Awards for the Yellow Brick Road Series

Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For explicit sexual content and language)
Spoilers: Rewrite of Season 3. Following Cupidity and Nemesis. Third installment of the Yellow Brick Road series.
Summary: Graduation Day nears. Spike learns that some things are not better left unsaid while Buffy comes to the realization that knowing what one has is imperative before it becomes gone.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon. They are being used for entertainment purposes and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.
Note: This is a rewrite, therefore the language, while cleaner, might reflect a writing style that has since evolved.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18]

It was another evening in Sunnydale.

“Heads up!”

Buffy Summers glanced up, eyes comically wide as a flying vampire soared over her body and crashed into the headstone behind her before imploding into a thousand spectacles of shimmering dust.

“Nothing like cuttin’ it fine, eh pet?”

She snickered. Typical that he would find that funny. “Next time, how about a little more cutting and a little less fine?”

Spike shrugged shamelessly, dazzling her with one of his patented smiles. It was damn near impossible to resist, yet she managed admirably. “See,” he retorted, running a hand through platinum strands, “we’ve already run into a problem. I can’t do anythin’ without bein’ fine.”

“Egomaniac.”

“Yeah, yeah. You bloody well love it.”

Buffy pouted at that. “Either way,” she said, “you effectively managed to dust our only competition tonight. It hasn’t been this slow in…ever.”

“You call that competition?”

“You must understand, when I say competition, I mean saving grace from boredom.” She sighed dramatically. “This sucks.”

At that, there was nothing for the vampire to do but to agree. There was no disputing it: this was definitely the quiet before the storm. And what a quiet it was. With only a few vamps on the move and even fewer willing to present themselves as amiable targets, there was little to be done outside the usually unproductive sweeps.

Not that Buffy wanted to patrol, per se, especially when there were pleasant distractions that persuaded her attention elsewhere even on the busier nights. But there were several fundamentals every slayer had to acknowledge at one point or another; her’s being the indisputable admission that she got irritable if her spot of violence was denied.

She would naturally keep this concealed from her vampire boyfriend as long as she could, especially as he was the one that brought it to attention in the first place. There were aspects of herself that were too Faith-like for comfort.

Things had been uncommonly quiet on that front as well. Two weeks had passed since the creepy-crawly box confiscation that went awry, and nothing more had come of it. Silence disturbed her—gave her the impression of not knowing where to look. At least when something was screaming, she could defend herself. And while he would never admit it, Spike was concerned, too. While, true, he had made habit of following her on patrol since they put a label on their relationship, he was becoming more protective of her. Not allowing her to get too far from sight while they wrestled up the few baddies that decided to present themselves. Buffy never made mention of it, of course, and he would deny it if she did. He knew that she could take care of herself, but that didn’t make the sentiment any less appreciated.

It was also undeniably sweet, but she wouldn’t mention that, either.

“Has been bloody slow,” he agreed.

“Just means something big’s coming.”

Spike perked a brow. “How you figure?”

She shrugged. “Just seems more likely. Besides, that’s what usually happens.”

“Really? Hmmm. Never noticed that.” He frowned. “Even with Peaches an’ the Acathla nonsense?”

Buffy gnawed on her lip thoughtfully, brow furrowing. There were so many aspects of that entire affair she purposefully had attempted to forget; succeeding in more levels than she thought possible, given all that had occurred. “No,” she answered. “But that was because Angel was sending henchmen after me. Big diff.”

“Wanker couldn’t even plan an apocalypse properly,” Spike decided good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her against him, nuzzling her hair. “We done here, luv, or do you wanna take another sweep?”

She had to resist the urge to melt into him. In any regard, she still wasn’t accustomed to a boyfriend whom openly proclaimed his feelings, even if his chosen dialect lacked actual words. “Nah. We’re done.”

“These vamps are right inconsiderate. Gettin’ us all worked up only to bail before the big finish,” her companion agreed with a hopelessly eager smile as his eyes danced with guarded enthusiasm. “Leaves a bloke all…unsatisfied.”

Buffy tried to mask a grin with irritation, but his lustful gaze did her in. “Sorry,” she said. “No playtime tonight. Homework. Besides, I think Mom wanted me in early.”

Spike sighed dramatically. “History?”

“Math.”

He winced. “Sorry.”

“Not nearly as sorry as I am.” With wordless consent, they fell into step in the direction of Revello Drive, their fingers entwining on much of the same note. While their relationship was still very much in the early stages, there were certain coupley habits that had been there from the beginning. “You’d think being the Slayer would come with certain privileges. Like not having to go to school and having a steady paycheck.”

“Poor baby,” Spike cooed, brushing a kiss across her cheek. “If you want, I can eat your teacher.”

She pretended to consider it before sinking again into her patented Buffy-pout. “Nah,” she decided. “Education is probably a good thing.”

Spike waved a hand dismissively. “That’s just rot they tell you to keep you from dropping out.”

“Hey. Impressionable youth here.”

“Jus’ letting you know now so you’ll be prepared when you become disillusioned in ten or so years.”

“Let me live in my delusion.”

“’Course, pet. Whatever makes you happy.”

Buffy tossed him a coy glance. “Well,” she said. “I do have some English homework, too. Granted it’s fairly easy, but I bet it’d be even easier if—oh say—someone helped me out with it.”

Spike smirked and cocked his head. “I s’pose,” he said. “In the namesake of education an’ all things literature. What’s the assignment?”

“Paper on Lord of the Flies. Ever read it?”

“Can’t say that I have. When’s it due?”

“Thursday. I know what to say and all that stuff, but it’d help if…” She gazed off thoughtfully. “Actually, that might be a very bad idea, all things considered. Get us alone and give us a room and—”

“I’ll be a good boy. Promise.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Well, I’ll try.”

A brow perked.

The vampire’s shoulders slumped; she would have laughed at his crestfallen face were she not lamenting the oh so inconvenient truth that enclosed areas plus her horny boyfriend equaled no study. “You can chain me up?” he offered.

“Mmm…a chained up Spike in my room.”

“Never said it was your room, now did I?”

“No,” she agreed, giving him one of her patented sultry looks that he claimed on a nightly basis should be outlawed. The same that suggested give her three minutes alone with him, and she would have him squirming like no worm had ever squirmed before. “But where else would I need any chains?”

“Oi now!” he protested. “’m a demon; ‘m supposed to be evil. What’s your excuse?”

Buffy flashed him a terrible grin, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into her. Her willful slave at all times. “Guess I’m just under the influence.”

He arched a cool brow. “You’re gonna be under somethin’ in a minute.”

She giggled and kissed him. A brief touch, but one relished. Something that spoke layers of unsaid words. “Better not,” she murmured. “Really…homework.”

“Right,” he replied huskily. Amazing how effortlessly she could push his buttons. The simplest touch, the briefest glance, and he was no longer his own man. “Well, at least let me get you home.”

Another narrowed glance. Nights that allotted no playtime customarily saw a departure at the head of the cemetery. Anything else was far too tempting for words, and she wasn’t about to believe that he was basking in the purity of intention.

Spike pulled back, hands going up. “Completely innocent. I won’ ravish you on your lawn.”

“Oh, yeah. Like it’s never happened before.”

The most ridiculous innocent look overcame him. He wisely ignored her narrowing eyes. “Can’t imagine what you mean,” he retorted, not bothering to hide the predatory and all-too-pleased-self grin that sprouted across his lips. It didn’t take much to get him to cave. “Okay. Right. That one time. An’ it was your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You came after me in your nightie. That provocative skimpy li’l—”

Her eyes widened as though he had just committed a capital offense. “Skimpy?! It is so not—”

“Kitten, it was all lacy an’ see-through an’ your tits were so lonely. My mouth had no choice, see. An’ you weren’t wearing knickers. Those things are made for one reason an’ one reason only. To drive yours truly out of his mind. To get your boyfriend to crawl on his hands an’ knees to make sure every…itch is satisfied.” He quirked a brow when she flushed. “What’s a bloke to do?”

There was a sigh of defeat. Buffy switched from the defensive and opted for pouty, as she knew it drove him wild. “My mother could’ve been—”

“Hush now. You loved it.”

The pout refused to waver. “That tree was hard.”

“Tree wasn’t the only thing hard. Made you scream good enough.”

She made a face. “I’m doing nothing to stroke your ego. You hardly need the encouragement.”

“Spoilsport.”

“You know it.”

Spike merely smiled at her, hand tightening around hers as they neared her home. “You sure there’s nothing I can help with, pet?”

“Not unless your last name is Golding and you wrote a controversial novel that managed to wheedle its way into my English curriculum.”

He winced sympathetically. “Sorry, no can do. Last I checked, ‘m jus’ Spike.”

“Check again?” she asked with a pitiful whimper, jutting out that lip that he couldn’t resist.

“Oi!” he protested good-naturedly, leaning inward to nibble at that delectable mouth of hers. “Not good enough for you as I am? That’s dangerous territory, that is, pet. Don’ go butchering my fragile ego.”

“Psh. You. Fragile. As if.”

That seemed to genuinely please him, but he didn’t relent his teasing. “You know what they say,” he murmured into her ear, planting mocking lovebites up and down her throat. It was amazing. Despite all they had shared, he could still ignite the fire within her in mere seconds. Not much time had passed, of course, but it seemed forever. Forever and a day, and only in the best of ways. “Keep your boyfriend happy, an’ maybe he’ll give you one.”

He had made that up off the top of his very blond head. Buffy couldn’t help but smirk. He just liked saying the b-word in reference to himself, and being the softie she was, she couldn’t help but find it absolutely adorable.

And as much fun as it was making out with him in her front yard, there was unfortunately homework to be had, and in mass amounts. Teachers and Sunnydale High didn’t seem to grasp that senior year was not meant for actual work. “Really, Spike, I gotta go,” she told him. “I’m already two assignments behind in algebra and if I don’t get that book read and written about, I’m as good as dead.”

There was notable reluctance, but he complied. “Right.” A whispered kiss across her lips. “Wish I could help, luv, but math an’ I are—”

“Non-mixy things?”

“In your diluted version of the English language, yes.”

She snickered, though her eyes were sparkling. “You’re one to talk.”

“You still studyin’ Roman history?”

“Yeah. We’re about to Vespasian, now.”

