly bereft. “Yeah,” he said raggedly. “Yeah. Sorry, pet. You just look so good.”

“I just woke up.”

“Yeah, an’ I happen to like that look on you.” She heard him shift as he sat up, and quickly rolled onto her back so that her eyes could enjoy the tussled look of his blond curls and the starry just-woke-up look that crossed his face. Spike had bed-head.

The thought made her giggle.

He arched a brow, which only increased her mirth. Bed-head Spike and arched-brow Spike combined were a lethal force.

“What?” he demanded, his tone amused.

“You look all cute.”

“I am not cute.”

Buffy scoffed teasingly. “Oh, so it’s okay to be comfy and adorable, but cute is pushing the line?”

Spike offered a lazy shrug and grinned. “What can I say, luv? I’m a puzzle.” He stood up and turned to his bureau, giving her a fairly remarkable view of his scrumptious ass. Damn, he wore his jeans well. It was almost enough to encourage her to return the ones on her person—that way he’d always have a pair handy. “Wanna grab brekky?”

She paused thoughtfully. “I’m going to interpret that as breakfast,” she replied, grinning. “Spike, I really gotta get to school.”

“It’s your birthday. I say you really gotta get yourself fed.”

“You can’t go out anyway. Sun’s up.”

“I have my ways.” He gestured to what looked like a walk-in closet. “Tunnels, see? We can go anywhere you want.”

“I really need to get to school.”

“Yeah, but you also need to eat. People die of starvation. They don’ die of not goin’ to school.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to die of starvation between now and lunch.”

Spike shrugged carelessly. “It’s the Hellmouth, luv, as well as your birthday. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Buffy began combing through her hair with her fingers, frowning. “I really should’ve thought this through,” she murmured. “I have no mirror. No toothpaste. No shower. No—”

Spike shrugged, unbothered, and pointed to his undoubtedly stolen dresser. “Top drawer,” he said.

She froze and tossed him a wary look. “Don’t tell me…”

“Some of it I knicked from your house. Some if it I knicked from the shops.” He shrugged again when her gaze became scrutinizing, and turned his eyes to the ground almost sheepishly. “What?”

“You have a drawer for me?”

“Well, with stuff you din’t know was missing. An’ some stuff I picked out, myself.”

“You have a drawer for me?”

“I wanted you to have some stuff here…jus’ in case.” Spike sighed when her stare refused to relent, his shoulders sagging. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? I know that stealing breaks the eighth commandment, but for Chrissake, I’m evil an’ stealing’s evil, ergo I steal. You’ve turned me on my sodding head enough as it is, luv. I oughta be out there munching on the populace, an’ instead I just knick li’l things that no sodding clerk’s gonna notice to begin with. I don’—”

Buffy stilled, awe filling her wholly. And a proverbial breath that she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding for the past few weeks was finally given reprieve. In all honesty, she hadn’t allowed herself to consider the murderous part of Spike’s existence for fear of talking herself out of the plan, or her attraction, or the part of her that liked him to the point of having fallen in love with him. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it—not smart, considering she was a slayer—but she’d needed time to work out her feelings. And when she finally had, the idea of Spike killing civilians on her watch had been so far off her radar, she hadn’t even considered it.

Especially since he’d become more a fixture in her life since they agreed to the plan. Since the night he climbed into her room after she’d ralphed all over Angel. Until that moment, they’d attempted to keep their distance from each other. And overall, their connection had grown since the plan, despite their moments of weakness. She’d realized she was in love with him since the plan. And, since the plan, he’d been her routine patrol buddy. He’d been with her almost every night, and it hadn’t occurred to her that he might still be feeding.

“You’re not…” She sighed a little and smiled. “You’re not…eating people?”

“Well…I…” Spike averted his gaze quickly, and immediately, the high she’d felt plummeted with a chill.

No.

“I’m not killing anyone,” he amended. “I haven’t, I mean. I haven’t killed anyone. But Slayer, a man’s gotta eat. I have been feeding, but I haven’t killed anyone. An’ I haven’t taken so much that it hurts them, either. I’ve jus’ made blood donors out of a few blokes. I know—”

“Men?” Buffy blurted, her nerves singing. She knew she was being illogical, but that was the first thing she grabbed onto. “You haven’t been drinking from women?”

“Bloody fuck, no.”

“Oh.”

“But I have been feeding…I have to, Buffy. It’s what I am. If I don’t feed, I die. An’ don’ gimme any rot about pig’s blood.” Spike shuddered. “I bleeding hate pig’s blood. The difference between pig’s blood an’ human blood is the difference between eating a Denny’s dinner off a dirty bathroom floor an’ dining with the Queen. I can control myself. An’ since I’m not killing anyone—”

“It’s—”

“If you say it’s wrong, I’m gonna rip your bloody throat out.”

Buffy quirked a brow. “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. But I’d seriously consider it.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Spike held up a hand. “Stop that! The thing is, I’m not human. I’m not. An’ I shouldn’t have to live up to what is an’ isn’t right by human standards. What’s right for vampires is to stay alive by drinking blood. We’re not held to a moral compass. An’ I feed off humans because I am a vampire, dammit, an’ you can’t leash me. It’s my choice. Not yours. An’—”

“Spike—”

“If you think I’m gonna stop—”

“Spike—”

“You’re off your nutter. An’—”

“Spike!” That seemed to get his attention. He halted in mid-sentence and tossed her an inquisitive glance. “Spike, are you under the impression that I’m angry with you for not killing people?”

He blinked stupidly. “Well…yes.”

“Then, and I say this with utmost warmth and affection, you’re a moron.” Buffy shook her head. “I never asked you to stop killing. In fact, I never asked you to stop anything that makes you a vampire. I’ve never mentioned it, and I never intended to. Do you have any idea how much it means to me that you…all on your own, you made the decision…” She released a shaky sigh and glanced up. “Did you do it for me?”

“Buffy—”

“Did you do it for me, Spike?”

He exhaled slowly and nodded. “I did. Of course I did, Buffy. What do you think? I din’t wanna give you a reason to have to kill me. I know…I’m not trying to compare whatever we have to your great sodding love affair with the enormous poofter, but I din’t want you to be in a position where you had to off another bloke who’s…shared your bed. That an’…it wasn’t a huge sacrifice. I don’t need to kill people to be happy. Gimme blood, gimme violence, gimme a few good shags, gimme a telly, an’ toss in a remote. There are plenty of nasty buggers around here if I wanna good brawl. An’ then there’s you.” Spike smiled shyly. “You’re…you’re worth it.”

Oh yeah. She was totally in love with him.

She was totally screwed.

“And I have a drawer?”

“Full of some things that were yours before, an’ some other things that we’ll call pre-birthday gifts.” Spike smiled and stepped forward, reaching out to rub her shoulders. “An’ while we’re on that…” He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her brow. “Happy birthday, pet.”

Totally screwed.

“You gonna sing for me?” she asked teasingly, running a hand across his bare chest, over his unbeating heart. The way he inhaled sharply gave her a quick rush of feminine empowerment, and she warmed all over.

“Maybe later,” he replied. “Get me good an’ sloshed, an’ I’ll even go a few rounds. For now…” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her over to the bureau. “Look through your things. Get yourself all dolled up for school. I’ll go grab you some breakfast.”

Buffy bit her lip. “Spike, you don’t have to—”

He grinned and cupped her cheeks, kissing her spontaneously. “Got me some pop-tarts upstairs.”

Of all the lines to make me swoon, that has to be the most random.

And yet, combined with his thoughtfulness and his kiss and the boyish look on his face, there was massive swooning.

“Oh.”

Spike moved away before she could tackle him with her lips, which was likely for the best.

“Yes,” he agreed with a nod. “Sorry about that.”

“Huh?”

“Snogging you. Not a part of the plan.”

“It’s my birthday,” she protested lamely.

Spike grinned and neared her again. “Well,” he said, cupping her face again, “in that case…”

God, she loved the taste of his kiss.

“You have pop-tarts?” Buffy gasped breathlessly once their lips parted.

“An’ a toaster.”

“You’re prepared.”

“I think I ate a boy scout once. Maybe something stuck.” He grinned and pivoted, fishing out a tee from his bureau and sliding it over his head, hiding all that scrumptious flesh from her. Meanie. “Get yourself ready, pet. I’ll make you something quick.”

“And write me a note?”

“It’s your birthday. I’ll do whatever you like.”

Buffy turned and grinned, shaking her head as Spike bolted upstairs. He was so…perfect. This morning was so perfect. Like she was waking up with her boyfriend and getting ready. Like she was one half of a whole. Like she was in a true, functioning relationship.

The sentiment didn’t last, of course. Reality was too overbearing. Last night had been a glitch. A huge, massive glitch. This morning was different because she’d awakened with him. Because it was her birthday. Soon, they’d be back on track. The plan would be back on track.

Perhaps, if they abided the plan…Spike would eventually fall in love with her, too. And perhaps things would stay that way even after the spell was over.

It was a gamble that was almost worth the heartbreak.

Almost.

Author’s Note: And a return to plot. Thanks to my betas for reminding me that I have a story to tell…and not just Spuffy-happy snippets. Heehee.

And I’ve won things at LSA! Squee!! Runners up for Best Claiming, Best Episode Rewrite, and a Judge’s Choice Award. ***bouncing*** Thank you all so, so much!!!

“Have I mentioned the many ways in which you owe me big time?” Willow asked as Buffy, shame-faced, slid into the seat next to her in the Sunnydale High cafeteria. “Because you owe me so much that…are you wearing Spike’s clothing?”

“‘Hello, Buffy,” Buffy mimed, opening up the lunch she’d brought with her. Right before she’d finally left Spike’s crypt, he’d slipped a twenty into her jean pocket and told her to pick up something on her way to school. It was amazing how she could feel like a little kid and an adult simultaneously. “‘How was your night? Are you feeling better? And happy birthday.’”

“Hello, Buffy,” Willow echoed, rolling her eyes. “How was your night? Are you feeling better? Happy birthday. And do you have any idea how very much you owe me big time?”

“No.”

“Your mother called me in a panic last night.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide, mirth vanishing instantly. “Oh God. Will, tell me you—”

“Lied my butt off? ‘Oh, Mrs. Summers. Buffy went patrolling with Faith. She’s coming here after to work on a science project.’” Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Are those Spike’s clothes?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

“So you two didn’t meet up last night and have a bunch of raunchy, naked sex?”

“Okay, so it’s exactly what you think.”

Willow crossed her arms, her stern expression finally melting into amusement. “Okay! Talk, missy! What happened to the plan?”

“The plan is still very much in effect.” Buffy nodded emphatically. “And when did you start saying things like ‘raunchy naked sex’?” A beat. “Oh my God! Have you and Oz—”

The redhead’s eyes widened comically. “No!” she all but screeched, shaking her head. “No. No. No, we really haven’t. I-I just like to see you…turn into Blushy Buffy, because that doesn’t happen very often a-and you know it.” She frowned. “Besides! We’re talking about you and your…stuff. Not me and the non-stuff that happens—or doesn’t happen—to me. So…stop trying to distract me!”

“Oh, but it’s so easy.”

Willow pouted. “You’re no fun. And you’re still totally in Spike’s clothes. So tell me why exactly I covered for you while you were having unscheduled raunchy naked sex that was, by the way, totally against the rules.”

“Hey! I made those rules!”

The redhead crossed her arms and perked her brows in jest. “So that means you can break them whenever you like?”

“Well…” Buffy frowned. “Yes.”

“In what crazy world does that work?”

“The world we live in. And besides, we totally didn’t break the rules.” She paused and caved under Willow’s incredulous stare. “Only, yes, we did break the rules, but now there’s an amendment.”

“An amendment?”

“To the rules,” Buffy concluded with a nod.

“An amendment that allows for raunchy naked sex?”

“N-not all the time, no. Just…ummm…just when we…fall off the wagon.”

Her friend’s brow furrowed and she squinted as though her brain hurt. “Fall off the wagon?” she repeated. “You’re now an addict?”

“Well, we obviously have some wiggy problem going on.”

Willow sighed and shook her head. “You’re crazier than any seven people I know.”

“You know seven people?”

“If you include my parents.” She glanced down pointedly at Buffy’s attire and arched a brow. “Why are you wearing Spike’s clothing?”