“Ah. If memory serves, he’s the bloke that coined the infamous: ‘Vae puto deus fio’ before he kicked it. Lemme know when you get to Marcus Aurelius. Gotta admire a git who persecutes a bunch of holy people.” When the observation earned a blank stare, the vampire shifted uncomfortably and glanced away in a manner that made him positively the most endearing thing on two legs. “What?”

“You’re so cute.”

He scoffed. “Am not.”

“Are too. With your big ole brain that you hide behind questionable judgment.” Buffy seized advantage of his mock-offended expression to worm into his arms again, resting her head against his chest. She chuckled wryly when he immediately complied and drew her nearer. “Of course, it’d help if you were the responsible type who told me to go do my homework.”

“Homework’s overrated.”

“I second that. And yet, it needs to be done.” With great reluctance, Buffy tipped upward to plant a brief, however heartfelt kiss on his lips before stepping out of reach. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Better believe it,” he answered with a grin. “Same time, same place.”

Spike remained stationary until she was no longer in sight. Up the walk, inside the house, and until he could no longer make out her form passing through the windows. It was amazing. This was amazing. This everything that he suddenly had. He was hesitant to see the end to any night in the fear that he would awake and find the past few weeks a wonderful dream with the reality of his loneliness waiting outside a safe haven. It hadn’t happened yet, and god willing, it would never.

So much had happened since the fateful night which first saw their emergence into couplehood. He had told her that he loved her then, and repeated it every night thereafter. Buffy had not said it back yet, but he felt it with every glance she sent his way. With every smile that was aimed at something he said. With every kiss honoring his lips.

It was perfection. And it was his.

His. Buffy Summers was his.

Contentment was an odd flavor, but he found he liked it very much. Spike was hesitant; he didn’t want to surrender himself to unbridled happiness—he knew far too well how quickly it could be ripped from him. But it was hard. It was so hard. He was here, he had the woman he loved, and it was he who got to kiss her goodnight. Every night.

Most assuredly, the unlife didn’t get any better than this.


A/N: Some lines taken from Season 3. Just the ones that, you know, move the plot along.

“So it was short and kinda blue?”

Willow frowned, considering. “Not too short, medium. And it had this weird, sorta fringy stuff on its arms.”

The doors to the library swung open and Giles bumbled inward. “What's that?” he asked with interest. “A demon?”

The girls eyed each other wryly. “No,” Buffy retorted. “A prom dress that Will was thinking of getting. Don’t you ever get out of the Hellmouth?”

Giles smiled tiredly. The look in his eyes said more than words ever could. “I'd be delighted to. However, the day of the Mayor's Ascension is fast approaching and we don't know what to expect. Some things remain more important than dances, girls.”

“Not this dance,” the Slayer retorted.

“So says those with demon dates,” Xander grumbled. “Though I better shut up before the Hypocrite Gods strike me down.” He wisely avoided her inquiring gaze, turning to Giles. “Well, what about the pages that Will stole from the Mayor's book? Look, she put her life on the line there, pal. Don't tell me they're useless.”

Giles shook his head. “On the contrary, no, we, uh, we know the Ascension refers to a human transforming into a demon, the living embodiment of an immortal. And Graduation Day, our Mayor Wilkins is scheduled to do just that.”

“My life wasn’t really on the line,” Willow protested. “Spike was with me.”

Xander arched a brow. “And this is supposed to make me feel better, how?”

“Mutual support,” Oz suggested. “It’s a thing they’re trying nowadays.”

Buffy seared Xander with a dirty look. “Hey, he did a world of good, and it’s all new to him. Give the guy a break. And he didn’t wig about Angel helping us out. Bonus in the Buffy Boyfriend Happy department.”

“Please, for the love of God, don’t use that word in context with Captain Peroxide…ever.” He shuddered. “I can take you two going out—”

“One step ahead of me,” Giles murmured under his breath.

“—I can take the cutesy looks, the kissy faces, and the handholding. But don’t call him your boyfriend. It just makes it all so…real.”

“He totally kept his cool with Faith, too,” Willow continued, plowing through Xander’s protest and sharing a conspiratorially evil glance with Buffy. “Though I was the one who freaking told her off.”

“Go Wills,” Buffy cheered, awarding her a thumbs-up.

The library doors swung open, revealing Wesley and Cordelia.

“The trouble is,” the younger Watcher said, “regarding the Mayor, anyway, is that we do not know what sort of demon he is to become.”

“There are thousands of species,” Giles verified, grateful to have something to talk about other than his Slayer’s love life.

At that, Wesley huffed his chest with the same ridiculous look of pride and superiority Buffy was beginning to suspect was copyrighted and patented for the wannabe-Watcher. And true to form, the bulk of the room exchanged mildly amused looks at his attempt to exuberate power. “So, it's safe to say we shouldn't waste any time of such trifling matters as a school dance.”

“Well, that's too bad,” Cordelia offered, making to sit at the table. “Because I bet you would look way 007 in a tux.”

There was an uncomfortable beat as the Wesley all but slobbered over the compliment. “Except,” he continued, smiling winningly, “of course, on the actual night, I will be aiding Mr. Giles in his chaperoning duties.”

At that, Giles glanced up in horror. “What? Excuse me?” There was a beat—then a sigh of resignation. He knew he was defeated without argument. “Oh, fine, fine, fine.”

Buffy grinned and turned back to Willow. “We'll get you a dress. You know, we should check April Fools.”

“Don't go there!” Cordelia erupted. When her outburst earned an audience of blank stares, she shrugged it off and returned to herself with a short but explanatory, “I shop there.”

“I myself am dipping into my road trip fund to procure a shiny new tux, so look for me to dazzle,” Xander added.

Giles sighed his exasperation. “And I myself will be wearing pink taffeta as chenille would not go with my complexion. Can we please talk about the Ascension?”

Buffy merely grinned at him. There were times when he was the epitome of ‘all work and no play.’ “Giles, we get it. Miles to go before we sleep. But especially if we're all gonna vaporize or something on Graduation Day, we deserve a little prommy fun. One night of glory, not too much to ask.”

Nothing could be that simple, of course. Sunnydale High did not alleviate its monthly bad mojo even for teenage rites of passage. Buffy knew it; things had been entirely too quiet of the recent. Reciting every night’s patrol with Giles wasn’t exactly momentous. She very much doubted her Watcher wanted a detailed account of Spike’s lips.

For all the good gossipy stuff, there was Willow. Willow, who was always interested in hearing how things were going. There hadn’t been need to discuss the guys and all their gayness since she first started seeing Angel, and they had a lot of catching up to do. After the five weeks of not talking, it was all anyone could do to keep them apart for more than a few minutes during the school day.

“So,” the redhead was saying as they made their way to the entrance doors of Sunnydale High. The student body was in that customary bustle to break the world’s record for the fastest leave after the dismissal bell rang, but the girls had long ago decided that it wasn’t worth getting trampled over. “How go things in the Spike department?”

Buffy grinned shamelessly. “What? Does my general bubbly persona not give it away?”

“A girl wants to snoop. And she wants details. Details!”

“Things are…” Buffy trailed off with the same dopey smile that had commanded her the past few weeks. It was such a one-eighty from the gloom and doom of not too far long ago—happy!Buffy still managed to take people by surprise. “Things are perfect. He’s just so…God, Wills.”

“That good, eh?”

“Oh yeah.” Then her expression hardened. “And I’m not just talking about the…”

“Hot and dirty sex?”

Buffy turned an interesting shade of red. “There’s really not much to say. We patrolled last night and he walked me home.”

“You patrolled. That’s it?”

“Well, there were smoochies.”

“Aha! I knew you were keeping something from me.”

“But no hot and dirty anything.”

“Aw, poor Buff.” Willow had adopted her shameless grin and was using it at full force. “That’s what…three days in a row?”

“Hey, I would if I could. Believe me. I think there’s something addictive about Spike’s…well…”

“Buffy!”

She smirked. “You asked for it.”

A sigh of feigned resignation. “I did. I really did. But still. Line. Crossing. Pay attention to the flashing red lights. They’re there for a reason.”

“To perpetuate my amusement,” Buffy confirmed with a nod.

“Consider it perpetuated. And…just…no.” Willow shook her head, though her eyes glimmered with delight. “And he’s even a go for the prom? The tux, the flowers, the limo, the spending? Check double for the spending.”

A giddy grin spread across Buffy’s lips, and she nodded her enthusiasm. “He’s even assured me that the spending will be of the legal nature.”

“Wow! Now, there’s commitment.”

Buffy shrugged. “Well, considering my boyfriend has the morals of a politician during election year without the religious right on his tail, I say go him. He’s been crime-free ever since we…you know…got together.”

“Go, Buff,” Willow cheered, waving her fist in moral support. “The reformer of all things vampy.”

“Not all things. Just one.”

“Not counting Angel?”

“Angel was already reformed.” Then she frowned. “Actually, our relationship deformed him. Turned him all evil like. Massive signage of the bad kind.”

Willow nodded sympathetically. “How is he? Have you heard from him?”

“Not since the last oh-so-pleasant Faith encounter. And even then, we didn’t speak much.”

“But he’s all right?”

“I think so. I mean, he’s not dancing in the streets and…good, because aside from disturbing, I think that would equal happy.” A sigh tumbled from Buffy’s lips as she skipped a step on the sidewalk. “I don’t like seeing him all…I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“He knows that. I’m sure he does.”

She shrugged. “Well, and even if he doesn’t…there’s really not much I can do, is there? I’ve already established the basics. I love him, but not like that. So definitely not like that. There are feelings of the love-nature for Angel that are…I dunno…more…”

“Sisterly?”

She made a face. “Ew. Incestuous much?”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Not like that, and you know it.”

“Well, not girlfriend-love and not sister-love. Is there somewhere in the middle?”

The Witch’s brows perked. “Sympathy love?”

“I don’t like calling it that.”

“And yet?”

Buffy sighed. “Stop it with the insightful. He’s leaving town when graduation is over, and pending any potential apocalypses, that’ll be the end of that.” A frown befell her face. “Spike was right all along. We really can’t be friends.”

“And that’s…a bad?”

“I don’t know. There is no in the middle with me and Angel. It’s one extreme or the other.” She exhaled deeply, shaking her head. “I…we’ve been through so much together. I’d like to give the friend-thing a go, but I just don’t see it happening, especially with all we’ve dealt with. There’s serious badness there that we need to work out before anything vaguely resembling the friend-nature can ever be considered.”