“How do you know it’s Spike’s clothing?” Buffy retorted, crossing her arms.

“It’s jeans and a black tee.”

“And I suppose Spike is the only one allowed to have jeans and a black tee?”

“No, but from the way you’re swimming in it…” Willow shook her head and waved a hand. “Stop with the avoidy. You already admitted that you’re wearing Spike’s clothing. And since we’ve already verified that you had raunchy naked sex, there’s nothing else that can surprise me.”

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and exhaled slowly. “Faith came onto Spike last night.”

The shock on her friend’s face was almost funny. “She what?!”

“She came onto Spike. And stuff happened from there. I don’t really wanna get into it, but Spike ended up knocking her unconscious. And I think it was because of that that he…lost it a bit.” She smiled weakly. “Anyway, we went back to his place and amended the plan. He didn’t want me to leave, so I stayed.”

“Worrying your mom to death.”

“Yes, well, Spike wanted me to stay.” Buffy swallowed hard. “And…I love him, so I stayed.”

“And wore his clothes to school today.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Willow licked her lips. “Did you…did you tell Spike?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you love him?”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “What? No! No. God, you think I’d bring that on myself now? It’s my birthday. I’m already weakened and worried about what’s gonna happen when this spell is over. Plus, my not-quite-boyfriend is being approached by Faith, who’s had every man on the planet in her pants at one point…yeah, throwing in that I love him? I don’t wanna jinx myself.”

“What are you gonna do about the slayer strength thing?” Willow asked.

She sighed again and glanced down. “Talk to Giles, I guess. I mean, what else is there to do? I’ll talk to him, and then I gotta get home. I’m gonna want a nap before you and Xander come over.”

“You know, if we want to disinvite Xander, you could always have Spike come over instead.” Willow smiled prettily. “I really wouldn’t mind that.”

“Will, you should really see Giles about getting the delusting spell…fixed.”

The redhead blinked and straightened. “Fixed? Fixed implies there’s something wrong with what I did. There’s nothing wrong. There’s—”

“He’s sitting across the room with Cordelia.”

“I wonder if he’ll mind if I hit him over the head several times with this big lunch tray.”

“I think he’ll mind, yeah.”

“Okay, but at this point, I gotta tell you that the world in which I care is running right smack into the world in which I don’t.”

Buffy offered an amused smirk and rose to her feet. “I’m gonna go see Giles.”

“You didn’t eat anything!”

“Yes. I’m going to go see Giles, and then go home.” She shrugged at Willow’s questioning glance and stifled a yawn. “I woke up all rested, but I gotta tell you, I’m all kinds of tired right now.”

“So you’re gonna skip the rest of the day, since you skipped the first part?”

Buffy nodded. “That’s right.”

“Okay. I’m still seeing you tonight, though, right?”

“Oh, definitely. And we’ll do the party thing.”

Willow grinned. “I still say you disinvite Xander.”

“I’ll think about it.” Buffy reached into her bag and withdrew a fry, popping it into her mouth. “Okay. I’m off.”

“Buffy?” When she turned, Willow was smiling softly. “Happy birthday.”

She warmed. “Thanks,” she replied.

It was. It was, perhaps, the first happy birthday she’d had since she’d arrived in Sunnydale. At least, it was looking better thus far than her others.

Perhaps Spike was going to help her start a new tradition.

It was a nice thought, if nothing else.

Any hopes of a calm day died the second she stepped into the library.

“Oh, look,” Faith remarked snidely, planting her hands on her hips and arching her brows. “She shows.”

Her veins flushed cold, and she was consumed with the fiercest wave of loathing she’d ever known. Faith was in the room. Faith was standing in the middle of the library, between Giles and Angel, looking particularly smug. Looking particularly satisfied with herself, which she supposed was a feat, since parts of Faith’s face were black and blue.

It was just a second, but Buffy had to flex her hands and tighten her jaw, and remind herself that Spike hated the girl almost as much as she did. That Spike had beat the girl unconscious for trying to touch him. And while Buffy knew that violence against slayers was something she should discourage, the thought was enough to ease her rage.

“Buffy,” Giles said, his eyes trained on the floor.

Oh God. His glasses were already being polished. This was so not a good.

“Are you…” Angel sniffed, his eyes blazing. “Are you wearing Spike’s clothes?”

Buffy flushed and crossed her arms, fidgeting. She hadn’t minded the strange stares she’d received since she arrived—not even those from Xander, that were less curious and more pointed. But now, with Angel glaring at her, with Giles’s look of disappointment and the pleased, smug grin on Faith’s face, she might as well have been naked.

“Yeah,” Faith drawled. “That’s what blondie was wearing last night. Right before he punched me in the face and then made with the incredibly loud fucking against a crypt wall with Slutty Summers here. Gotta say, B. He wears it a lot better than you do.”

Her face was on fire, but she refused to show any shame. She wasn’t ashamed. Not in the slightest, and if they wanted her to act it, they had another thing coming. “Well, I think he’d disagree.” If his wandering hands that morning were any indicator, anyway. “I take it you guys aren’t throwing me a surprise party. Just as well.” Her eyes landed on Angel. “We all know how well that turned out the last time.”

“Ouch, B. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in need of a good lay.” Faith smirked. “But no, that’s not it…”

She flinched, but she wasn’t surprised. Somehow, even in the fog that had surrounded her head last night, she’d had enough foresight to predict that something like this might happen; she’d just left it to wishful thinking that it wouldn’t. So much for that. “I can’t help it if you’re jealous,” she retorted.

“Of the big blond stud?” Faith shrugged indifferently, though there was a flare in her eyes that one would only catch if they knew her really well. “Well, I suppose big is relative. He didn’t seem too impressive when I was chatting him up.”

Buffy shrugged. “Sorry, Faith, you just don’t do it for him.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “So, is that what this is? You guys are all here, taking advice from some chick who can’t keep her legs together long enough to go on a decent patrol—”

Faith just shook her head, shaking in mirth, her black eyes shining. “Ouch! Kitty’s got claws.”

“—to accost me about my private life?”

“Your private life that now consists of boinking Spike?” Angel demanded. “God, Buffy, what has he done to you?”

Buffy just glared at him. “I’d tell you, but I neglect to recall the part where any of this is your business.”

Giles sighed. “Buffy…”

“No. I’ll talk to you, maybe, but not with these two around.” She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “And even then, don’t press your luck.”

Her Watcher cleared his throat and placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose with a long sigh. “As it is, we don’t have time to discuss your rather horrendous choices right now.”

“Can I get a ‘Happy Birthday, Buffy’?”

“We have training with the vibratory stones—”

She sighed. “Again?”

“And then Angel is going to accompany you on patrol.”

Buffy froze and tossed her all-too-smug-looking ex-boyfriend a nasty glare. “No,” she said. “No. I’m not going anywhere with him.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Giles, it’s my birthday. And I thought you said that I didn’t have to patrol tonight.”

“Well, since you’re so keen on patrolling on the nights that I give you off anyway, I didn’t think you’d mind my penciling you in tonight.” Giles glanced down. “However, since your strength is still amiss, I think it better if Angel accompanies you.”

“Guess that’ll free blondie up,” Faith mused, stretching. “Wonder if I can find something to…occupy his time.”

Fury washed through her, but Buffy refused to flinch. Spike’s more-than-vocal disgust with the raven-haired slayer was more than enough reassurance that she had nothing to worry about. “If you’re looking to get your ass kicked, go ahead.”

“Oh, sounds kinky.”

“No, it’s a lot more like getting your ass kicked.” Buffy smirked nastily. “Gotta say, F. You sure know how to turn a man flaccid.”

Angel sighed. “Buffy—”

She whirled on her heels. “Oh. So it’s okay for her to be disgusting, but when I give her a dose of the truth, I get the disappointed sigh? You guys are such hypocrites.”

“We don’t have time for this argument,” Giles said stoically. “Sit down. We’re going to train with the stones.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I can barely contain my enthusiasm.”

“And then you will patrol with Angel.”

“And there we do not agree.”

Giles held up a hand. “Look, Buffy. This isn’t up for discussion. You’re my slayer. You’re my responsibility. And while you’re weakened, you will be patrolling with Angel. Is that understood?”

She really had the most unnerving urge to rip his head off. “Not in the slightest.”

“Excellent. I don’t care. Sit down.”

Buffy sucked in a deep breath and glared at him, but sat down nonetheless.

Maybe this wasn’t the year to start a new birthday tradition, after all.

Chapter 38

He remembered some nights when he and Buffy had been too involved in each other to even notice that the outside world existed. When his arms had been perpetually locked around her small body and her lips had been glued to his; when it would have taken an apocalypse or worse to drive them apart.

The worst had happened. Buffy was moving so fast, he could barely catch her eyes. There would be no spontaneous leaping into his arms. No wresting kisses from his lips. No hungry moans, no brazen touching. He’d never again feel her heart pounding against his chest or smell the warmth of her arousal—and even if he did, it wouldn’t be directed at him.

It wasn’t as though Angel had expected Buffy to fall into his arms, especially after what he’d done to her the year before. After he’d returned from Hell, she’d cared for him; she’d even kissed him once, only that had led to a rather abrasive confrontation with the Scoobies, and she’d since declared them just friends. The declaration was something she’d done for herself; he knew enough to recognize that. They could never be what they’d once been. And though he’d known it, he’d been in no way prepared for her to actually move on.

And to move onto Spike? Honestly, who could be prepared for that?

However, Angel suspected that much of what Buffy was feeling was based on the claim. The claim that, despite the lack of a mark on her throat, he was still certain had occurred. He didn’t know how else to explain her symptoms, or the sudden perverse attraction to his idiot of a grand-childe. Buffy was certainly unpredictable, but he’d never pegged her for being openly and unabashedly foolish.

The trouble was, he didn’t know where claim-induced feelings began. Ever since Darla told him about claims, he’d lived under the impression that they couldn’t generate feelings; rather, claims thrived on feelings that already existed. In rare instances, claims might be instrumental in unearthing certain feelings, but it was impossible to fabricate emotions based on a claim—something several well-noted historic vamps had discovered the hard way. There were a few tales lost to vamp lore about vampires that were so lovesick that they claimed the object of their desire against his or her wish, only to end up a miserable, hollow shell for all eternity. When claims were forced, they only emphasized hatred and resentment. Forced claims did nothing but cut and destroy.

Angel was certain that any claim that Spike had placed on Buffy had been forced, but there was no hatred or resentment. And that meant, of course, that even if she was feeling things through the claim, it was all real. All of it. She’d really lost herself to a vampire, and he couldn’t help it if the notion made him sick.

Which brought him back to the notion that Buffy’s feelings had to be fabricated; that history was wrong. That, like many human fables, the tales about claims were meant to scare vampires into thinking before they selected lifemates. But it was a stretch; it was wishful thinking. Angel had met one or two wrongly claimed vamps; despite want, deep down, he knew that Buffy’s behavior couldn’t be blamed on anything. Not a thing.

She might have hated Spike when the claim was placed, but she didn’t hate him now. No, Angel knew the look in Buffy’s eyes well, only he’d never seen it so powerful. So vibrant. He recalled how it’d felt when she’d really looked at him the first time—when he’d seen her love for him shining in her eyes—and how his heart had leapt in his cold chest. How feeling had touched nerves that had long been singed—how for so long, he’d been numb and void of anything resembling warmth.

When he saw her eyes now, it was like staring down a supernova. He saw a universe explode into creation over and over again. Spike had done that for her. Spike had given her life, whereas Angel had only taken it away.

The Powers had handed him a soul, but gifted Spike with the key to redemption.

That’s not fair, he told himself, casting Buffy another glance. She was moving so fast; even in her weakened state, it was hard to keep up. I had it once. I had it.

The Powers had given him everything but the owner’s manual. Perhaps it was his fault for not researching gypsies in the wasted decades that followed the curse. He’d spent his time dragging himself from gutter to gutter. He’d climb the social ladder, then fall when dizzied by the heights. When he found himself feasting over the body of a man he could have saved if he hadn’t been so hungry for human blood. But in the midst of all that, he’d held onto his soul and attempted to cleanse his red-stained hands time and time again. There had been no indication that the soul wasn’t safely harnessed. None until Buffy barreled into his life.