Willow frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Not even Spike’s fault.”

“Buff, it’s not yours, either.”

“I’m the cheater. I’m Cheaty McCheats-Alot.”

“A lot?”

Buffy’s brow furrowed in concentration, then her eyes went wide as the implication wormed into her conscious. “No. No! I would never…not Spike. I couldn’t. I—”

Willow cracked a smile at that, turning rather coyly as they continued up the walk. “She denies that she loves him,” she reported, voice cast as though speaking to a wide audience. “And yet, the idea of cheating on him makes her extend her claws. When will Buffy overcome her denial? Find out next time on My Life As A Slayer.”

“Ha ha.”

“Well, come on. Angel was the big-love-of, and yet you boinked another vamp when only out of his reach for what? A few hours?”

“Angel was the teen drama that every normal girl should have.” She paused, frowned, and turned to thwap her friend across the arm. “And—hey!”

Willow chided a secretive grin, feigning hurt but shrugging it off. “But not the big-love-of?” she demanded. “You’ve—”

“Will, I was sixteen when I met him.”

“Yeah. I was kinda there, remember? Trauma, smoochies, nailed-puppies.”

A wry smile played across her lips. “Yeah. All that and a bag of very stale chips. At least with Spike, there’s no hidden motive. I know if he’s on the prowl, it’s for one of two things—sometimes both simultaneously—violence and sex.”

The redhead quirked a worried brow. “Simultaneously?”

“Well, you know. Stakage, then massive happy.”

“Oh. So he never…”

Buffy frowned in confusion, then stopped dead in astonishment. “Wills!”

“What?!”

“How can you—”

“Sorry, sorry. But lest we not forget, he is evil, you know!”

The Slayer shook her head. “He wouldn’t hurt me,” she said firmly, voice ringing with conviction. “Ever. God, every time I even get scraped on patrol, he has to search me to make sure I’m not bleeding internally or something. He is the most over-protective-in-a-sweet-way vampire I have ever met. God, he’s worse than Giles, for Pete’s sake! You think he’d—”

Willow held up a hand. “Okay, okay. With the chilling and all.”

“Sorry. I’m just…”

“Protective?”

Buffy paused. “You could say that. Anyway, enough. We still on for prom-dress shoppage?”

“Oh, you know it. I wanna get your opinion on the outfit I mentioned.” Willow glanced down, cheeks tinting with the hint of rouge. “I’m not really good at this stuff, as you know. I don’t think I would’ve survived homecoming if…”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Homecoming? Oh, you mean that thing where you pulled votes for Cordelia?”

“I was hoping you would’ve done that thing where you forgot that part.”

“No such luck.”

“How many times can a girl say she’s sorry?”

There was a considerable pause; the Slayer stopped as a half-dazed, half caught-in-headlights look came about her. There was no mistaking its origin. Something of the Spike-inspired tally. Every day, they grew closer. It was frightening in that way. So much time had passed before she and Angel grew to the point that she was at now, and for whatever reason, that made it seem even more right. Their pace was leisure: not at all rushed. The casual intimacy they shared with each other was like nothing she had ever had the pleasure to experience. With every beat, her adoration grew. But she wasn’t ready to call it love just yet.

“You went off again, didn’t you?”

Buffy blinked. Twice. “Huh?”

“To the land of cherries and bleached blondes. No big.” The redhead shrugged, a devious look crossing her features. “I never thought I’d say it, but, you two are cute together. As in really, sickening, I-can’t-believe-it’s-possible cute together. It’s hard to imagine him as the same guy that tried to kill us God-knows-how-many-times.”

“But he is.”

“He is.”

“And I can never forget that.” A sigh trembled through Buffy’s body. “It doesn’t change anything…he’s so different. But…I just…he’s real, Will. He’s the real deal. And it’s never been like this before. Never.”

“Somebody’s in looooove,” Willow singsonged cheekily.

“I am not!”

“Oh, come on.”

“You can’t make me confess anything.”

“Spike and Buffy sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “God. Third grade, much?”

“Much,” Willow agreed. “You need to wake up and smell the ciggies, girl. I haven’t seen you this happy since…well, pre-Angelus-datage. And even then: run, money. Look into it.”

Buffy shrugged casually. “He makes me happy.”

“He gives you happies.”

“Willow!” The admonishment died just as easily; the Slayer glanced to the pavement. “That, too.”

The girls had stopped on the sidewalk outside Buffy’s house.

“Shoppage,” the redhead said with a nod. “Tonight? I have some Calculus to snuff through.”

Buffy expelled a very unladylike snort. “Calculus.”

“And then shoppage, then helping with the algebra?”

“I should patrol, too.”

“Ah.” A teasing grin tickled Willow’s lips. “Of course. Spike time.”

“He wanted to help me with my homework.”

“Suuuure he did.”

Buffy chuckled and shook her head, making her way slowly up the walk. “Later, Will. About an hour?”

“Sounds good.”

Yes, it sounded good. It sounded perfect. Everything right now sounded perfect.

That alone was merit enough to sound warning bells. Whenever things got perfect, they similarly fell apart. And she was too preoccupied to notice how close the sidelines were growing. How close she was to dancing off the edge.

How easy it would be to fall.

If she wasn’t there already.

She ended up purchasing a strappy black number with shots of silver streaks and thigh-high leg-slits. Buffy typically wasn't one for black, but all things considered, it provided an elegant, adult touch which fit the emotional levels she’d breached over the year. And in that, it was perfect. So much better than the pink thing she’d considered. Spike did not strike her as someone who went well with pink, and even so, pastels were for teenagers. Buffy no longer felt like a teenager. She had moved mountains in just a few weeks, gone from a relationship with a man who could not accept her to one who loved her as she was. Thus the black was sublime. All she needed now was some killer shoes and an appointment with Sunnydale's one and only hair boutique, and prom would become her live-in fairytale.

The night was looking better and better. Spike was scheduled to meet her at the cemetery in thirty so they could snag some QT while pretending the noise around the Hellmouth's resident undead was not something to worry about. She knew it was dangerous pretending everything was all right when there were dangerous factors like Faith and the Mayor and the Ascension looming in the very near future, but she likewise refused to allow things she couldn't change to guide her. The searching and prying they had done in regards to the looming apocalypse had only led to unwanted encounters that had no hope of extending their knowledge.

Well, all except for Willow's brilliant page-snatching. And that had led them to an infinite standstill where even the patrols were boring.

Or would be boring were it not for Spike. Spike was a lifesaver. These past few weeks with him had been some of the best in her life. Buffy grinned and pushed her front door open, her dress slung over her shoulder. She couldn’t wait to see Spike’s face.

“Buffy?”

She turned. “Yeah, Mom. It's me.”

Joyce Summers appeared around the corner behind the stairs. “Just making sure. Oh...did you get your prom dress?”

“I did.”

“And how much did it cost me?”

Buffy plastered on an innocent-daughter grin, fishing out and forking over a thoroughly heated credit card with obliging humility. “I love you, Mommy.”

“Uh huh. I'll bet.” Joyce bristled good-naturedly. “Are you going to be in for supper?”

“I don't think so. Spike and I are taking patrol tonight, just in case Faith decides to make things interesting.” She shrugged. “I'm banking a no for that, but you never know with her. We'll probably go grab pizza or something after that.”

Joyce nodded. “Okay. I just thought I'd ask.”

“Thanks. You know, we can bring you back something if you'd like. Cooking for one's not as much fun.”

“Ah, the joys of takeout. Dinner minus dishes. I might have to take you up on that.”

Buffy nodded, making a break for the stairs. “All right. Just let me know. I gotta go freshen up. Meeting Spike in about a half hour.”

The woman paused. “You're meeting...? Sweetie, he's upstairs.”

Buffy frowned, her eyes trailing upstairs. “He is?”

“Yes. He came in through the basement about an hour ago.” Joyce’s expression turned grave. “Buffy, I know there are things that you think you're old enough for, things you've already done and therefore think you can handle, but—”

“Mom, I swear I didn't know he was coming over.”

“That's not the point. I know very well that you—”

Buffy held up a hand. “Yes. I know the drill. Sex is evil and bad and I should not remove my chastity belt until I'm in my late forties. Was there already, got the memo.”

“I didn't mean it like that.” Joyce sighed. “I know this isn't exactly the time for one of Mom's spiels, but I worry about you. You're taking on so much for a girl your age. And while Spike is probably one of the better developments that I've seen, I want you to be careful in the decisions you make.”

The Slayer grinned ironically. “You really think that Spike's one of the better developments?”

“Well, I'm not crazy about the vampire thing, but he's well-mannered, polite, and he cares for you a great deal.”

Well-mannered and polite? Oh yeah. Her boyfriend knew how to charm the Mother.

“I know it happened fast,” Buffy said. “But I'm being careful.”

Joyce nodded. “I know you are, sweetie. You can't blame a Mom for worrying, though. Especially when my daughter is out saving the world every night.”

“Well...not every night.” Buffy nodded to the stairs. “I better go see what he's doing here so early.”

The sight upon entering her room warmed her heart. In all honesty, she hadn't known what to expect. With Spike it was never any one thing. He filled seconds with grandiose gestures and captured moments with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. When they made their relationship public, he had dropped by early to cook Joyce supper while assuring her that though, yes, he was evil, he would never endanger the life of her only daughter.

In his own words, Been there, tried that, fell head bloody over. Can't get much worse. Oi! Watch the ribs, luv.

No amount of prep could have readied her for what she saw upon meeting the doorway.

Spike was reclined on her bed, reading.

Reading Lord of the Flies.

Buffy blinked. Hard.

Oh. My. God.

He glanced up as soon as he sensed her presence and a grin spread across his face. “Evenin' sweetheart,” he greeted, rolling to his feet. “How was school?”

He was here to help her with her homework.

That had to be the sweetest thing she had ever seen.

Unfortunately, she was too flabbergasted to manipulate words. “Spike...”

He held up the book without preliminaries. “Bloody brilliant piece of literature, this is. Thought I'd try to help you with that paper an' all. 'Course, that required upping my knowledge on all things Golding. There's so much bloody symbolism. An' the story's not half bad, either.”

“Spike, you didn't have to—”

“Hush now. I wanted to.” A warm smile lit up his eyes, and he leaned in and kissed her. “Not like I have anything better to do, right? What's the assignment again? Jus' a paper?”