Well, to be fair, until he barreled into hers.

He wasn’t supposed to be soulless, and he wasn’t supposed to be dead. And the only reason Angel saw in providing him an out to his soul was to make sure his behavior was maintained. Champions, after all, needed their fatal flaws. Their Achilles Heel. Perfect happiness, no matter what he did or how much he sacrificed, was something that he could never have.

He could never have Buffy. And while that pained him, the pain wasn’t anything compared to the knowledge that she’d lost her heart to Spike. It wasn’t anything compared to the knowledge that he had never created a universe in her eyes. Angel had always thought himself special; he’d felt that what they had was special. Different. Something shared by only them and no one else.

The more he saw of Buffy now, the more he realized that their relationship had been a dramatic, hell-laced version of every teen-angst Lifetime Original Movie to have ever aired. And damn if that didn’t sting.

Tonight was the final hurdle. Buffy didn’t have bite marks on her throat, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t have them somewhere else. Angel was just a few percentage points from complete conviction that a claim was the catalyst of her behavior, and if all went according to plan tonight, he and Giles would have enough ammunition to go about fixing whatever mess Buffy had unwittingly gotten herself into.

Unaccepted claims were an easy fix. It would just take separating Buffy and Spike as long as possible. Until the pangs of separation dwindled and life returned to normal. As long as Buffy hadn’t met Spike’s stake on her with a, “yours,” they had nothing to worry about.

If, however, she had accepted—something that Giles refused to afford plausibility, though Angel wasn’t so optimistic—their options were incredibly limited. If she’d accepted, the only thing that would make her feel better was claiming Spike back. Until then, they’d feel pangs of separation, and those pangs would grow worse the longer they were apart. The longer they were apart and the longer Spike’s demon went unclaimed by his chosen.

The vampire that Buffy had to face tonight for the Cruciamentum was called Kralik, and he was a nasty son of a bitch. He’d arrived a few days ago, and Angel had volunteered himself, much to the delight of the Watcher’s Council, to help keep Kralik under control. And though Angel hated the idea of leaving Buffy to face the monster alone, he surprisingly wasn’t too worried about her. Buffy was amazingly resourceful, and he’d be outside the entire time.

And if Angel was right about the claim, it would take Spike all of three minutes to show up.

Angel dug his hand into his coat pocket. “Oh,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had followed them since they left the library. “I bought you something.”

Buffy jerked to a fierce stop and cast him a suspicious glance. “What?” she demanded sharply. “Why?”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Oh. Yes. Okay.” Buffy shook her head, shivered, and continued walking. “That’s really nice for you.”

“For me?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Don’t you want to see it?”

Her brows arched. “Did it cost a lot?”

“Yes.”

“Does it come from the heart?”

“Buffy—”

“No. I wanna know. I want to know how much energy I should put into throwing it away after I beat the living crap out of you later tonight.”

Angel’s heart wrenched. “What the hell did I do?”

“Oh, don’t give me that!” she spat. “You know exactly what you did. So I’m not fawning over you or crying into my pillow over how you and I will never have the Disney future with fanged children running around the front yard—picket fence excluded. Am I not entitled to anything?”

“You’re entitled to make intelligent decisions, Buffy.”

She balked, her eyes flying open. “But, oh, no mistakes, right? Buffy can’t make mistakes. Buffy has to be flawless in everything she does. A living example for the lesser mortals that run around here. And she certainly can’t be with someone that doesn’t have the ex’s approval.” She shook her head. “Were you this much of a jackass while we were dating, or did losing your soul make you go stark-raving mad?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“No. Not that. Soulless Angel wasn’t that much of an enigma, and at least he was up-front about being a selfish, sadistic, son of a bitch. You? You try to come off as so innocent and condescending and when the hell did you decide that you were better than everything and everyone? Huh?” Buffy shook her head furiously. “You’re an unmitigated, unbelievable, sad, pathetic, and I would go on, but I actually have a life and a boyfriend that I like. And hey! He actually treats me right.”

“Yeah, if you call raping you treating you right.”

Buffy froze and turned, burying him under a glacier with her eyes. “I’m not going to waste a punch,” she said slowly. “Not now. I’ll wait until I’m better. I’ll wait until I know it’s going to hurt. And I swear to God, Angel, if you ever say anything like that again, you’re dust. Do you understand me? I will send you right back to Hell and who will give a damn? Aside from Giles, I’m guessing no one, and I’m guessing that you’d be hard-pressed for Giles to shed any tears.”

“God, what has he done to you?”

“Ripped the blinders off, that’s for sure.”

“And here I could’ve sworn he was just fastening them into place.”

“That’s only because the blinders I’m referring to are the ones that made me fall in love with you in the first place. But no, if it doesn’t work for Angel, it has to be wrong.”
“So you don’t want your present.”

“Not unless you want it shoved up your ass,” she replied with false sweetness, flashing a bright smile.

Angel fought off an eye roll. It was nice to know that Spike had passed on his more shining personality traits. “You’re not at all the girl I thought you were,” he remarked.
“You can imagine how very much I care.”

He snickered. “You really think you can tame him, Buffy? Has he convinced you that he can go on without feeding on humans? Without killing innocents? Without turning into someone that you will have to kill in much the same way you had to kill me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. And I should mention, I now recall that last part with fondness and warmth.”

“He can’t keep those promises.”

“Good thing he didn’t make them, then.” Buffy shot him another glare. “Spike hasn’t promised me anything, Angel, and I didn’t ask him to change. Whatever changes he’s made have been voluntary and at his own pacing. I can’t make anyone change. I, unlike some others in this conversation who shall remain nameless, understand that the vampire nature cannot be denied. If Spike changes because I asked him to, it’s not real. It’s only real if he changes because he wants to, and that’s what he did.”

“Spike wants this right now,” Angel barked. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but it’s true. You don’t know him like I do. He has the attention span of a fruit-fly, and eventually, his wants will shift and he’ll leave you in the dust, cleaning up his mess.”

The fire doused in her eyes, and he knew immediately that he’d struck a nerve. Something that she’d considered. Something that, even as he’d spoken the words, he knew was impossible. Spike might be many things, but he wasn’t one to fall in and out of love lightly. In all the years that Angel had known him, Spike had been in love with one woman. Just one. True, he’d been infatuated with some stuck-up nineteenth century wench before he was turned, but after that, the blond pest had only had eyes for Dru. If Spike was in love again, chances were it was permanent.

And Buffy was the same way. Both Buffy and Spike tended to crash head-first with love, rather than fall into it. And if they’d crashed into each other, it was fair to say that all hope for reconciliation was lost.

Especially if they were mated.

“You know what?” Buffy said blithely. “There’s absolutely no need for you to talk to me ever again.”

Angel sighed. She was nothing if not a drama queen. “Buffy.”

“That’s your cue to stop talking to me.”

“Buffy…” He didn’t like what he was about to do. He really didn’t. It was, however, incredibly necessary. He needed Buffy inside the abandoned boarding house with the crazed vampire, and it needed to happen soon. Now. Before Spike decided to randomly show up. Before his window of opportunity closed. He needed Buffy in the boarding house—the boarding house that was very conveniently across the street, the one he’d led her to without even trying—and he needed her in there now. “Buffy, stop!”

“Not until you do.”

“It’s Spike.”

“The source of the stick up your ass is Spike. Again, imagine my surprise.”

“No. Stop! I’m saying that Spike’s…I smell him.” He flinched. This deception was not at all pleasant. “It’s blood. His blood.”

Buffy froze, and the terror in her eyes was devastating.

“It’s coming from over there.” He pointed. “Wait a sec and I’ll—”

Buffy didn’t wait. She never waited. She didn’t even hesitate or question him. She took off like a bat out of hell.

Just like he knew she would.

Chapter 39

He was officially worried. He’d been waiting for fifteen minutes, and Buffy never kept him waiting for fifteen minutes. Buffy never kept him waiting at all. If anything, Buffy always showed up for their patrols a few minutes early. Even the night that he’d beat the living hell out of the other slayer, Buffy had been there long enough to witness most of the encounter. She wasn’t one to be late. Not for him. She’d never been late for him.

It was her birthday and she was late, and Spike was worried.

Perhaps he’d been too forward that morning. God knows, the previous night had been unlike anything he’d ever known. Never before had Dru simply let him hold her. Never before had they shared playful banter. Being with Buffy meant sacrificing all of his guards; meant peering over the wall he’d built around himself. She knew him now, better than anyone. She knew the version of himself that he’d kept hidden.

And even if he had been too forward that morning, Spike couldn’t see her being late. Not when it came to their time together. Furthermore, it was her birthday, and from what he knew of her past—both what she’d told him and what he’d witnessed—the Powers seemed to take a sadistic interest in making sure that every year grew a little bit worse for her. That every year she lived—every year she outlasted her incipient expiration—the PTB made it their prerogative to kick her in the gut.

Before she left his crypt that morning, Buffy had jokingly asked him to refrain from feasting on Sunnydale citizens until midnight. Not that she didn’t trust him—though the idea that she did was more than a little heady—but she was worried that the karma that tended to follow her from year to year would catch up. That something terrible would happen—that despite his best intentions, he would end up hurting her against his will.

Knowing that he had a penchant for hurting her anyway didn’t help matters. Oh, but Buffy wouldn’t see it that way. She still refused to see the forced blowjob as something that she should dust him over. And it wasn’t that Spike was hankering to meet the business end of a stake—there was just something about Buffy that brought out a side of his demon that he’d never known before. The sort that would defile girlies without a second thought, and leave the shattered man to clean up the mess and harbor the guilt. The first time had been bad enough; he’d felt Buffy’s pain and confusion alongside his through means that weren’t altogether clear to him. And though he’d sensed none of those things from her last night, that didn’t make it okay.

However, fears aside, Spike was determined to keep from hurting her. Not even the curse of Buffy’s birthday could incite him to break that vow.

And perhaps he was being too hard on himself. Buffy had forgiven him for their first fumbled night together—the night she refused to see as rape, even if he knew better—and she hadn’t thought anything of what had transpired last night.

Rather, she’d told him that she wanted to be there for whatever he needed. Whatever his demon needed. And she’d understood that, at that moment, his demon needed her on her knees with her mouth open. She hadn’t complained. She hadn’t protested. She hadn’t even cried—well, not until she’d panicked over the daft notion that she wasn’t any good.

She’d wanted to please him. All of him. She embraced him when he was sappy and silly just as she did when he was rude and cruel. Not once through this whole ordeal had she turned him away because of who or what he was, rather for the demented notion that he wouldn’t want her for those very reasons. And, as she’d pointed out this morning, she’d never asked him to change. Not once. She hadn’t given him the ‘stop feeding or I’ll stake you’ ultimatum, and she’d never threatened him with tears in the face of the monster he was.

Buffy had given him what no one else ever had: she accepted him. All of him. The good and the bad. The virtues and the flaws. The man and the monster. She accepted every bit.

And she was late. His golden seraph was late.

Over twenty minutes now.

“Okay,” Spike said tightly to himself, kicking at a headstone. “Time to panic.”

Buffy felt as though she was moving through a tomb.

“Spike?”

God, she hated how shaky her voice was. How uncertain. Like a child waiting for a parent’s reprimand at church. The boarding house was so quiet, she heard the dust fall behind her as she moved. There was a very persistent pain in her gut—a strange combination of both slayer tinglies, faded as they were, and the beginnings of familiar pangs of separation.

He hadn’t answered her at all. She didn’t feel him at all.

And what the hell would he be doing in here, anyway?

Angel, Buffy thought, pursing her lips as a dark shudder claimed her violently. That, above all other things, made sense to her. After all, it was Angel who had led her here in the first place. It was Angel who had pointed at the old Sunnydale Arms and told her that Spike was inside, bleeding. It was Angel who hated Spike for being the boyfriend he never was, and it was Angel who had the ego to think that taking care of her and making decisions for her rested on his shoulders.

Buffy’s insides trembled. Perhaps Angel had trapped Spike in here. Perhaps he’d tortured him in hope of releasing the beast. Perhaps Angel wanted to put her in a position where she’d have to stake Spike to save her own life, therein proving that Spike was a monster that had no sense of right or wrong; one that would see her as means to his own survival if pressed.