Buffy nodded numbly. “Metaphor analysis.”

“Oh, no bloody problem there. We'll tackle it when we get back from patrol, all right?” He didn't wait for her to respond, instead glancing to the package wrapped in cellophane. “What's that? Get your prom dress?”

Buffy scowled and jerked the dress further behind her back. “Hey! No peeking!”

“Aw, come on, pet...”

“Prom's in two nights, Spike. Give it a rest.”

“So? A bloke can't be excited about takin' his girl to the biggest bloody event of the year?” He chuckled and kissed her again. “You're gonna look ravishing.”

“So says you.”

“Bloody right, so says me. You could show up in a bloody doormat an' you'd sweep every bloke off his feet.” He let the thought rest a minute before growing surly. “Then I'd have to put a stop to it, 'cause I bloody well couldn't have you teasing any bloke but yours truly.”

Buffy shook her head in amazement, crossing the room to secure her dress in the closet. “I can't believe it,” she muttered. “You really read that book to help me?”

Spike shrugged. “Why not?”

“You really didn't have to.”

“I know that. What else am I gonna do through the day? Life’s bloody boring when you’re not around. It was either this or the telly, an’ the telly’ll keep.” He waved the book. “This has loads. Adventure, death, blood, more death, the root of all evil. What's not to like?”

She smirked. “Why do I suddenly feel that this was a bad idea after all?”

“I can't imagine what you mean.” Spike flashed a faux innocent smile and shrugged, then mimed fisting a long spear. “'Kill the pig, slit her throat, spill her blood.'“

A girlish giggle tumbled from her lips. “I think,” she said, extending a hand diplomatically, “it's time someone handed over the book.”

Spike offered a petulant pout that was almost too yummy for words. “Why? It’s getting to the good part.”

“And how would you know?”

“'Cause I think Simon's about to kick it.”

She scowled and whapped him across the arm. Hard. “Don't tell me what happens!”

“What? You actually gonna read this thing?”

“Well, if it's so good, yeah!”

Spike arched a brow.

Buffy pouted. “Fine. Okay. You win. So reading and Buffy are nonmixy things. You don't have to rub it in.”

“'m not doin' any rubbin',” he protested, hands coming up—book and all. The mock-innocent look on his face remained only seconds before melting into a devious ambush of smirks and leers that had her melting faster than she liked when she was pretending to be irritated. “Not yet, anyway.”

His eyes clearly stated he would have her on her back in two seconds flat unless she did something about it. Spike was a sexual being, and he would be the first to admit it. His relationship with Drusilla could hardly be argued for standing on anything more than a physical connection, though he had loved her completely and Buffy would not contest it. However, such boundaries and depth were things that were new to him, and she was determined to take baby steps. His only other relationship had been with a vampire who hadn't known how to love, whose only mechanism for affection was sex or sexual favors. While Spike was far beyond Drusilla, he was similarly starved for contact because it was the only thing he had known. It proved to him that Buffy was real, and really his. He needed touch, any sort of touch.

And Buffy gave it to him, though she was careful to pace herself.

“Hold on,” she said. “Remember, patrol? We actually have to get some of that done tonight.”

He nodded and placed the book aside without another word. “Lead the way, then. I'm all yours.”

She tossed a coy wink over her shoulder and nodded. “Damn straight.”

“Villainous minx.”

“And don't you forget it.”

He snickered. “Like I could.”

“Jus' the usual rounds tonight?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Spike frowned. “What you said last night got me thinking. If the big bang's comin' soon, why aren't you saddling up the horses? The Mayor bloke looked pretty straight-faced about this Ascension business, if you ask me. An' we're, what, waiting for him? Why aren't we goin' in to save the bloody day before anyone knows that it needs saving? Isn't that what you hero-types do? Mess up a perfectly good evil plan?”

“Yeah. Well, trouble is, there's nothing we really can do until he makes a move. You've seen the Mayor's get-up, and security's on the up now since time's growing closer and he's wise to our habit of breaking and entering.” Buffy frowned, squeezing his hand. “What's wrong? Why the sudden wig? You're not worried, are you?”

At that, the vampire scoffed, kicking petulantly at a circle of dirt. “What? Worried? You're off your bird.”

“Oh my God, you're worried.”

“Am not.” He shifted uneasily. “You jus'...don' seem to be takin' it as seriously as you should, pet. An' I don' want anything to happen to you.”

“So in Laymen's terms, you're worried.”

Spike rolled his eyes.

Buffy grinned and kissed his cheek. “That's cute.”

“Is not.”

“Trust me. It's adorable.”

“I jus'...”

“Don't want anything to happen to me.” She squeezed his hand again. “I know. Me, either. For the first time in ever, my life is going all right. High school's almost over, my mother and I are on good terms, my friends and I are still friends, and I got me a hot boyfriend.”

“Say that last part again, jus' for my benefit.”

She ignored him. His ego was large enough. “And yes, an imminent apocalypse is of the very bad. But we're on it. Will got those pages and Giles and Wesley are practically up twenty-four/seven trying to crack the code. We patrol, albeit patrol is slow, and we live. This is how we do things. It's how we've always done things.”

“Need I remind you that the world nearly ended last year?”

She batted a hand dismissively. “It nearly ends every year. Where have you been?”

“Buffy—”

“I know. I’m a casual superhero. I don’t even wear a cape.”

He grumbled. “You terrify me,” he whispered, shaking his head and casting a hand through his platinum strands. “An' the thing is, I know if it's not this, it'll be somethin' else. Somethin' worse. An' you'll fight it, 'cause that's who you are. An' I'll be terrified.”

Buffy stood, flabbergasted. That was the last thing she had expected him to say.

“I jus' got this, luv. An' I know you're goin' on with business as usual. I guess. It jus' seems...”

She pursed her lips, tease melting away. “All this because of what I said last night? About the big being just around the corner?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“It's all a part of the package, Spike.”

“I know. It jus' worries me.”

Buffy smiled softly and leaned in to give him a reassuring kiss. “Well, don't worry. If anything, we'll go down together. You're gonna be in the big fight, too.”

“Better bloody well believe it.”

“We're gonna be prepared. In the meantime, there's patrol and prom and all that good stuff to look forward to.” She snuggled into his side, hooking an arm through his.

“You're sweet,” she told him a few minutes later.

“Yeah, well, don' tell anyone. It'll kill my image.”

She arched a brow at that. “You're the Slayer's boyfriend, Spike. Consider your image killed.”

Spike shook his head good-naturedly, squeezing her tighter. “You're hell on a bloke's ego.”

“I might have to stroke it later then, huh?”

He grinned and ran his tongue over his teeth, whispering a kiss into her hair. “Tell you what, baby,” he rumbled huskily. “You can stroke mine if I can get a li'l taste of yours.”

She quivered in excitement. “You're bad.”

“You started it.”

“So tell me about Lord of the Flies.”

Spike arched a cool brow. “This your way of changing the subject?”

“Yeah. It working?”

“Lemme put it this way...” He grinned mischievously at her, slipping an arm around her waist, his finger dipping beneath the waistband so he could trace her sensitive skin. Then, just as easily, he began talking again. “Golding begins the book with Ralph an' Piggy, two li'l tykes who've survived a plane crash or some rot an' find themselves on this island—”

“Spike.”

“Sweetheart?”

“You're really bad.”

He chuckled again. “So they tell me.”

It was well into the night, and she knew she should be sleeping, but listening to Spike’s soothing, butterscotch voice was something she had long taken for granted. He sounded like an English teacher when he went on these little tangents, and his need for her to understand only enhanced the experience all the more.

“So, let me get this straight…”

“’m I goin’ too fast, luv?”

“No. I just wanna make sure I understand the old material before you start on something shiny and new.”

Spike rolled his eyes and tickled her feet lightly under the covers, enjoying the flush that colored her cheeks when she squirmed. They were positioned at opposite ends of the bed, doing their level best to remain chaste and keep to studies. Well, Buffy was trying—Spike was apathetic. She just needed to make him behave; anything fun was too risky while home, especially with her mother just down the hallway.

“Like a virgin?”

She blinked.

“Shiny an’…ah, buggerin’ youth.”

“Hey. Watch it, old man.”

Spike smirked and tickled her again. “Madonna. From the ‘80s. You were around during the ‘80s, weren’ you?”

“Yeah, but likely not listening to Madonna.” Buffy smiled unrepentantly and tickled him back. “But no, I didn’t fall off the tractor yesterday. I do, however, like giving you a hard time.”

“You give me a hard something, all right.”

She shooed him. “Evil.”

“Always.” The vampire shook his head with a wry grin. “Anyway, the book, luv, remember? The one on the paper that’s due…oh, tomorrow.”

Buffy sobered immediately. “Oh God. This is Wednesday, isn’t it?” He nodded. “Yes, yes. The book. Book knowledge for last minute paper writing in the library.”

“You’re gonna skip first an’ third again, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Paper takes precedence.”

“I can try to pop by so I can proof it for you before you turn it in, if you like.” She stared at him. He fidgeted. “What?”

“You are the perfect boyfriend, you know that?”

A shit-eating grin spread across his face in turn, and he nodded as though he not only knew, but had already handed out flyers. “So I’ve been told,” he replied, too smug for his own good. “Comes with the territory.”

“Okay. So, let me get this straight. Piggy and his glasses represent clear-sightedness and intelligence.” She paused, searching her memory. “He’s the law and order of the adult world…he wants to obey the rules they had before the crash. The ones that set them to society.”

Spike nodded, rewarding her under the covers with an impromptu foot-massage.

“Ralph represents order, and people. He’s good but he’s tempted by the wicked.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “Sounds really familiar, if you ask me. And the Conch represents unity and power.”

“Can you tell me why?” His fingers pried over her sensitive arches, touch feather light and tender.

It was strange how the most subtle of caresses could turn her on so effortlessly. Buffy nodded, a little short-breathed, leaning appreciatively against the headboard. “Because…the boys established…ummm…that psychological whatnot from the beginning. They can speak…if they’re…holding it. And they answer it when it’s…ummm…sounded, and when it breaks, the last of their…”

“Something wrong?”

“Nope.”

“Right then. Go on.”

Buffy glared at him, but complied. “When it…smashes…the last of their…their unity smashes, too.”