Only Buffy didn’t feel Spike anywhere near her. And that was worrisome. However, it was her birthday, and that meant that things were always and forever off. If Spike was in here, there was no reason for her to feel him. None at all. As it was, her tinglies were going off like nothing else, which meant that a vampire was near.

“So help me,” Buffy said softly, peeking into another empty, cobweb-infested room. “Angel, if you’ve done something to him, I’ll have your head.”

If she was right—if Angel had caged Spike in here with the idea of shoving the man to the back by provoking the monster—then the joke was on him. Spike’s demon cared for her; she’d seen that last night. He cared for her and he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d just need her to help him calm down.

After that, they could go dismember Angel together. He’d better hope that Spike showed some pity, because she sure as hell wouldn’t.

Not if he’d hurt Spike in order to make a point. An incredibly Angelish point. The kind with a moral and everything.

Not at the expense of my boyfriend.

Buffy shivered again. That was at least the third time she’d referred to Spike—whether to herself or to others—as her boyfriend. It wasn’t entirely true, of course, as they were would-be platonic patrol colleagues who had to fight every urge in their bodies to keep from ripping each other’s clothes off. But the label, misleading as it was, filled her with warmth.

Maybe after she and Spike finished dismembering Angel, they could go to Giles about this stupid spell and see about getting it broken. After that, if he still felt the same way, they could look into making the boyfriend label a more permanent feature.

But she hadn’t found Spike yet. Spike was still somewhere in the house. Somewhere where he either couldn’t hear her or couldn’t respond. And he was still bleeding.

“Spike?” she called again, stepping over a jagged plank in the floorboard. “Spike? Make some sound so I know where you are.”

As if waiting for a cue, the walls moaned and the ceiling trembled under the weight of something heavy. Buffy’s eyes darted upward.

He was upstairs.

“I’m coming!” she shouted. “Just wait there, Spike! I’m coming!”

It took a few minutes to locate another stairwell. The halls were filled with dust and debris; a few paintings hung crooked in broken frames. It was the sort of place that she’d ignore if she passed it; one of the many condemned buildings in Sunnydale. A place for demons to claim when the graveyard was not an option.

Buffy’s nose wrinkled in disgust as she stepped over a broken crate, nearly stumbling onto the second floor. What a rat-trap. Yeah, there was absolutely no way that Spike would come here voluntarily.

“Spike?” She frowned and peered down the hallway, jumping when a long, vampiric roar finally answered. A roar followed by a bang, leading her eyes to the big crate that sat against the wall in the next room. “Oh my God.”

Angel had crated her boyfriend? And then, what, led her here?

It had to be a show of power. After all, she’d said it outside. The vampiric nature could not be denied. Not Angel’s, and as he was hoping to demonstrate, not Spike’s, either.

“Angel, I swear, you are so dead,” she gritted out. Then paused. “Again.”

There was another growl and a bang against the door. Buffy sucked in a deep breath, her legs breaking into a jog.

“I’m coming!” she called out. “Spike, I’m coming!”

Her heart was about ready to leap out of her chest as she yanked the door open.

And screamed.

Oh my God.

Buffy stumbled back in shock as the vampire stepped out of the crate, shrugging off what looked to be the shredded remains of a straightjacket. His yellow eyes flashed, his tongue licking his fangs as his lips pulled back in a smirk.

A smirk that definitely wasn’t Spike’s.

“My hero,” he quipped.

He was such an idiot. Such a prize idiot wanker.

“Killed two slayers,” Spike grumbled under his breath, lowering his fist from Buffy’s door. “Killed ‘em right quick. Could write the bloody book on slayers an’ all the sodding birds that get Chosen. Start shagging one, an’ you lose your marbles. Bloody brilliant, Spike. Good show.”

Not to mention he was talking to himself, which was never good.

It had hit him from nowhere—a bullet of knowledge that drove straight for the heart. Buffy’s lack of strength—the same that coincided with the days leading up to her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. He knew this part of the slayer training; Christ, the knowledge of it had driven him mad with curiosity once he stumbled over the text that detailed the rite.

The Cruciamentum, the Watchers called it. The sodding Cruciamentum. How the sodding hell had he forgotten about the Cruciamentum? The ritual in which the Council came in, drained their selected warrior of all her power, and pitted her against a powerful foe in a test that resulted either in her death or the next phase of her training. Fuck, he’d known this. He’d always been fascinated with the idea that the Council would ever test a trained, strengthened slayer by trying to off her. If they offed her, the next was called. If not, they continued on with training with a smile and a nod.

It always struck Spike as a particularly barbaric ritual with no point other than butchering slayers; something he had thought rather funny until recently.

Until now.

Until it became Buffy rather than some faceless name in the long line of slayers.

Now she was in danger. It was her birthday—the night of the ritual—and she was in danger. And he would have known if he’d stopped to think about it, he’d have put sodding two and two together. But in these past few days, he hadn’t been thinking at all. Everything that had anything to do with Buffy had something to do with the spell, or whatever had brought them together. He hadn’t been thinking straight, and now, Buffy was in danger.

Buffy was in danger because others had put her there. And Spike would rip apart whoever touched her. Whoever touched her and whoever was responsible for having her touched.

The Watcher. Spike snarled. The Watcher would be in on this. The Watcher, and from the way Buffy kept going on about Angel and the Watcher’s budding friendship, his wanker of a grandsire likely was, too.

If anything happened to her, they would beg for death before he gave it to them.

Spike tore away from her front porch with a growl. He had nowhere to look. Nowhere to begin. He could go torture the Watcher for information, but by the time he got to the school library, it might be too late. He had nothing.

Nothing but a rush of alien fear that nearly knocked him to his knees. Spike’s throat quaked with a tremulous roar. It came from nowhere, saturated his insides, spilled into his veins, and filled him entirely with her essence. Suddenly, the air was thick with her scent, and his demon roared to life.

He didn’t know where she was, but he felt her.

He felt her. And she was terrified.

And to find her, all he had to do was follow his instincts.

Chapter 40

She’d never felt her body abandon her, and if she had, it’d been long enough that she’d forgotten the feeling. The fear drenching her veins was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Beyond the soul-crushing knowledge of an impending apocalypse, or even running her loved ones through with a sword—no matter how deserved, in retrospect—the complete lack of strength coupled with staring down a pair of gleaming fangs made for the most frightening moment of her life. The hand around her throat was crushing her windpipe, and the vampire at the other end of it was grinning like it was a big joke.

“Why did you come to the dark of the woods?” he hissed, his other hand diving for her front pocket, fingers clasping around her stake. “To bring your sweets to grandmother’s house?”

Oh God. Oh God. Buffy plunged a hand into her other pocket. She hadn’t packed much when she’d left the library for patrol. She’d fairly well assumed that if any vamp needed its ass kicked, it’d be Angel. Or that Angel would do the ass-kicking for her.

However, years of being the Slayer had taught her to always be prepared. Which was why she had the stake.

And, she thought as her fingers victoriously wrapped around the familiar bit of silver in her pocket, a cross.

The vampire released her the second that she brandished the crucifix, jumping back in surprise. Buffy sucked in a deep breath and held it out at arm’s length, trying to ignore how hard she was shaking. It was humiliating, being this terrified of a common vampire. A vampire that would be dust on her shoes if she had any strength.

The shock of the crucifix didn’t last as long as she would have liked. The vampire’s yellow eyes twinkled, the fleeting flash of alarm vanishing. His arm shot out before she could blink, his hand curling around her wrist and guiding the cross to his chest.

Buffy inhaled sharply, her terror-rattled nerves suddenly combating a wave of familiar nausea.

Great. With any luck, I’ll yack on him.

“Oh-oh,” the vampire purred, his eyes alight with pleasure as he rubbed the silver into his skin. God, he made her sick. The air filled with the stench of burning flesh, her vision blurred with smoke. “Just a little lower.” He nudged her arm down and she had to choke her disgust. “Right…oh, yes. Yes. Oh!” He gasped. “Oooh! Thank you very—”

“I’m gonna be sick,” she informed him matter-of-factly, dropping the cross.

“I know just what you mean.”

The vampire did look sick, but not in a stomach-crampy kind of way. And it wasn’t just the straight-jacket that that clued her in. The hair was dirty and mussed in a greasy, hasn’t-been-washed-in-three-years style. His eyes were crazed in a manner that couldn’t be entirely blamed on the fact that he was undead.

But she wasn’t about to stand around and take in his less-than-glowing features all day, nor was she going to sacrifice what little strength she had in what would be a wasted backhand. Instead, Buffy turned on her heels and bolted down the corridor. She ran until her legs hurt, ran until her human lungs and heart demanded that she stop. She gasped for air and slammed the door behind her.

Not that a door would present a vamp any obstacle. Just buy her enough time to find a secure hiding place or a weapon.

Weapon. Weapon. Buffy sucked in a deep breath and took in her surroundings. The room she’d closed herself in was pukish yellow, and from the rotted refrigerator in the corner, she guessed it was the kitchen.

Kitchen. Kitchens had knives. Buffy’s eyes widened and she darted to the counter, jerking out drawers and cabinets in frantic search for anything.

She was on the third drawer when the pounding started.

“Okay,” she said quickly. “We’re not panicking. We’re not panicking just yet.”

The growls on the other side of the door grew angrier, the pounding more forceful.

That wasn’t the sound of a vampire that could be talked out of killing her dead.

“So, panic,” she continued, her voice hitting a high note. “Beginning to sound appealing.”

The pounding stopped the next second, and Buffy’s heart about stopped with it. She raised her shaking hands to her face, her stomach churning. Her mind was racing and none of the turns it took made any kind of sense. Spike wasn’t here. Spike was somewhere else. Not unless Mr. Vamp had dusted him—a thought so horrible, she didn’t think she could stomach it. But something told her that Spike wasn’t dust. That Spike wasn’t even here. Spike was very much alive—or undead—and likely worried off his cute British ass about her, seeing as she was now way late for bailing on Angel and making their patrol not-a-date.

So Angel had sent her into a condemned boarding house under the pretense of Spike being inside and bleeding. He’d sent her in here for a reason, and if Fangy was any indication, it was to get her ass royally handed to her.

At least Angel’s soulless face hadn’t been with the jealous vendetta. He’d just hated her for making him feel human.

Buffy sighed again and shook her head. She had no cross. No stake. Her speed was laughable and her strength? Well, she barely had any of that, and what she did have wasn’t going to amount to anything against a criminally insane dead guy.

The pounding had stopped. The guttural growls had moved away. The coast was probably clear.

I can make a run for it.

She wouldn’t get far. Maybe to Angel, presuming he was still outside.

Worth a shot.

One thing was certain: she couldn’t stay in the kitchen all night. Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and opened the door a crack. Just a crack. The hallway was empty. Not even a shadow moved. She exhaled slowly and slipped into the corridor.

Find the door.

Door. Yes. But every door she found was either bricked up or led to another room—a room with bookcases and chairs with the stuffing ripped out. The place was a maze. She was nearly convinced that the walls had moved. Nothing looked familiar.

Her eyes fell on the staircase. Only led up. Not down. She didn’t know what floor she was on anymore.

Chicks in horror movies always run up, and they always end up with their guts spilling out.

Buffy shivered and made her way to the staircase. Movies weren’t exactly a barometer she wanted to use to measure real life. And even so, she wasn’t supposed to be just another chick. She was supposed to be the Slayer. She was not supposed to be creeping up stairs and jumping like a frightened rabbit at every noise the old house made. She wasn’t supposed to be such a girl about things.

She rolled her eyes at herself. “God, I hate that analogy.”

A splintering crack pierced the air, timed with the vampire’s furious roar. Buffy screamed and collapsed, her head smacking against a step as a cold hand seized her ankle. Her stomach fell, her body banging down the steps. The vampire didn’t manage to drag her far, but for how much it hurt, it felt like miles. Buffy snatched hold of the first thing she saw—a broken piece of railing, and managed to tear it from its post.

God, my aim sucks.

She whimpered and stabbed at the vamp’s arm, scampering up the stairs the second that he released her.

Okay. Cuts to the head were not helping in maintaining balance. The hallway she landed at was empty with its share of doors lining either wall. She inhaled sharply and winced.

Pain.

God, she hated pain. Especially pain that wasn’t cushioned by slayer-strength. Her insides were swelling. Every breath that inflated her chest ached.

Make it to a door.

Buffy limped to the first door on the left. Or rather, tried to limp. The second she budged, a hand fisted her hair and dragged her back against a cold, solid chest. Nausea bubbled. She was going to be sick.

“Going somewhere?” the vampire breathed.

And then she was going to be dead.

The big hulking sod was standing outside of an old, condemned building. An old building with a sign that read, ‘Sunnydale Arms, Rooms for Let, Breakfast Included, Inquire Within.’ The air was ripe with her scent. She’d been here just a second ago, and the big-foreheaded wanker was to blame.

“Gimme one reason not to kill you,” Spike growled, reaching for the stake he’d stuffed into his back pocket. “Or better yet, hold your lack of breath ‘cause I’m gonna kill you anyway.”

Angel turned slowly, his eyes falling as though disappointed. “Spike. That didn’t take as long as I’d hoped.”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

Spike roared, the bones in his face shifting as his fangs descended. “Don’t you fucking play dumb with me! Where is she?”

“Spike, there’s something you need to know—”

“Yeah. The way a stake through the heart feels? Tell you what. How about you go firs’, an’ then you can tell me about it.” He drew his arm back in what would have been the perfect arc for staking the pathetic bastard if a timely feminine scream hadn’t ripped through the air.

Spike’s head jerked, his eyes fixing on the condemned building to his left. “Buffy,” he gasped.

“She’s inside,” Angel said quickly. “Cruciamentum. It happens to all slayers—”

No need to tell him twice. Spike’s eyes blazed and landed on the self-righteous git, fist tightening around the chunk of wood as the rest of him gave way to rage. He growled and slammed the stake into his grandsire’s throat, then took off for the boarding house as Angel collapsed.

“Why don’t you lie down for a bit?” he spat, wiping blood off his hands, ignoring Angel’s pitiful moan.

The wanker wouldn’t be down for long. Too bad. Any other time and he would have really enjoyed that.

And he would. He’d get a good laugh.

After Buffy was safely in his arms.

The air cracked as she smashed into the wall. Her skin was bruised and she was sure that the vamp only had a few more bones to break before he rendered every inch of her body completely ineffective. Her face was purple and bleeding from his punches, her eyes so swollen that she couldn’t see anything. The steps he took were thunderous. He had her right where he wanted her; there was no need for stealth.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” he quipped. “I took the one less traveled by. Which one will you take…Buffy? Is that right? Buffy? That man…the vampire. The one that was here while they…prepared me for you…he mentioned your name once or twice.”

Buffy merely croaked.

“He seems a bit bitter, I think,” the vampire continued. “Hell hath no fury like a demon scorned, or so I’ve been told. At least that’s what I told my mother before I ate her. Perhaps your friend would have been a little less willing to lure you here if—”

“God. If you’re gonna gab all night, can you please just spare me and kill me now?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the vampire berated. “Now, that, children, is what we call an oxymoron. Obviously, I can’t spare you and kill you at the same time. That defeats the whole purpose. In fact—”

Buffy whimpered as another vampiric roar sliced through the air, curling her aching body into as tight a ball as her muscles would allow. “Oh God.”

“You sonofabitch!” Something crashed in the hall and hope surged through her veins. She knew that voice. God, she knew that voice. “You fucking sonofabitch!”

“Spike?” she whimpered. If this was a last delusion before death, it was both a cruel and a welcome one. She wanted to be with Spike when she died—even if his presence was imagined.

“’m here, baby. Jus’ hold on.”

At his reassurance, her last nerve broke and a long sob tore through her lips. God. Spike was here. Spike had come for her. Hot tears welled behind her eyes, peeling down her swollen face. It hurt to cry. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. But it was okay. Spike was here. She didn’t know how he’d found her, but he had.

Spike had found her.

“This the one, Buffy?” the vampire taunted.

“Shut your gob! You don’t get to talk to her!” Spike snarled. “You don’ even get to look at her!”

“Her skin’s soft, isn’t it? So nice and warm…and breakable.”

There was nothing then but a feral roar. Spike’s roar. She knew his demon’s voice well. God, she knew everything. She felt everything. She felt every move that he made. Every time he lunged and crashed, every time he clawed and snarled and lashed out with his fangs. He was screaming things without saying a word, and she felt it all.

Buffy flinched and buried her head under her arms. The walls moaned and the floor shook.

Then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of a vampire dusting. And the next thing she knew, strong, familiar hands coaxed her into equally familiar arms. Her head was cradled against his chest, his lips peppering sweet kisses across her swollen face. It hurt, but in a good way. In a way that she would gladly endure for the rest of her days as long as he never let her go.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

That didn’t matter. Didn’t he know that didn’t matter? The only thing that mattered was that he was here now.

“Spike…” Her voice didn’t even sound like hers. “Spike…”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He kissed her bruised lips, trembling hard against her. “I’m here.”

Yes, he was.

He’d come for her.

And that was all that mattered.

Author’s Note: I realize that several people are disappointed that Buffy didn’t kill Kralik herself. Trust me, I’m every bit a feminist, but I had to keep in mind that circumstances for this story are very different than they were on the show. Buffy wasn’t informed of the Cruciamentum, so she didn’t know to go into the Sunnydale Arms with an arsenal, as she did in Helpless. Also, Angel had kept Kralik in line, so there was no early escape or a random spazzing about his meds. From the way he was presented on the show, Kralik didn’t strike me as a fledgling vamp that could be taken out with any measure of ease, especially if a weakened Buffy was caught off guard.

Just thought I’d clarify why I went in the direction I did. =)

Also, be prepared to hate Angel. I’m not an Angel-basher by nature, which you likely wouldn’t know with the next couple chapters. I actually like Angel quite a bit. He just proved very easy to pick on.

He thrived on the steadiness of her heartbeat and the race of her pulse. He felt it in every melodic breath she took. Every word she whispered as he raced her home. When he ran up the steps to her front porch, Spike didn’t bother to ring the bell. He wasn’t about to lessen his hold on Buffy; not for the world. As for the door, a swift kick opened it just fine.

“Hold on, you moron,” Angel droned behind him, holding his hand to his sore neck. “You can’t get in without an invitation.”

Spike didn’t bother dignifying it with a response. He didn’t even toss the git a look. He figured his unobstructed entrance into the Summers residence said everything a well-barbed insult couldn’t.

Joyce Summers jumped to her feet as he exploded into the entry hall. “Oh my God. Buffy!”

“She’s fine,” Spike replied, his voice hitting a shrill note. “She’s fine.”

He didn’t waste anymore time. He just barreled up the stairs.

“Oh my God!” Joyce gasped behind him, then screamed when Angel attempted to follow Spike to the upstairs bathroom. “Oh my God. No. No.”

Spike shut the door as Angel’s pathetic attempts to explain how he wasn’t a bad guy anymore began rolling off the wanker’s lying tongue. He carted Buffy quickly to the shower and twisted the nozzle until cold water washed over them.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxed frantically. “Come on. Look at me.”

“Spike…”

God, her eyes were swollen shut. Her gorgeous face was marred with bruises and cuts. She was bleeding, and he didn’t want to look where. He didn’t want to see something fatal—something that stole his hope away.

He brushed his lips against a purple patch of skin and shuddered. “Sweetheart…”

“I’m okay,” she murmured, digging her fingers into his shoulders. “He didn’t…he just got to beat me around a bit. You got there…before anything…anything else happened.”

The fact that he hadn’t been there to stop it knifed at his gut. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve known. I should’ve known what was happening. I jus’ didn’t…I didn’t think. It was right there in front of me, an’ I didn’t think.”

“Wha…Spike?”

“It’s called the Cruciamentum, pet. It’s something the Council puts the slayers through when they turn eighteen. A test. A sodding test. It’s the reason for everything.” He choked, his eyes misting. “Your powers. The reason you’ve felt weak. It’s…God, I’ve been so bloody blind.”

She tried to open her eyes and moaned, cold water raining over her bruises. “T-test?”

“Brains over brawn thing, or so I’ve read.” He kissed her brow and whimpered when she whimpered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Buffy shook her head. “You didn’t…Spike, this isn’t…your fault.”

“I could’ve stopped it. If I’d known—”

“It’s okay.”

Spike shook his head. “I’m gonna kill them. Angel first, then your Watcher. I’m gonna do it, Slayer. They’re the ones who did this to you. They put you in there with that…in there with that bastard.”

The astonishment that flashed across her face was heartbreaking. “Giles?”

“Watcher’s in on it. It’s the sodding Cruciamentum. He’s the one who did it. Administered the drug. He’s the one.”

Buffy whimpered again and shook her head. “No. No, he wouldn’t. He—”

Spike sighed. The Watcher would be a blind spot. He knew it, and that would only make his betrayal all the more painful. “He had to, luv. God, I’m so sorry. I should have—”

The door burst open before he could finish his thought, and his nostrils were assaulted with the stench of Angel.

“That’s enough,” the overbearing sod growled, delivering a punch to his face before Spike could react. Not that he could have reacted. Wild horses couldn’t convince him to let go of Buffy; Angel, in that, didn’t stand a chance. “There’s enough for us to explain without you twisting her head around.”

“Oh dear Lord,” another voice said. “Buffy…”

Spike huffed angrily and twisted, holding her to his chest. “Yeah, Watcher,” he snarled. “Look your fill. This is what you did to her.”

“Spike,” Angel said, his voice barely above a growl. “Give her to me.”

“I’m not a doll!” Buffy yelped, throwing her arms around Spike’s neck.

Her observation went ignored. “Hand her over.”

Spike jerked back, his grip around her tightening. “You touch her an’ you’re dust.”

“He’s pretty much running that risk either way,” Buffy observed, then whimpered and hissed when Angel’s hand wrapped around her upper arm. “Don’t touch me.”

“We need to see where you’re hurt,” Angel said softly.

“I believe I’ll be the one inspecting her bodily,” Spike snarled. “Seeing as I’m not the one that jus’ tried to have her killed, you enormous arse!”

Angel’s eyes flashed dangerously. “It’s not like I had a choice. It’s the Cruciamentum, Spike. It happens to all slayers, and we can’t stop it just because it’s Buffy.”

He growled. “Yeah. I’m sure you did a lot of trying, in that regard.”

“If you think this was fun for me—”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Giles rolled his eyes and wheedled himself between them. “I can assure the both of you that Buffy does not need this petty show of testosterone. Or a cold shower.”

“What Buffy needs is to be addressed like a person,” Buffy quipped and waved. “A fairly present person.”

Spike’s eyes drifted back to her bruised face, and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Even wounded, she was the picture of strength. “You’re incredibly present, luv,” he murmured.

Her bottom lip poked out. How she could pout in her state was beyond him, but he found it adorable. “You’re the only one who sees me,” she replied.

“Buffy,” Giles said with a soft sigh. “Come with me, please.”

“No.”

He released another sigh, slightly testier this time. “Please come with me. There are some things I need to tell you.” His icy gaze drifted to Spike, who snarled and bared his fangs. “Things that neither Angel nor Spike are equipped to explain. Now, if you want answers, come with me. If not, you’re perfectly welcome to have Spike continue his method of…dousing you with cold water.”

Spike snarled again and jerked back. “You lay a hand on her—”

“Spike…it’s okay.” She attempted to open her eyes but only moaned and whimpered. “It’s okay. It’s just Giles.”

“He—”

“Has some explaining to do,” she concluded.

Angel cleared his throat irritably, still massaging his wound with one hand. “I think that’s going around.”

“Spike,” Buffy groaned as she felt out for Giles’s hand, shivering as she stepped out of the blond vampire’s embrace. “Please remind me, after I get my strength back, to knock Angel’s teeth out.”

“Gladly.” He reached for her and growled when Angel stepped forward. The bloody brute just didn’t know when to quit. He was still growling when he shook his head in resignation; the rumble only drowned out when he turned his eyes back to Buffy. “If you need me, pet, scream.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Spike cast Giles another mistrustful glance. “Jus’ scream. Yeah?”

“Make with the big shrill. I got it.” She leaned forward and frowned when she met nothing but air. “I can’t see you to kiss you.”