He winked, fingers gliding further up her leg. “Good girl.”

“Spike—”

“Hush, sweetheart. This could get interesting.”

A frown befell her face. “What could—”

He whipped the blankets away, expert hands prying her thighs apart as he slid up the bed and settled between them. “This,” he answered hoarsely, nuzzling her clothed pussy with an appreciative breath. Then he frowned and fingered her panties. “What’ve I told you about wearin’ these?”

“I’m sorry,” she answered, not nearly as aggressively as she intended. “Sometimes underwear is essential.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed. His canines extended before she could retort, deftly slicing through the thin material. When he glanced up to her astonished face, there was nothing to offer but a cheeky grin. “Not now. Here’s how it goes, luv. You gimme a right answer, you get a prize.”

“Not a good idea.”

A cool brow arched. “Why?”

Her eyes widened and she waved erratically at the door. And to her utter amazement, he shrugged, completely unbothered.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “As long as you can keep quiet.”

“I—”

Spike lowered his head, nuzzling her moist flesh with a wanton moan of approval. “You always smell delicious,” he murmured, licking her inner thigh.

“Oh…God…”

Just as quickly he withdrew his tongue and settled comfortably against her stomach, meeting her eyes with clear expectation. “Right then,” he said. “Now that the rules have been established…tell me ‘bout Jack.”

Buffy’s glare deepened. “You’re so gonna get yours later.”

“You better bloody believe it, baby.”

“Argh!”

“Shhh. Wouldn’t wanna wake up Mum, now would you?”

She glared harder, waited, then sighed when in resignation when she realized he wouldn’t let up. “Jack…ummm…he’s the one who’s all, ‘yay anarchy’…right?” Spike arched a brow and brushed a soft kiss across her clit. Buffy and seized his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Mhmmm…what else?”

“Well…he’s the leader of the bad guys. The ones that wanna kill Ralphie.”

“That’s Ralph.”

“Difference being?”

“Ralphie’s the kid from A Christmas Story.” Spike grinned impishly. “But you were right about Jack bein’ the leader.” A chuckle rumbled through his body, and he shook his head as though remembering something. “Fell off the tractor, luv?”

To emphasize her rightness, though, he favored her clit with a long, lavish lick.

Buffy’s collapsed against the headboard with an invigorating sigh. “Oh God…” Then she paused. “It’s a saying!”

“Mhmm. Right. Anything else you can think of?”

“Any…any more sayings?”

“The book.”

Her face scrunched adorably as she searched her memory. All in all, she was a very attentive student. He didn’t know whether it was the subject matter or him, but he liked to believe the latter. If only studies had been this much fun when he was alive. “He…ummm…he banks on self-interest,” she offered breathlessly. “He…he represents the type of person Golding thinks everyone…would uhhh…turn into…without…society.”

“That was two right answers, luv.”

“Kinda one big one.”

He shrugged. “Whichever.” His hand slid up the length of her leg, leaving a pathway of goosebumps trailing after him. And without ceremony, he captured her clit between his thumb and index finger, rubbing tender circles into the precious bundle as his tongue dove briefly into her pussy. “An’ now Simon.”

“Just Simon?”

He shrugged. “We can cover Roger an’ the others if you like…”

“Ohhh…I might like very much.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Might?”

“Mmm…I’d like the reward more than the remembering.”

He chuckled, licking her simply because she tasted delicious and he couldn’t help it. “It’s all right, pet,” he murmured. “We still have the themes to go over. Now, tell me about Simon.”

Heavy gasps ruptured through her chest. “Simon’s Jesus,” she explained, closing her eyes with almost pious reverence. “He’s in tune to everything. He can hear the Beast. And he gives up his life to…to…uhmmm…”

“Go on,” Spike prodded, spreading her vaginal lips and slipping a finger into her.

“Heightened…uhhhh…perception. He takes…everything…seriously.”

He lowered his head again, nipping at her clit. “Mmmm.”

“He’s…like Giles.”

The vampire paused and glanced up with a domed brow. “’Scuse me?”

“Well, if Giles was stranded on an island, he’d be the first to start hearing voices from evil.”

“You think so?”

She nodded. “Also…from what you said…Simon’s more in tune to the big picture. If that isn’t Giles, I don’t know what is.”

“Lemme get this straight…” Spike cocked his head, considering her. “’m down here licking your cunny, an’ you think of Giles?”

“I was answering a question! And ew!”

He chuckled. “Jus’ checking.”

“Major ew.”

“Sorry baby. Can I make it better?” His mouth returned to her skin, dotting her inner thigh with gentle, teasing mock bites. “Better?”

“No, keep trying.”

“One condition.”

She looked at him. He smiled. “Tell me ‘bout the Beast.”

“Well,” she began. “I have one between my legs right now.”

Spike flashed a grin and plunged his tongue into her pussy, licking wildly and drawing away before she could blink. Buffy arched and moaned under him, her hold on him tightening desperately. “Bloody right,” he told her. “But wrong beast. Tell me more, sweetheart. After all, I get to enjoy the rewards, too. An’ you’ve been such a quick study so far.”

“The beast…is…” Buffy’s brow furrowed in wanton concentration. “He’s the root of all evil.”

“Mhmmm…”

“It…” Her eyes fluttered shut and her fingers tunneled through his hair, directing him unthinkingly back to where she craved his touch the most. Spike grinned against her, tickling her clit with his tongue before drawing her entirely into his mouth, wagging his head. And the moan that tore off her lips had his cock so painfully hard it’d be a miracle if he managed to keep from coming hard against her mattress.

But she’d stopped talking, and he couldn’t have that. Granting her clit a parting kiss, he pulled away and rested his cheek against her stomach.

She blinked blearily. “Wha…”

“You stopped talking,” he observed.

Her mouth fell open, closed, and opened again. “I—”

“I really don’ see why you’re being so mean to me,” he continued, straight-faced. “I mean, here I am, wanting to touch you. Wanting to feel your skin arch an’ clench an’ set mine ablaze. Wanna feel an’ taste every part of you. Wanting to do everythin’. An’ you won’ even answer a simple question.”

The Slayer stared at him incredulously.

“Somethin’ the matter?”

“You are a jerk.”

Spike gasped mockingly and pulled back. “A jerk? You wound me!”

“I’ll wound you a lot more here in a second.”

“Shhhh. Careful there, luv. Wouldn’t wanna wake up ole mum.” He smiled winningly at her, cocking his head. “Now then. Tell me ‘bout the beast. Tell me…an’ I can get back to what I’d really like to be doing.” To emphasize his point, the idle hand between her legs sought her warm, wet heat again, eliciting a long moan of jubilation. He pumped her for a few glorious seconds before drawing away again, arching his brows. “Talk to me.”

The Slayer jutted out that succulent lower lip that never ceased its task of driving him mad. “Spike…”

“Want more, gotta talk.”

“You expect me to…” His touch returned without warning, and she arched with a sudden gasp, eyes slamming shut. “You…expect me…to…talk like this?”

“Why not?”

Buffy glowered. “Remind me to tell you to keep a lively conversation next time I decide to…erm…” Her eyes darted downward in the general vicinity of his crotch, cheeks tinting at the slightest hint of something dirty. Such never failed to enchant him. She was so gloriously bashful yet so seductive at the same time. No one else in all the big world or its numerous dimensions could ever hope to pull off such a feat. “…You know.”

Spike grinned at her. “‘You know?’”

“Well, I’d hope you know.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Funny. I think the same thing about you.”

A growl tore through him and without warning, he pulled away entirely, ignoring her whimper of protest. “The Beast,” he said, suddenly the epitome of a no-nonsense schoolmaster. “Explain.”

Whether it the tone or his expression, Buffy’s ferocity melted, and she regarded him with large wondrous eyes. “I…”

He perked a brow.

“I…uhhh…the Beast. It’s…it’s the Lord of the Flies.” She searched his face for a sign of encouragement and hissed a breath of annoyance when she didn’t receive one. “You…ummm…you said that the Beast was the Lord of the Flies, and that the Lord of the Flies was like…the…ummm…”

“Y’know, pet, I jus’ don’ think your heart of hearts is in this anymore.”

“Spike!” He pressed a finger to his lips, eyes twinkling with a hint of tease. Buffy’s face darkened and she leaned forward to whap him across the arm. “You got me into this!”

“Into what?”

“Bah…”

He shrugged innocently. “Come on, sweetheart. We jus’ went over this. I know you can do it.”

Buffy’s answering glare outlined her opinion in blazing colors. However, when she saw she was clearly in no position to gain the upper hand, she exhaled deeply and straightened her shoulders. “The Beast is the Lord of the Flies,” she reiterated once more, collecting herself. “It’s…it’s the root of all evil. Basically, take people away from society…like the boys were, and place them in uncivilized conditions, and they revert to the root characteristic of human nature.” Her eyes remained shut and Spike didn’t say a word, but she felt his answer press against her intimately the next minute. A teasing nibble at first, then he murmured against her favorably and sank his tongue within her pussy and lapped with slow, measured attention. A long moan sailed through her lips and her brow furrowed, desperate to maintain concentration even as her hands sought out his platinum locks to hold him against her. “A-according to Golding, then…the root of all human nature…is…” His fingers danced up her skin, capturing her clit without warning. “The root…of all…human…” His tongue was moving rhythmically within her, having satisfied a pace that drew her pleasure out while stimulating his own. She arched with another long sigh, her leg grinding against his denim clad hardness and prompting a growl as he pressed into her, his own patience notwithstanding.

“Evil!” she finally gasped.

He muffled a response into her curls, delving further inside and pinching her clit between his fingers. And when she finally exploded, the sensation was so power binding that she fell away from herself and back again before finding anchor to one plane. It touched every nerve in her body; seared her with heat and liberation and a delightfully spent ache that ground her irreplaceably where she was.

When Buffy finally returned to herself—when her eyes decided to kindly unblur—she found Spike resting on her stomach again, dawdling mindless patterns across the sensitive flesh at her thigh with his forefinger. His eyes were closed, almost reverently, and he brushed a heartfelt kiss across her belly when he felt her return to him.

It was brief but felt. The look burning his gaze reminded her of everything he was. Everything he had become within a few short weeks. Such loving adoration that coincided with awe that she was actually there, curled in his embrace. It was only a flash, though. Spike was still uneasy of allowing her too close a glance at just how deeply his emotions ran. She knew he loved her—he told her often, with fervor—but somehow, even that feeling had transpired the hit and miss of most relationships. They had come so far in just a short amount of time, and it was only getting better.

In seconds, he had concealed himself again behind a smirk of pure male arrogance, waggling his brows.

“’m sorry, luv,” he said, not the least bit apologetic. “Got carried away there for a minute. What was the Beast, again?”

Buffy stared at him for a long, incredulous beat. Then, flashing a smirk of his own birthing, and recited, “The Beast is the Lord of the Flies, and it’s the root of all evil. Take people away from society, ergo the boys, and place them in uncivilized conditions, and they revert to the root characteristic of human nature. Which, according to Golding, would be evil. Also, you said only Simon could hear the voice, which boosts his Jesus-status. Jesus having a conversation with the devil. Furthermore, it makes sense that the Beast would appear to him in the form of a decapitated pig’s head—gross yes, but sense-like. The boys put it there because of their reverting to form, thus it manifested out of general wonkiness.” She paused briefly, placing a thoughtful finger against her lips as she considered. “Do you think it’s possible that you were born on that island? Because you’re about as evil as they come, Buster.”

Spike looked at her with astonishment.

She shrugged and flashed a smile. “What?”

“You’ve never read the book?”

“Never ever.”

He stared at her. She smiled again and leaned forward to kiss him. “You’re a good teacher,” she said with a shrug. “The very best I’ve ever had.”

“Bloody well better be.”

“Though I think if Mr. Edwards tried teaching the way you just did, he’d be fired.”

“An’ then killed. No one else gets to teach you the way I do.” The vampire glanced to the bed linens, still flustered, and shook his head with marked disbelief. “You really jus’…you picked all that up by listening to me?”

She nodded. “Sure did. Despite what Giles has told you, I do listen when it’s important. Slayer here. Kinda essential. Besides…” Buffy inclined further to kiss him again. “You’ve got a really, really sexy voice. Very easy when it comes to the listening.”

Spike’s gaze remained on her in unwavering disbelief. Then, slowly, he smiled.

“You’re a brazen li’l hussy.”

“And you’re a bad, bad man.”

“Got that memo.”

The glow behind his eyes was addictive. No one had ever looked at her like that. Like she was the end all of all absolutes. The plethora of what he could ever hope to touch. And it choked her at times, because she felt she must be a true disappointment. For all he gave, he asked nothing in return. Nothing outside what she willed him. Her hand in friendship and something that was not-yet-love. Something she was afraid to call love, because in breaking her eighteen years of life, she had already mapped an unlucky streak when it came to men and love. Her father, Angel, Scott, even Giles. Granted, the latter’s betrayal wasn’t really betrayal; she was still sore over the entire incapacitating birthday incident, even if things had worked inevitably in her favor.

Still, there was something buried within Spike’s conviction. The knowledge he would rather stake himself than harm her. How worried he grew at the slightest turn. How every noise of discomfort was received with a wave of concern, and every bruise tended to as though healing a concussion was a matter of life and death.

A sudden tapping filled the room. Buffy jumped and grabbed onto Spike’s arm out of reflex, finding her lap covered with a pile of bunched blankets the next instant. Her boyfriend’s warning growl meant only one possibility, and she rolled her eyes in silent agreement.

“Who invited loverboy over here?”

Buffy felt a familiar wave of irritation surge her insides at his customary non-accusation, but furrowed in even deeper resentment that he was not misplaced in his concerns. After all, she’d told Spike over and over again just a few weeks ago that he wasn’t wanted. It hadn’t been true, but feed a person a lie enough times and eventually they believed it. On the surface, Spike hadn’t been duped, but his feelings had been tossed in the shredder until the night where Angel-Became-Angelus-But-Not-Really. It hadn’t been until then that Buffy admitted to herself what she really wanted.

“I think he invited himself.” She was quiet for a second, then, upon remembering his words, whapped Spike across the arm. “That’s for ‘loverboy,’” she explained off his look. “You oughta know by now that he’s not.”

Spike nodded sheepishly. “Yes’m.”

“Good. Now open the window.”

He cocked his head skeptically.

“Well, he’s obviously here for a reason.”

“To annoy yours truly.” Spike rolled his eyes but complied, shaking his head as he arched back to unhook the window latch. He opened on the same note, bearing a thin, insincere smile. “’Ello, Angel. Whatsa matter? Run out of pulsers to irritate?”

The dark brooding figure tilted his head in begrudging acknowledgment. “Spike.”

Spike nodded. “’S a bloody pleasure to see you, too.” He turned to Buffy, eyes wide and imploring. “Can we kick him out, now?”

She snickered and ignored him. “Hey Angel. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Spike bristled. “Figured as much.”

“There’s trouble,” he said, never once taking his eyes off the platinum blond interference. It was amazing how quickly the levels of testosterone shot off the scales. “An attack earlier today. Some creature busted into a funeral visitation.”

Buffy sat up straight, eyes wide. “Anyone hurt?”

“A couple scratches. One guy got a pretty considerable chunk taken out of his arm. It was a hit and run thing…at least that’s what they’re saying.” Angel shook his head. “The creature got there, did its business, and left.”

“Why didn’t anyone contact me?”

He finally turned to stare at her, humorless. “Giles has been trying on and off for a few hours, but Willow said everything was fine. That you and…” The elder vampire quirked slightly in Spike’s direction. “That you had plans tonight and had gone patrolling. I just…wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

“What he means, luv,” Spike clarified, “’s that I hadn’t eaten you up.

Buffy glanced down automatically, cheeks flushing. “Nope. No one’s been eaten here.”

Spike chuckled in spite of himself and winked.

Angel’s scowl deepened. “So…you two have had a busy night?”

The innuendo sat in the middle of the road, begging to be hit. Buffy decided to run right over it instead. “Yep. Spike’s been helping me with my homework.”

There was a pause of disbelief. “Homework.”

“That an’ then some,” her boyfriend agreed.

“Smells more like the ‘then some.’”

Spike tilted his head, obviously very proud of himself. “Comes with the territory, mate,” he replied conversationally. “Slayer’s got a paper on Lord of the Flies. I was…testin’ her memory.”

“You’ve read The Lord of the Flies?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh God. Please don’t get him started.” She shifted slightly and huffed out her chest, quickly adapting a poor Cockney brogue. “’S tha best bloody book in tha world, luv. Here, let me quote you me favorite passage. Starts on Chapter One an’ ends with ‘the end.’”

Spike smirked. “Gotta tell you, sweetheart, that’s likely the worst accent I’ve ever heard.”

“You could always give me lessons.”

His grin widened in delight. “My bloody pleasure.”

“And that’s my exit cue,” Angel said suddenly, backtracking fast out the window. “I’m just glad you’re all right. Giles said he’d likely be up all night trying to pinpoint what the creature was off the description and the sketch I made, so prepare for a game plan come morning.”

There was a groan. “Great. Paper and work all in one morning. I need you, Friday night!”

Spike reached out to massage her shoulder. “Poor baby. I’ll be sure to pamper you extra special.”

“You’re so good to me.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? Anythin’ for my girl. Be it grunt work or hand service.”

Buffy flushed again and thwapped him. He dazzled her with an unrepentant grin.

The elder demon blanked as though highly disturbed. And buried even further beneath the outward façade remained a pit of angered envy he so obviously did not want to extract in her presence. Thus with a neutral nod, he bid his farewell. “And I’m gone.”

Spike snickered. “Thought you were gone two minutes ago, mate.”

“I’m gone now. Good luck with your…” Angel’s eyes narrowed. “Studies.”

Though he had behaved himself marvelously during the impromptu visit, Spike visibly relaxed once they were alone again. Buffy loved the way the tension in his body rolled away; it eased her guilt and made her very much aware she was the only person who truly knew him. His arrogant expression likewise reverted to the sweeter, more loving face she had grown to adore over the past few weeks. There was such a wave of difference based on his behavior around others and his behavior with her alone. He never let anyone as close as he let her. Never allowed anyone to cross those self-imposed boundaries. Even Drusilla had failed in parts where she was succeeding. And that amazed her beyond reproach.

“Thanks,” she murmured after a minute.

Spike stiffened again but only briefly. As though he needed to remind himself who he was with. “’S nothin’, sweetheart,” he replied. “’S jus’ Angel.”

“It’s more than that.”

A beat passed, and he nodded resignedly. “Yeh. Well, as long as these li’l midnight visitations don’ become a habit.”

“That’s the first time he’s attempted contact without us being in a group-sitch. Don’t worry.”

A faint smile fettered his lips. “Who’s worried?”

Buffy’s eyes softened and she moved forward intently, cupping the side of his cheek to draw his mouth to hers in a gentle caress. “Trust me,” she murmured against him. “I’m your girl. If I wanted to be with Angel, I would be. I don’t. He never made me happy. Not really.” She smiled kindly into his eyes. “You make me so happy.”

The glow of radiation she received in turn was like nothing she had ever experienced. Every emotion with him was enhanced to a degree of understanding she had yet to comprehend. It amazed her, made her toes curl in anticipation. Constructed every second that she was with him to be one of pure beauty.

“I love you,” he whispered fervently.

And again she broke inside. That was the one lapse. The one thing she couldn’t tell him. Despite how she wanted it, how she desperately needed to feel it, to know the blossoming bud in her heart was the same that he deserved that many times over. It made her soar with every time. Every time those words escaped his lips, she was made over again.

But she couldn’t give it back to him. Not yet.

Someday. There was always the promise of someday.

Thus she opted with a weak but heartfelt, “I know,” and lapsed into her own regret.

Spike smiled gently and kissed her forehead. “’S all right, sweetheart,” he reassured her.

She hoped so. She hoped so with every fiber of her being, because she—better than anyone—knew how simple it was to say one thing and mean another. Even if he thought he meant it now, it did not mean it would always be so.

Such reflections were better saved for another day.

“Now then,” Spike drawled, tone lighter and jousting with its customary playfulness. “Where were we?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. He whipped the blankets away in a blink of an eye, and she found herself immediately assaulted with hungry, Buffy-knowledged hands. A low, wanton moan suffered through her lips, and she leaned back. She was absolute pudding at his touch.

“Ah, yes. Done with metaphors.” He leaned over her appreciatively, stealing a kiss from her lips. “Time for themes.”