If he had a heartbeat, it’d be racing right about now. The fact that she’d reached for him in front of her Watcher and her ex meant the whole bloody world to him. Spike murmured her name piously and seized her lips before the others could drag her away.

“I’ll be right downstairs,” he whispered. “Right downstairs.”

“Yes, yes,” Angel grumbled, wedging between them. “Giles?”

The Watcher nodded, his face tight with displeasure. “Help me get her to her room.”

Spike’s eyes went wide. Her room? There was no bloody way he was letting Angel into her room. “Now hold on jus’ a second—”

“No. No holding. You’re leaving.” Angel gripped his upper arm. “You brought her home. You’ve used up all your usefulness. Leave.”

“Hey!” Buffy started struggling in Giles’s grip, but she was both too tired and too sore to fight. “Angel! You don’t have permission to kick anyone out of my house!”

“He’s—”

“He saved my life! Which is more than I can say for you, you jackass!” Buffy attempted to kick at him, but fell back in her Watcher’s arms with a pitiful moan. “There will be no kicking anyone out. Anyone who isn’t you, anyway.”

Giles sighed. “Buffy, please. I need to check your wounds. See—”

Buffy nodded. “Okay.”

“Angel?”

Before the blond vampire could object, the big brooding sod had actually dared to lift the Slayer into his arms. Spike couldn’t help it; his eyes flashed and he vamped uncontrollably, releasing a thunderous roar. “Don’t touch her!” he screamed. “You bleeding bastard!”

Angel rolled his eyes and dumped Buffy unceremoniously back into Giles’s arms. “I’ll be there in a sec,” he said, fisting a handful of duster and dragging Spike into the hallway.

“You unbelievable wanker. Do you have any idea how much I’m going to kill you?”

“Do you have any idea what you did tonight?” Angel shot back. “The Council—”

Spike snarled and leapt forward, only to be greeted with a near blasé punch to the jaw. His head reeled back and his hand went to his chin. “So now you’re the poster boy for followin’ the rules, is that it? Your sodding li’l test nearly got the girl killed. An’ the fact that you’re out here trying to justify what you did leads me to believe that you care less about her an’ more about the fact that she’s moved on.”

“It’s not that she moved on. It’s what she moved on to.”

“Last I checked, that falls under the heading of none of your business.”

Angel crossed his arms, unimpressed. “It’s Buffy. I made it my business. Now get the hell out.”

“She doesn’t want me gone.”

“She just got the stuffing kicked out of her. She’s not thinking clearly.”

Spike roared again, jumping for the sod’s overly large throat before he could think. “An’ whose fault is that?” he screamed, only to be seized by the lapels of his duster and handed a one-way ticket down the Summers staircase. The banister cracked and Joyce screamed and covered her mouth, rushing to his side like a doting mother and helping him to his feet.

Angel stood at the top of the stairs, his eyes dark. “Too bad the splinters missed your heart,” he drawled.

Spike shook himself free of sawdust and staggered to his feet. “If you think you can keep me away from her—”

“You’re not what she needs right now. I’m going to go help her.” Angel turned to head for Buffy’s bedroom. “Stay or don’t stay. Of course, I’d prefer that you didn’t, but if you care about her at all, you’ll let me help her.”

“If you cared about her at all, you wouldn’t’ve let her get hurt in the firs’ place!”

“The Cruciamentum had to happen. I had no say in it.” Angel spread his hands and shrugged. “Someday, Spike, you’ll realize that not all of your problems go away by blaming me.”

“Not all,” Spike seethed as he watched the git vanish. “Jus’ enough.”

If Angel thought he was going to sit down here quietly, he had another thing coming.

Buffy was Spike’s girl. He’d fought for her, and she wanted him. She didn’t want Angel. No. She wanted Spike. She wanted him. She’d reached for him. She’d asked for his kiss. She was his girl.

Something Angel was about to find out.

“It happened. I knew it.”

“Yes, yes. You’re very clever.” Giles tossed him a pair of flannel pajamas. “I can’t…do this part. You’re going to have to change her.”

Buffy whimpered. “Change? As in…with the removing of clothing?”

Angel shrugged. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Thank you for that,” Giles grumbled under his breath. “Please, refrain from speaking about any…knowledge you might have about my slayer during this one and only time you will ever have my permission to disrobe her.”

Buffy shook her head so hard that she dizzied herself. “No,” she moaned. “No. No. I-I can change myself. I’m not completely helpless. I—”

“Buffy,” Giles berated softly. “You can’t see anything.”

“Well, that’s only because my eyes are swollen shut.” She scowled and tried to pry her eyes open, only to give up with a defeated moan. “Something I believe you were going to explain.”

“It’s called the Cruciamentum.”

“That much I gathered from the massive yelling,” she observed dryly, only to gasp and jerk violently when Angel tried to inch Spike’s black tee up her body. “No! No! I do not give you permission to change me!”

“Buffy, your clothes are wet. Captain Peroxide—”

She all but growled. “If you so much as think of blaming any of tonight on Spike, I will personally shove your nonbeating heart down your throat.”

“Buffy—”

“You led me there!” she spat. “You led me there and then you told me that Spike was bleeding and then this happened. Undressing me is the last thing you’re gonna be doing right now.”

Angel sighed. She could be so difficult sometimes. “Buffy, if we don’t get you out of the wet clothes, you’re gonna get sick.”

“Then let Spike change me.”

“You’re gonna have to make good on the nonbeating-heart-down-my-throat thing before I let Spike touch you.”

“I guess I missed the part where it’s any of your business.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “Okay. I get that you’re mad, but—”

“Mad?!”

“Angel was just assisting me,” Giles explained with a grumble from where he stood in the corner, his back to them. “The Cruciamentum is a test that the Council puts the Slayer through on her eighteenth birthday. As Watcher, it’s my job to administer the muscle relaxant—”

“Administer?” Buffy squeaked, ceasing her protests in astonishment, and allowing Angel the leverage he needed to tug the tee over her head. “Spike was right? You’ve been drugging me?”

“Buffy—”

“You drugged me and then ignored me when I started wigging?”

“But you didn’t,” Angel barked, turning his hands to the clasp of her jeans. “You’ve been so preoccupied with this Spike thing that you let the complete loss of your powers just barrel over you—”

“This Spike thing happened to be what saved my life tonight.” She paused and gasped when she realized that he’d jerked her jeans down her legs. “You sick pervert! Leave me alone!”

“Buffy—”

She kicked, but her effort was futile. “I want Spike!”

Angel froze and grabbed her leg. “Hold on.”

“I’m gonna ralph, Angel, I swear to God. Let me go!”

“Hold on.” He pressed her legs to the mattress, his eyes glued to her inner left thigh. “Giles?”

The Watcher didn’t budge. “Hmmm?”

“You need to see this.”

“I can’t tell you how much I don’t need to see this.”

Angel sighed. “This is no time for modesty. You need to see this.”

Buffy whimpered and twisted. “I don’t know what your damage is, but I’m not going to sit here and play the part of—”

Angel ignored her and scooted over as Giles joined him. “See?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he brushed his finger across the bite mark. “There—”

That was definitely the wrong move to make. Buffy’s rather weak but full-hearted struggles exploded into a frenzy. She twisted. She swung. She opened her mouth and pealed loose a scream that would make the heavens quiver.

Giles and Angel froze.

This was not good.

“I don’t understand,” Joyce remarked, sliding Spike a cup of hot chocolate and rounding the island, holding up an icepack. “Explain to me why Angel is here again?”

Spike sniggered and raised the mug to his lips, trying hard not to warm when she pressed the cold compress to his bruised head. In all honesty, he didn’t know what he’d done to earn the woman’s affection. There was no familiarity between them beyond the awkward discussion that took place the night that Joyce discovered her daughter was the Slayer. Well, their discussion along with the unfortunate head-hit-with-an-axe business. And yet, Joyce was serving him hot chocolate and looking at him as though he was her personal savior. That was a bit much for any bloke to take.

Especially when he was ignoring every raging instinct that demanded he bolt upstairs and hurl the intrusive tossers out the nearest window.

“Angel has a soul again.” He winced as the words left his lips. God, was that even an excuse? Spike snickered. “As if that matters.”

Joyce frowned and shook her head. “Buffy tried to explain this to me after she got back. And then…a few weeks ago, he was here. He was here one night when she wasn’t, and she tried to explain again when she got back. How Angel had gone from being her boyfriend to a murderer…I just never…it never made sense to me.”

Spike swallowed hard. The second time had been the kidnapping, he was sure of it. Angel had come by looking for her when she didn’t show. But the first time? When had Buffy popped off? From the way Joyce spoke, it sounded as though she’d taken an extended leave. “Buffy was away?” he asked pointedly, arching his brows so she couldn’t mistake his meaning.

A pained look crossed her face, and she nodded. “After…last year, after you left, Buffy and I got into a fight. I told her that if she left, she shouldn’t come back.”

Spike stopped drinking and calmly lowered the cup back to the counter. “What?”

“Well—”

“You kicked her out?”

The shame that colored Joyce’s eyes was perhaps the only thing saving her from being a midnight snack. That plus the knowledge that eating the Slayer’s mum wasn’t the surest way to win a girl’s heart. “She was the number one suspect in a murder, Spike. And Willow was in the hospital and suddenly, she comes out that she’s a vampire slayer. It was all a little hard to take on faith.”

“On bloody faith?” Spike demanded, recoiling in disgust. “We dusted a vamp right in front of you!”

“Yes, and that was rather startling.”

“You understand that if she hadn’t left, the whole sodding world would’ve been sucked into Hell, right?” He arched a brow and leered unpleasantly. “She saved the lot of you from something far worse than seein’ a vamp dust before your virgin eyes. An’ I’m willing to stake my unlife on the gamble that neither you nor any of her li’l friends bothered to show her any gratitude for what she sacrificed.” Spike scoffed and shook his head. “She hasn’t talked about it…about bein’ away an’ all, but I’m guessing it wasn’t a bloody picnic for her, either. Kicked out by her mum after running her honey through with a sword? Yeah, I can’t imagine why she’d never wanna see this pissant town again. Way I see it, you’re fortunate she loves the lot of you enough to come back at all.”

He’d struck a nerve; Joyce was pale and trembling, her eyes wide with remorse. “It…Spike, that was a couple months ago. We’re past this. Buffy…she’s apologized, and—”

“Did you?”

“What?”

“Apologize? You abandoned her when she needed you the most.”

“I was right here!”

Spike arched a brow. “You told her to leave. What was she s’posed to do?”

“She didn’t—”

“Joyce…” He held up a hand, then reached for his hot chocolate mug again. “I don’t wanna start a riff between you an’ your daughter, an’ I don’t wanna open up old wounds. But I think that asking her to shoulder the blame for everything is a bit unfair, especially considering the world she lives in. A world where…” He motioned upward with his eyes. “This happens.”

“Spike…” But she didn’t have anything to say.

Which was just as well. The next second, Spike felt a rush of pain and fury like nothing he’d ever known. It speared through him so forcefully he nearly fell off his stool. And in a blink, all rationality flew aside. Buffy needed him. She was being touched. She was being prodded by hands that were not his. She was crying for him.

“S-Spike?” Joyce ventured slowly.

The demon burst through his human face. He was halfway up the stairs by the time Buffy’s scream tore through the air.

“Get out.”

Angel blinked dazedly and met Giles’s furious eyes. “What?”

“You heard me. Get out.”

“She’s still—”

“You touched her. She screamed. Those are two things I would prefer never to have happen again.” Giles pointed at the door. “Get out.”

Buffy whimpered as she pulled the flannel bottoms that Angel had lain on her bed up over her hips. “Please,” she moaned pitifully. “I want…please. I want Spike. Please let Spike in here. Please.”

Angel and Giles just looked at her stupidly.

Tears squeezed through her swollen lids. God, why had she let them take her away from Spike in the first place?

“Please!” she gasped. “Where’s Spike? I need—”

Something crashed and the room was engulfed in a furious roar. She heard Angel barking in protest. Heard her Watcher object. The walls shook, and the roaring never stopped. And despite her confusion—despite the sheer frustration that came with her lack of sight—Buffy found herself calming down. Her heart wasn’t as sore. Her pulse wasn’t racing as hard. The bite mark still hurt, but not nearly as much. Angel’s alien, unwanted touch had her stomach in knots. She’d already had to choke down the need to vomit once, though had Angel not jerked away from her the minute she screamed, she might not have been able to help herself.