Nights like this, Buffy wondered if the words ‘day off’ were made up by wishful thinkers. That was until she recalled Friday was party night at Sunnydale High and her graduating class was currently dancing the night away with their respectful honeys, not knowing and likely uncaring that she was currently in one of their town’s many cemeteries as Spike zipped her up.

“You’re sure the other one’s dead?”

“Positive. Turn ‘round; lemme see you.”

An aggravated sigh ran through her body. “One night. One lousy night. That’s all I ask for. And do I get it? No. Of course not. And you ask yourself why…my name would be Buffy, that’s why. And I am of the Chosen, and thus must eradicate this world from all its evilness.”

She felt him grin behind her. “Hopefully not all its evilness.”

“I’m tempted.”

“Oi!”

“No offense. It’s just…hellhounds?” She emitted a pitiful whimper, finally succumbing to his prompting and turning so he could inspect her. “It’s prom night and I’m in the graveyard. What does that say to you?”

But Spike wasn’t paying attention. His eyes ran the length of her appreciatively, a grin tickling his lips at the sight she presented. “Mmmm,” he murmured. “You’re gorgeous.”

Buffy pouted, raising a hand to inspect the up-du on which she had spent a good hundred in order to look her best for the evening, even if all was in vain. “I’m a wreck. My hands are dirty, my hair is ruined, and I’m pretty sure I got hellhound blood on my dress.”

The vampire shook his head and tsked. “Vanity, vanity.”

“It’s the prom! It’s a twentieth century girly thing that you will never understand.” She sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her chest to compose herself. “All right. A few deep breaths, and I’m miraculously over it.”

“You look smashing.”

“Do not.”

“That dress does you proper.” He was still gobbling as many eyefuls as possible, licking his lips in approval. “You make it, all right.”

“Stop.”

He perked a brow and glanced at her. “What?”

“You’re trying to make me not aggravated.”

Spike shrugged and flashed a grin. “An’ doesn’t that make me a horrible person? I’m also telling you you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on, that I’m impossibly the luckiest bloke in the world, an’ that I better hurry an’ change so we can get you over to your dance to make rightly sure that every wanker in proximity curses me for my fortune while upstagin’ every chit there is to upstage. Savvy?”

There was a long pause. Buffy simply stared at him.

He shifted. “What?”

She stared a minute longer before smiling. “You’re so sweet.”

He shrugged again, brushing a kiss over her forehead. “’m honest. You’re so divine an’ you don’ even know it. My exquisite girl. Now…do you know how to tie a necktie?”

A wry chuckle rose to her lips, and she held out a hand. Spike made quick work of his own regard—shedding his duster and shirt without preliminaries, smirking when she ogled his chest. While he would have liked nothing better than to follow up on her tacit approval of his physique with much naughty touching, he knew the dance was important to her and had long ago resigned himself to the task of doing whatever he could to make her happy. Thus, he remained a gentleman, dressing appropriately for the dance in a manner that nearly had her mouth watering more than the sight of him bare-chested had.

So, the Slayer liked tuxes. That was definitely worth remembering.

Her touch was like fire when she moved to add the tie, her mouth quirked adorably and her hands lingering far too long if she meant to behave. “Mmm,” she murmured, foul disposition having vanished completely. “You look very yummy.”

Spike grinned. “I know you’re yummy, pet.”

“Evil.”

“Evil can be yummy, too.” He pulled her closer. “Give us a taste.”

“Down boy. Later.”

He broke into his glorious pout that never failed in getting the girl. “Come on. Jus’ a li’l taste? Li’l sampler?” An arm curled around her middle, drawing her closer so he could nuzzle her hair with a groan of appreciation. “You smell heavenly.”

“Sweat and blood. Yeah. Heavenly.”

“Hello, vampire.”

She jabbed him in the ribs. “You weren’t supposed to agree!”

He released an ‘oaf’ of pain but abandoned cause directly, offering a deep chuckle and drawing her closer. “You smell like Buffy,” he explained lowly. “Can’t get much better than that. Vanilla, powder, an’…” A disobedient hand dipped to her pelvis, extracting a moan as he rubbed her pussy through the satin. “Mmm…jus’ as I thought. Wet. Naughty girl. Oh yeah. That’s the stuff.”

“Ohhh…”

“Can I have my taste now?”

No use waiting for a reply. He commanded her lips instantly, sampling her richness with a groan. It lasted only seconds but was enough. He’d have the rest tonight.

Over and over again.

He smiled gently when they pulled apart, caressing her face with his knuckles. “Right then. Let’s get you to that dance.”

The Sunnydale gym was—as expected—hopping when they finally made their grand entrance. The lighting was very prommy and in a flash reminded Spike of every 80s movie Drusilla had forced him to sit through. But, taking one look at Buffy’s face, seeing the glow behind her eyes somehow made everything worth it. She turned to him and flashed the most breathtaking smile the world had thought to offer.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Nothing to thank me for, sweets.”

“You’ve made my magic night all magicky, even with the unpleasantness of the added world-saveage and the bitchiness that was me in the graveyard.”

The vampire merely smiled at her. “Well, serves the PTB right for tryin’ to muck up my girl’s special night.”

“I notice how you very cleverly decided not to add, ‘Oh, Buffy, honey. You are in no way bitchy. Just neglected and misunderstood.’”

The grin turned devious at that. “Well now,” he said. “That would be lyin’.” She whacked his arm good-naturedly, and he wrapped his own around her middle and drew her near to caress her mouth with a kiss. “You’re right, though,” he murmured. “You deserve a night off. You do so much for this pissant town.”

“Now you’re just trying to play your sweet card so you get laid tonight.”

“Not entirely.” Spike pulled back a little and rocked on his heels with a contemplative leer. “It working?”

“Hon, all you had to do was put on that tux.”

“’S more a suit, actually.”

She arched a brow. “I don’t care what it is. Looks damn fine.”

He grinned. “Naturally.”

A willing and ready retort was coiled on her tongue, he could tell, but they were ambushed by Willow and Oz the next minute. It pleased him to see her here; Red was his personal favorite of all the Slayer’s friends. She seemed content as long as Buffy was content. And the bloke at her side was equally okay in Spike’s book. His being a wolf seemed to bless him with an appreciation for all things otherworldly.

“Buffy!” the redhead gushed. “You look awesome!”

The Slayer smiled. “Thanks. So do you.”

Spike nudged her cheekily. “Told you.”

Willow turned to him with more of the same. “Spike. Very suave.”

The blonde waved a hand. “Don’t encourage him. He knows he looks good.” She grumbled and shook her head. “Ten minutes sans mirror privileges and you look good enough to eat.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “I am good enough to eat.”

The Witch snickered. “I see what you mean. No more complimenting Spike.”

“Oi!”

“He looks good,” Oz observed, shrugging.

Spike nodded somberly, shuffling his feet and adding out of obligation, “You too, mate.”

Buffy smirked. “Should we leave you two alone?”

Oz shook his head with a weary grin. “Nah. He’s not really my type. Not much for blondes, natural or otherwise.” He held up a hand. “No offense.”

“Trust me, mate, none taken.” Spike flashed a quick grin. “I would say you’re too short, but that’d be a personal remark.”

In immediate rejoinder, Buffy elbowed his ribs.

“See?” He turned to her. “An’ ow. Watch the goods, luv. Remember, I might have super strength, but ‘m not quite up to slayer par.”

Willow’s eyes lit up. “You could become, Super Spike, the Slayer Layer! A-and have that Superman ‘S’ engraved on your shirt while wearing stylish tights.” She received a foray of blank, humorless glances in turn and looked down on the same note. “Well…I thought it was funny.”

Buffy cocked her head thoughtfully. “Mmmm…tights. The image is oddly appealing.”

For a good second or so, Spike looked genuinely panicked. “Bloody perfect. You’ve given her ideas.”

“You can go with your patented red and black,” Willow finalized with a shrug.

Oz smiled gently and wrapped an arm around the redhead. “She’s quite industrious, isn’t she?”

Buffy nodded. “On really scary levels.” Her hand searched blindly for Spike’s necktie, giving a good tug to indicate that he should follow. “I’m gonna go check out the refreshments. Looks like they’re about to start with the awards. I wanna step to the side before everyone goes all wonky with the cheers and whatnot.”

The vampire arched a brow. “Guess I’m comin’ too?”

She dinged his tie once for good measure. “Yup.”

“Woof bloody woof. Lead the way, Sweets.”

Oz’s eyes narrowed. “If I were a lesser man, I would take offense to that.”

“Well, no offense, mate, but ‘f you were a lesser man, you’d be three bloody inches tall.”

The Witch chuckled with a perked brow. “I guess he has to let it all out around people shorter than him,” she observed. “Seeing as they lack in number.”

Spike smirked and tilted his head accordingly. “Touché, Red.”

There was another jerk on his tie. Buffy beseeched him with an imploring look. “Come.”

“Here? Now? Can we at least go to the loo’s? ‘S a li’l more private, I’d wager.”

Willow’s eyes went wide and she turned pink in record time, tugging at her boyfriend’s shoulder demandingly. “Oz! We should find Xander. He’s banking for the Class Clown Award…and…you know…moral support.”

“Class Clown? Stay Puft’s a bloody shoe-in.” The vampire turned to his girlfriend, arching a brow. The redhead and Oz carefully utilized that opportunity to edge away. “They actually have rewards for that sort’ve thing?”

“It’s a silly high school thing,” Buffy explained, snickering as the duo scampered hurriedly in search of their anxious friend. “Look, you scared her off.”

He shrugged with an uncaring grin. “She’ll be back later.”

“And you’ll scare her away again, later.”

Another shrug. “’m jus’ being myself.”

“Ah. Very frightening.”

He smirked, she smiled, and life was good.

Damn good.

Giles and Wesley were loitering near the refreshment stand. They cast Buffy and Spike nearly identical glances of condescending disapproval, but similarly made no mark to vocalize their very public objection. It had been a couple weeks since the Spike stopped by the library to announce that yes, he was dating the Slayer. Yes, he knew they would not like it, and no, he didn’t give a bloody damn. And that was the end all of that. He knew that Buffy likely received a good scolding, but she denied it to this day. He had wanted to be there with her so that she didn’t face the full of near parental condemnation without someone on which to lean.