He’d touched her there. He’d shown her Watcher…that. He’d been so desperate to find a bite mark on her, and now that he had, she didn’t know what he was trying to prove. He hadn’t said, “Aha!” or made any allegations following the bite mark’s discovery. He’d just pointed it out.

Well, to be fair, she’d started screaming pretty much the next second.

Buffy jerked in time with a definite crash, swallowing a whimper when the door closed.

“Spike?”

She found herself in a familiar embrace the next second and the pain in her chest softened into a contented lull. “Spike?”

“I’m here,” he murmured, showering her face with sweet kisses. “I’m right here.”

“Giles? Angel?”

“I tossed Angel down the stairs. Giles…well, he’d’ve gotten the same treatment if he weren’t so bloody breakable.”

Buffy laughed and clutched at him. “Don’t leave me.”

Spike’s arms tightened around her. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he murmured, coaxing her head to his shoulder. “Not anywhere.”

Author’s Note: I took some creative license in Buffy’s birthdays…in that I made the Season 1 episode “Nightmares” a birthday episode. Pretty much because, up until I rewatched it recently, it was a birthday episode in the very special land of my imagination. I think it’s because her father was there. Anyway, just wanted to clarify that. *smoosh*

And THANK YOU to everyone who voted for this story at seven_seasons! *bounces*

“My head feels all big and swollen,” Buffy murmured, stretching accommodatingly beneath him as Spike dabbed her brow with an ice pack. “Uhhh. I really hate this part of getting my ass so spectacularly kicked. Is there a demon or a warlock that can speed up time?”

He chuckled appreciatively. “Not that I know of, pet.”

“I hate being sick.”

“You’re not sick, baby.” He brushed his lips across her forehead and smiled softly. “You’re jus’…”

“Not well?” Buffy grinned, paused, and managed to wedge one eye open with some effort. “Oh hey. Look. There you are.”

Spike glanced up and smiled when he saw her looking at him. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’m a real knockout. I hear big purple welts are all the craze nowadays.”

“You’re still gorgeous.”

“You’re just being sweet.”

Spike shook his head. “I’m not sweet. I’m nasty an’ rude, an’ I’d tell you straight if I thought otherwise.”

“You would not.”

“’Course I would.” He kissed her brow again, flicking the strap of her camisole. “So, on a scale from one to ten, how does this birthday compare to the others?”

Buffy snickered dryly and turned on her side. “Don’t I need to rank my other birthdays first?”

Spike shrugged and settled in beside her, lifting his arm so that she could snuggle into his side. “If you feel that’ll help,” he agreed, though he couldn’t help the angry rumble in his chest that told him he was just asking for heartache. Of course, her birthday last year would have been worse than this one, and that was partially his fault. Moreover, the cause of her pain would be directly Angel-related, and petty as it might be, he didn’t think he could stand to hear it.

Especially now that he knew. He’d known the second he felt her pain. The second he’d felt her screaming. The second he’d imagined a world without her in it. He’d known.

He loved her.

It wasn’t much of a revelation, he supposed. After all, he’d felt it for days now. He’d likely known the night that he’d realized it was possible. The night he’d gone to her after scaring her in the cemetery. When he’d snuck into her room and felt her tremble beneath his fingers. He’d felt it then—he just hadn’t wanted to admit it. He hadn’t wanted to shove his baser tendencies aside so quickly. He hadn’t wanted to abandon his inner monster.

And he hadn’t. He hadn’t. His demon had overpowered him once already, and Buffy hadn’t shrunk back in fear. She’d calmed him, and the demon, in turn, adored her.

Why it had taken so long to realize he loved her, he didn’t know. But he did. He loved her entirely. He loved her like he’d never loved anyone. It was as though something cosmic had opened his eyes. As though the years before her had been spent wandering around blind, waiting for her to find him.

Whatever he’d thought he’d felt before, whatever misguided musings he’d had toward love, were completely washed away.

“Well,” Buffy mused, breaking through his reverie, “my first birthday kinda sucked. I mean, I turned into a vampire.”

Spike blinked dazedly. “You did?”

“Yup. Well, it was around my birthday, so to me, it counts. Coma boy…had a bunch of nightmares. Made all of our worst nightmares come true. Mine ranging from my father not loving me to becoming a vampire.” She spoke as though it were nothing, but he could tell that she was haunted still by the occasional nightmare. “Then again,” she said, shrugging casually. “Xander was chased by maniacal clowns, so maybe I got the better end of the deal.”

“Buffy—”

“And last year? Hello to the suckage.” Her expression darkened. “Then again, maybe if I’d known Soulless-Angel wasn’t as evil as Angel-Angel, it might’ve been easier for me.”

Spike blinked, surprised. “How you figure?”

“Well, Angel-Angel led me to that place tonight, and then got me to bolt inside by telling me that you were in there…hurt and bleeding.”

“He what?”

“Yeah, the way I have it figured, at least Soulless-Angel would’ve been up-front.” She shook her head. “After the big secret about his lack of soul was out, he was pretty out-in-the-open about how much he wanted me dead. That and I think he’d wanna do the damage himself rather than having some crazy vamp do the work for him.”

“Angel led you to the place where the Cruciamentum was happening?”

Buffy licked her lips and nodded, wincing when she rubbed her shoulder too liberally against his. “Ugh. I can’t wait until I get my powers back.”

“He led you—”

“He said you were bleeding.”

“He told you…an’ you—”

“I was just about to try and ditch him to meet you for patrol.” She shook her head. “And I didn’t even stop. Like Angel would even care if you were bleeding. And I didn’t even stop and think. I was all bolty-Buffy and crazy Mister…Crazy was in there waiting for me.” She paused. “I didn’t think.”

Spike sighed and tightened his arms around her. “You thought of me,” he murmured numbly, unable to draw his eyes away from her. She was a vision. A glorious, gorgeous vision; he couldn’t believe he’d done anything to deserve her. That he’d done anything to merit the bruises that colored her gorgeous skin. And the idea that all Angel had to do to get her racing into danger was mention his name…

God, I love her so much.

The knowledge warmed his insides. He’d fought it for so long. Why had he fought it? Why, when it brought him this sort of peace?

“When do you think I’ll get my powers back?” she murmured. “I really wanna pop Angel in the nose.”

“Get in line.”

“Well, no. That’s not fair.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. Not fair? Angel gets a busted nose as payment for nearly getting her killed? No, he supposed it wasn’t fair. The only way any of this could ever be fair was if he locked Angel in a room with several centuries’ worth of victims and let them have at him. Or better yet, hand him off to the sodding Council. Get a priest to try and exorcise his demon from his chest. Anything that involved a lot of torment: that was what Angel deserved.

“What I really want,” Buffy continued, coughing, “is to shred him into little dusty bits.”

Or that. That would work. He released a deep sigh and chuckled, brushing his lips across her shoulder. “You’ll get no argument from me, luv.”

“Giles would pitch a fit.”

“What, are you daft? The bloke offed his woman. You think he’s gonna cry any tears over Angel dust?” He shook his head heatedly. “An’ not that I’m not in favor of bruising the Professor’s dainty old-man skin, but I’d gamble everything I have that the only reason they’re workin’ together is because of us.”

She paused. “Us?”

“Angel’s known about us for a while, yeh?”

“Well, I let him know what happened, if that’s what you mean.”

“An’ who do you think he ran to?”

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “But…Giles hasn’t mentioned anything. About you or…about whatever. I mean, he has recently, but Angel’s been showing up…” She shook her head, her brow furrowing. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. If Angel’s been ratting on me this whole time, Giles would’ve pulled a massive wig.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure? Do you have any idea how much crap they gave me when I got back from Los Angeles?”

“Luv, until your mum let the bloody cat out of the bag downstairs, I din’t even know you’d scampered to Los Angeles at all.”

Her face blanked, her one good eye falling shut. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t run out on me the first chance you got.”

“I din’t run out!”

Buffy snickered. “No. Sprinted is more like it.”

“I had—”

“You carted Dru away and then it was all, ‘Bye, bye, Buffy. Don’t let the apocalypse hit your ass on the way out.’” She pouted. He had no idea how she could pout when her gorgeous face was as bruised and swollen as it was, but her bottom lip poked out and he found himself drenched in guilt. “Angel got his soul back right before I had to send him down the express lane to Hell. Then I left town. I mean, my mom had kicked me out and my friends didn’t care that—”

“I still don’ get how she got the stones to boot you from your own house, luv.”

Buffy shrugged indifferently, though he knew from the look on her face that it still smarted. “She thought she was…I dunno. I shouldn’t have expected her to…just get it. Maybe I should’ve tried to come home and talk with her—”

“Yeah? I’m sure that would’ve gone swimmingly.” Spike rolled his eyes, his tone adapting a high falsetto. “’Allo mum. Jus’ saved your sorry ass from bein’ sucked into Hell. What was that we were talkin’ about before I went an’ killed my boyfriend for the betterment of humanity’?”

“Yeah, like I’d ever say, ‘Allo.’ You don’t even say ‘Allo’.”

He shrugged. “Jus’ saying.”

“And betterment? Who are you, Giles?”

Spike made a face at her that was positively infantile, but the radiance shining on her face when she dissolved into giggles made it more than worth it. “Ow,” she complained, rubbing her cheek and trying to reign in her mirth. “Don’t make me laugh, you ass.”

“Yeah, I’m a berk for bringing light to my girl’s face. Someone stake me.”

“You shouldn’t say that while you’re holding the Slayer.”

“I’m tremblin’ in my booties,” he retorted with a furious smirk, his fingers dipping to tickle her sides. “What were we talking about, again?”

“Something about Giles and Angel and the…massiveness that is…massive?” Buffy frowned and nuzzled his shoulder kittenishly, draping an arm over his chest and draping her right leg over his. “I dunno. I don’t think it matters.”

“I still can’t believe that prat sent you into the place by telling you that…” Spike sighed. “I should’ve staked him twice.”

“Yeah…what?”

He just chuckled and shook his head, stroking her cheek gently with his knuckles. “Rest, kitten. It’ll be better in the morning.”

“Nuh uh.”

“I’ll give you your present, then.”

“Present?”

He brushed his lips across her brow. “Your birthday present, luv. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

She pouted. “Buffy want prezzie now.”

“Buffy’s gonna have to wait till Buffy’s gotten some rest.”

“You’re no fun.”

Spike grinned. “Oh, I’m lots of fun. As you well know.”

“Perv.”

“You love it.” He stroked her hair, his eyes shining with adoration. “Go to sleep, pet. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Mmmm.” She was already drifting. He loved it that, despite everything, he could help her end the day with a smile on her face. “Promise?”

Spike smiled into her hair. “Promise.”

He was in her room. He had her in his arms. And he loved her.

There was nothing in the world could drag him away now.

He smelled her before she knocked and moved quickly to cover Buffy’s ears before she could be disturbed. She’d been resting so peacefully, with the occasional grin tickling her gorgeous lips. He didn’t want her waking up now. Not now, when she’d only been asleep a few hours.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Joyce said, almost meekly. “I just…you are both…dressed, right?”

Spike arched a brow and bit his lower lip to warn off a chuckle. “I might be evil, but I’m not about to sully your daughter while she’s bleeding an’ you’re downstairs.” At least not while she knew he was in the house. He might be one to push his luck, but that was a little too much push for his comfort. “What’s on your mind, Joyce?”

She chuckled dryly and crossed her arms, her eyes dropping to the floor before she looked up again. “Oh, if I start in I might not stop. Is she doing all right?”

“Jus’ fine. She’s been asleep for a while.”

“Oh. She’s…is that normal?”

Spike offered a dry grin. “She’s been asleep for six hours. After the night she had, I’d be surprised if she woke up before tomorrow night.”

His words, as always, were a jinx. Buffy moaned a bit and stirred in his arms. “Unnhh. Spike?”

He tightened his arms around her immediately, the mirth in his eyes melting into tender concern. “I’m right here, baby,” he murmured soothingly, though it was all for naught. She was in the middle of some dream, and hearing his voice was all she needed to keep from waking.

“All right,” Joyce said tiredly. “Ummm, well, Angel and Mr. Giles left quite a while ago. They wanted to know the second that Buffy awoke or…was feeling up to seeing them.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “How’s about you an’ I smuggle her outta the country?”

“I’ll be your co-conspirator.” Joyce smiled wryly, then folded her hands properly and turned. “Well, if you’re…I don’t want to wake her up, though I am hoping to have a conversation with someone that explains exactly what happened to her in a way that doesn’t make my head spin.”

“No chance of that.”

“I’m going to make pancakes. Do you want pancakes?” Joyce nodded to her daughter. “She’s going to want pancakes when she wakes up. And considering that she didn’t get a birthday party…”

“I’ll be down when she’s down,” Spike said.

The woman smiled and nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I…I know you went through a lot last night. Our conversation notwithstanding…but Mr. Giles…he let me know what happened. What you did…to save her. And I…” She shook her head and laughed, as though she’d said something foolish. “I just…thank you.”

Spike swallowed hard and nodded. What was there to say? It was nothing? It wasn’t—and it was, all at the same time. Saving Buffy was second nature to him. If she were in danger, he’d be where she was. He’d be at her side, fighting off whatever was doing her wrong.

“You’re…Joyce, it’s…” Spike blinked and glanced back to Buffy’s sleeping face. “Yeah.”

“You really care for her, don’t you?”

He shuffled uncomfortably. This was not the sort of conversation he wanted to have while he was in bed with the woman’s daughter, no matter how honorable his intentions were. Especially now—now that he knew that he loved her.

“I…ummm.” Spike cleared his throat and tried to force a grin. “Fried cake with liquid sugar?”

“I’m overstepping, aren’t I?” Joyce waved and edged out of the room. “I’ll just…go downstairs and start…frying the cake.”

Spike sighed and reclined. So Giles and the enormous wanker wanted to see Buffy. He imagined so. They’d give her some self-righteous spiel about how everything had been for her own good. How they’d been under orders, or how every slayer had to go through it, and there was no reason why Buffy should be any different. Why she should have special treatment. Just because she was the Slayer.

The rules were buggered, as it was. Made up by a Council of middle-aged Brits who would never have to be in the thick of a fight. Spike had met a watcher or two, and aside from Rupert Giles, they were all the same. All accustomed to controlled conditions with a vampire in a laboratory or in an arena where the other suits could monitor the situation. In all the research Spike had put into slayers, he’d only read of a few watchers who went above and beyond their roles. Most formed attachments to their slayers, but few would know what to do if they came across a vampire in conditions that were, for lack of a better word, uncontrolled.

Thus the entire idea of a test to prove the Slayer’s aptitude over her brawn made little sense in the long run. If she failed, the Council lost an experienced warrior and had to start from scratch. If she succeeded, the trust between slayer and watcher would be weakened; not to mention, the Slayer would likely be out of commission for a few days to both regain her strength and allow time for her wounds to heal.

Spike didn’t know Rupert Giles all that well, but from what he did know, he couldn’t help but boggle that the old man hadn’t reached the same conclusion. That he’d allowed such a bloody barbaric ritual to occur in the first place, especially considering how close he and Buffy were. The bloke was practically the Slayer’s surrogate father, and he’d allowed something like this to happen to her.

Not only that, but he and Angel were going to justify it. Bloody priceless.

“Is my face less swollen?”

Spike blinked and glanced down, grinning when he met Buffy’s green gaze. “Lookee here,” he purred, brushing a kiss across her brow. “My girl’s got two pretty eyes.”

Buffy scrunched her face up and whimpered. “I feel all achy.”

“You were in quite a tumble last night. I would offer to rub you down but then you’d prob’ly jus’ slap me.”

“Meh. Touching good. Buffy like touching.” She shifted upward and brushed her sore lips against his neck, her right hand running down his chest. “Buffy want good touching.”

“When did Buffy become Julius bloody Caesar?”

She giggled. “Hey, I’m delirious from the achies. Give a girl a break. And…Julius Caesar?”

“You know…” Spike shrugged, his eyes fluttering shut as her hand settled over his denim-clad cock. He whimpered and thrust up into her touch. “He spoke…about himself in third person…a lot.”

“You knew Caesar?”

He chuckled and arched a brow. “Yeah, because I’m two thousand years old. Don’t tell me bloody Shakespeare isn’t on your reading curriculum. I wouldn’t wanna have to eat one of your teachers.”

“Or her friends…” Buffy ventured, propping herself up so that she could pepper his chest with soft, sweet kisses. Even through the cotton of his shirt, the heat of her lips had his skin melting. She burned him so good. “Romans…countrymen?”

“Ha bloody ha.”

“Teaches you to question my Shakespeare knowledge.”

“You have Shakespeare knowledge?”

Buffy nipped at one of his nipples and squeezed his erection. “You shouldn’t make fun of me when I have your…ummm…boy parts at my disposal.”

Spike chuckled. She was too bloody adorable for words. “My boy parts?”

“I like your boy parts.”

“Trust me…” A moan hissed through his teeth as he thrust into her touch. “The sentiment’s more than shared.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. They think you’re bloody brilliant.” Spike moaned again. “Christ. Luv, your mum’s downstairs.”

Buffy just grinned deviously and squeezed his cock again. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly Mr. Prim and Proper.”

“You’re also bruised an’—”

She pouted and glanced up. “You don’t want me when I’m bruised?”

“I want you always. I don’t wanna hurt you.” Spike paused, a sensual leer stretching across his mouth as he bit his lower lip and thrust against her touch. “Not in all the wrong places, luv. I wanna make you hurt good, an’ the only way that’s happening is if you get your strength back.”

“You don’t think I could take you?”

“Right now?” He quirked a brow. “I don’t think you could take a feather-duster.”

Buffy moaned. “Meanie.”

“At least you can see now.”

A small smile flirted with her lips, and though the sight warmed his heart, it was bittersweet. He didn’t want to add that looking at the angry circles of red under her eyes made his heart break. That the cut running down her cheek and the gash on her brow only served as reminders of how he’d failed her. How every minute that he hadn’t remembered the Cruciamentum had hurt her just a little more. He could have prevented this. If he hadn’t been so wound up in her and what she did to him…God, he could have prevented this so easily.

She was still curled into his side, despite everything. And he loved her more than he was worth.

“You want your present, sweetheart?” he murmured, nuzzling her attentively. “Happy bloody birthday, an’ all?”

“Mass emphasis on the bloody?”

Spike shuddered. “No more, if I have my say.”

“Yes, because the life of a slayer is not without its perils.”

“Don’ you be educating me on the life of a slayer, luv.” Spike slid his hand down the length of his body, covering hers where it still rested over his cock and encouraging her to give him another squeeze. “Bleeding hell, you don’ know what you do to me.”

Buffy just grinned and rubbed him harder. “I know I want good touchies and you’re being Mr. Selfish.”

“You want touchies, eh?”

She nodded.

“Even with the plan an’ all?”

“I think we’ve safely postponed the plan based on severe ouchies and the consequences of life-and-death scenarios.” Her fingers began working on the clasp of his jeans. “So…Buffy get good touchies?”

“Buffy’s turned into Caesar again.” Spike wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Baby, I don’ wanna hurt you.”

“So don’t. Make with the good touchies.” She bit lightly on his nipple again, eliciting a long purr and another sharp thrust of his hips. “Good being the operative word.”

Spike growled and slid out from beneath her. “You make it hard to be less-than-evil, pet.”

“I want you all evil. Evil me up.”

He moaned in protest. “Buffy—”

“Evil me up until I can’t walk.”

“You can’t walk.”

She pouted. “You don’t know that!”

“Buffy—”

“Willing victim here! What kind of vampire are you?”

Spike willed his eyes shut and whimpered. “Be a good kitten,” he purred. “I’ll give you a little now. Jus’ a little. I want you to get your strength back up so I can shag you silly. You get your strength back, an’ I’ll evil you up.”

“Mmm. I like that plan.”

“Better than the one we have now, yeah?” Spike grinned and propped himself on his side, dipping his mouth down to tease her nipple through her camisole. “Spread your legs for me.”

“Spike…”

“Jus’ wanna touch. Won’t taste.” He met her eyes and pouted. “You won’ let me.”

“Soon,” she moaned, arching back when he slid his fingers under the waistband of her flannel bottoms and cupped her pussy. “Soon. I want it.”

Spike whimpered. The thought of her taste was enough to undo him completely. That and the thought that she trusted him—she’d overcome that final hurdle—and she was going to let him in. It was enough to make a grown man weep. “Yeah?” he asked, inwardly berating the childish hope in his voice. “You mean it?”

Buffy nodded fiercely, swirling her hips upward. “Please. Please.”

“Where do you want me, pet?”

She seized his wrist and guided him until his fingers were dipping inside her pussy. Then she moaned again and jerked. “Ohhh…”

“Christ, you’re wet.” Spike rolled his eyes back. Knowing what he did to her was one thing—he loved the scent of her arousal. The fire that stormed her gaze when she wanted him. The way she mauled him with kisses and set his blood aflame. “You this wet for me, baby?”

“Always.”

He grinned, his fangs slicing through his gums and making quick work of her camisole, his demon receding in a blink so that he could wrap his mouth around her naked breast. He pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger, and growled when she mewled.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmured. “Bloody seraph, you are.”

“I don’t…know what…that…means,” she replied, and he had to bite back a laugh at her attempt at casual. “But it…sounds nice.” She rotated her hips under him and bit her lip hard. “Back. Back. Inside.”

“Whass’at, kitten?”

“Fingers. Inside.”

He obliged her quickly, leaving her clit to his thumb as he thrust his eager digits inside her body once more. Buffy whimpered and arched again. She was close. She was so close already. The knowledge was both invigorating and somewhat disappointing. He loved it that he could do this to her. That he could render her into a puddle of incoherent slayer-goo with just a few masterful strokes of his hand, but the larger part of him hated the idea of leaving her body. He belonged inside her.

“Ohhh, God.”

“Baby like?” he cooed. “You feel like heaven.”

She opened her eyes dazedly. “You’re not—”

“You can still feel like heaven, pet. Doesn’ matter which part of me’s in you.”

He must have said something very right; her eyes widened with ecstasy and she began thrusting against his fingers in earnest. “Ohhh.”

Spike just grinned and sucked hard on her nipple, unable to stop himself from moaning into her skin when she trembled. When her pussy squeezed his fingers with the impact of her orgasm. He moved quickly and swallowed her whimper with a fiery kiss.

She mewled again when he slipped out of her, and again when her eyes fluttered open. When she saw him licking her honey off his fingers.

“Spike,” she moaned sleepily, her eyes warm. And the sight of her, bruises and all, smiling at him like he was a god, gave him more than he could ever want. It was something he’d never thought he’d see; the glow in her eyes. The look on her face. He knew that look. He’d just never been on the receiving end of it.

Happy. God, he’d made her happy.

“Was that my prezzie?” she asked, batting her eyes.

Wanton li’l nymph.

He loved her so much.

“That’s the present you don’t show your mum,” he replied dryly, though nothing could banish the grin from his lips. “The shiny I got you—”

“Oh! Shiny!”

“Is in my jean pocket.”

Buffy blinked and sat up, suddenly very awake. “Ohhh,” she drawled, the look on her face suddenly a perfect mock of a very satisfied cat that was stuffed full of canary. She leaned over him, sliding her hand intently over his lap, settling on his erection. “Is this it?”

“Minx.”

“Hey. Buffy got happy touchies. Spike saved Buffy’s life. Spike gets happy touchies, too.”

“I repeat: minx.”

She stared at him for a minute, then shrugged and dove for the aforementioned pocket. “Well, if you don’t want touchies, I can just—”

He moved like fire, seizing her wrist and guiding her back to his cock. “Quietly, now,” he murmured. “Don’ want your mum rushing up. She’s making us pancakes, you know.”

Buffy grinned and leaned in to nibble on his throat. “Let me help you work up an appetite.”

“Around you, luv, my appetite’s the last thing you need to worry about.”

“Yeah, but let me help anyway. My way’s more fun.”

Spike blinked and looked at her, then broke off with a laugh. “You are a shameless li’l minx.”

“Yeah, but you love me, anyway.”

There was nothing to say to that. Nothing to do but smile.

You have no idea.

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