And yet, Spike hadn’t received nearly as much hostility as he would have wagered. He didn’t know if it was for his evidential lack of bad intentions, the Slayer’s urging, or the fact he had done nothing but help since arriving in Sunnydale—and quite frankly, as long as they didn’t bother him, he didn’t rightly care. Either way, Buffy had been nothing but open about their relationship, and her good opinion was the only one he sought.

He poured his girl a glass of punch, nodding cordially at the selected chaperones. Wesley’s surly expression melted and he offered a friendly wave. Giles, however, did not, and when Wesley saw he was alone in friendly greeting, he swallowed awkwardly and dropped his hand to his side.

A chuckle rumbled through Spike’s chest. “Bloody typical.”

Buffy turned to him, quirking a brow. “What?”

“Your old man has that ‘why did I leave my stake at home’ look about him.”

She smiled humorlessly but waved a dismissive hand all the same. “Ah, I don’t think so. He likes you.”

Spike just looked at her.

“Okay, so he hates you with the burning, fiery passion of a thousand suns. His loss.” She cuddled responsively into his side. The slightest touch of her skin had the power to fill his long dead veins with hope and song. In just a few short weeks, she had turned him into an all out wanker.

And such was just fine with him, because the wanker had the girl, and that was all there was to it.

Speaking of wankers, his eyes caught sight of Xander standing apprehensively near Willow and Oz, his eyes glued to the stage. The next minute, the reward for Class Clown was given to some bloke named Jack Mayhew, and evidently the loss was a major blow to Harris’s esteem. Spike watched with amusement and shook his head.

“Guess not a shoe-in after all.”

“Awww. Xan’s gonna be in a funk for the rest of the night.” Buffy made a face. “He was already edgy ‘cause he had to take Anya as his date.”

“Anya?”

“I told you about her. Ex-vengeance demon type.”

“Ah.” He nodded, indulging a drink of his own brandished punch. “Right. Firs’ Cordelia, then the great avenger of scorned women against all things manly. The boy sure knows how to pick them.”

“Well, as he so appropriately said, it was either her or the sock-puppet of love…or something equally disturbing.”

Spike feigned a speculative glance. “Sock-puppet of love, eh? Interesting concept.” He chuckled off her look, drawing her near so that he could nibble on her lips, uncaring if he was in full view of the Watchers or not. “I love you, sweetheart.”

Buffy stared at him for a beat longer before nodding, leaning in to kiss him again. “I know.”

And still, nothing more. That was all right. He could wait.

The air sliced again with the interference of the microphone. Though this time, it was of interest.

“We have one more award to give out,” a short nervous boy announced. “Is Buffy Summers here tonight? Did she, um...”

Almost immediately, the crowd seemed to part and center on them, and she immediately tensed against him at the attention. Spike merely grinned, seizing the opportunity to snuggle her closer. Best to stake his claim on the catch of the night when everyone was looking.

“Knew they’d save the best for last, baby.”

She shot him a worried look. “I don’t even wanna—”

The little bloke at the microphone interfered before the thought could manifest. “This is actually a new category,” he announced. “First time ever. I guess there were a lot of write-in ballots, and, um, the prom committee asked me to read this.” He shuffled a bit to find the announcement. “‘We're not good friends. Most of us never found the time to get to know you, but that doesn't mean we haven't noticed you. We don't talk about it much, but it's no secret that Sunnydale High isn't really like other high schools. A lot of weird stuff happens here.’”

Weird stuff. Bloody understatement of the year.

At that, there were several random outbursts from the crowd.

“Zombies!”

“Hyena people!”

“Snyder!”

The last earned a snort of laughter from the Slayer’s peers. Spike tried not to take it personally that crashing Parent Teacher Night didn’t make the list.

The guy at the mic smiled a bit, though he quickly turned his attention back to his card. “‘But, whenever there was a problem or something creepy happened, you seemed to show up and stop it. Most of the people here have been saved by you, or helped by you at one time or another. We're proud to say that the Class of '99 has the lowest mortality rate of any graduating class in Sunnydale history.’”

The crowd burst into applause at that. Spike almost laughed aloud. Though he was busy bursting with pride, that was hardly something to advertise. Prospective homeowners wouldn’t feel right knowing their children were attending a school that had any mortality rate.

“And we know at least part of that is because of you,” the little guy concluded. “So the senior class, offers its thanks, and gives you, uh, this.” He produced a multicolored, glittering, miniature umbrella with a small metal plaque attached to the shaft. “It's from all of us, and it has written here, ‘Buffy Summers, Class Protector.’”

A lasting applause broke once more, several catcalls sounding the air. Buffy was thoroughly stunned, nearly moved to tears, and turned to him in awe, as though he could procure a speech of thanks on demand.

Spike smiled. His girl.

“Go on, sweetheart.”

And she did. As she approached the stage to accept her reward, he swelled with something greater than pride. Admiration, respect, all of the above. Everything he should rail against, she represented. Every moral standing, every ethical fiber, every everything that made her into who she was—the Slayer, the Class Protector, Buffy Summers.

And she had come here with him.

It was all so amazing. A dream from which he did not want to wake. A dream he feared would shatter.

A dream he would never release. Not for any reason.

They were dancing. Slow and meaningful among a hundred faces about whom he didn’t care. Among those she had saved, among those from whom he had taken. They were dancing. She held him close; so close. He couldn’t take a breath without inhaling her scent. Couldn’t move but for the feel of her. Dancing was a representation of something he had always admired. It could mean so many things in one glorious stroke.

Etta James was belting out the lyrics to At Last. And he knew of what she sang.

The night had gone surprisingly well. Even after their exchange of negative glances, Giles had made a point to greet them and even managed to treat him like a human being. Well, as much as Giles could without appearing to be calculating a plot that would secure his permanent removal.

It was perfection without all the hustle.

“Oh. I forgot to tell you.” Buffy pulled back suddenly, eyes shimmering with glee. “I nailed my paper.”

“Really? You’ve gotten it back already?”

“No. We did this peer editing thing where you pass your paper around the room so that the other classmates can take a look.” The Slayer smiled proudly. “I so totally nailed it. Granted, there were some decent attempts, but I kick ass.” A happy shiver raced through her, and she cuddled more provocatively into him. “Or should I say, we kick ass? Thanks for everything.”

“Don’ thank me yet, sweetheart. Wait till your teacher takes a gander.”

“He’ll love it.” Buffy ducked her head conspiratorially. “I also forgot to thank you for coming by the library yesterday to give it the once over. That helped a ton.”

Spike’s eyes lit up and he ran his tongue over his teeth with casual seduction. “Don’ worry, baby,” he murmured, head dipping to nuzzle her throat. “You thanked me plenty.”

A charming flush colored her ivory skin. “You think we made too much noise?”

“Nah. Library’s always deserted, anyway.”

“Still, we should’ve cleaned up the books.”

He shrugged. “You had to get to class.”

Buffy snickered. “This would be the very same William the Bloody who not two nights ago told me that homework was overrated and that school should be ignored?”

“That is unless manual labor is the only other option.” Spike’s eyes twinkled and he stole a kiss from her lips. “Personally, you had me bloody well winded, even for a vamp. An’ I prefer to place my strength in…other areas. Spot of violence, brilliant shaggin’. Let someone else clean up the mess.”

“That someone else happened to be Giles.”

“Better an’ better.” The vampire nudged her forehead with his before dipping to brush his lips against the nape of her throat, shuddering when her pulse hummed into his mouth. “Mmmm…have I told you yet how ravishing you look tonight?”

She smiled the kind of smile for which he lived. The same that could inspire his heart to start beating again. “About ten or twelve times, yeah.”

“Jus’ ten or twelve? I’m laggin’ behind.”

Her smile grew. “Thank you for tonight. I know that proms aren’t your thing.”

“If it’s important to my girl, ‘s important to me.”

“There are other places you’d rather be, though.”

Spike arched a brow. “You mean other things I’d rather be doing, luv, an’ only provided you’re there with me. But I’ve watched enough teeny bopper flicks to know that this thing was somethin’ that would get your knickers in a twist.”

Buffy favored him with a coy glance and arched a brow, coiling her hands in the lapels of his dress coat. “The only thing I need twisting my knickers is you,” she retorted, not even attempting to mask her pleasure at the awe that spread across his face. “And…teeny bopper movies?”

He glanced down shyly. “I get bored an’ there’s nothing else on Pay Per View.”

“You are too cute sometimes.”

By suggestion alone, his expression collapsed into a frown. “Take that back,” he growled.

“Nope. Don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

“Don’ make me make you squeal, luv.”

“Oh, what? With Giles here, watching your every move? Don’t think I have much to worry about.”

Spike domed a brow, darting a naughty hand between them to cup her pussy through her dress, leering at her wanton moan. “You were sayin’?”

“You…wouldn’t.”

“Don’ count on it.”

Buffy mewled uselessly as his hand pressed her harder, her head collapsing on his shoulder. “You…you wanna get out of here?”

“I’d rather see you come, right here, right now.”

She moaned again. “Spike…”

“Oh yeah. Like that.” His fingers inched to the slit in her dress and he favored her with a wink. “’S dark enough in here that—”

“Oh…you can get any good girl into trouble.”

“You’re not a good girl, luv. You’re very, very bad.”

“So what?” His hand was completely immersed under the black fabric of her dress, dancing seductively against her skin. Buffy clutched at his shoulders and rumbled another whimper. “We’ve already…uhhh…established that you’re a bad man.”

“Makes us quite a pair, eh, pet?”

“Spike, seriously. Let’s get out of here.”

He frowned. “’S your big night.”

“I’ve had my big night. I’m ready for my big something else.” To emphasize her point, she grasped his cock through his slacks, smiling her satisfaction when he moaned in turn and thrust against her. “Besides, all we’re missing is the crowning of the stupid queen, and we all know it’s Harmony, so no big.”

“Harmony?”

“It would be Cordy, but her popularity’s on the no because of the entire incident that was dating and henceforth being cheated on by Xander.”

“Ah, yes.” He glanced down. “That was my fault, wasn’ it?”

Buffy chuckled and kissed him. “Well, the circumstances were, but I think it would’ve happened anyway. And it let Will know how she really felt about Oz, so that was a good. Kinda like when I thought Angel had turned and it made me realize how much I…”

Spike’s brows shot upward, eyes shimmering with sudden anticipation.

And of course when she saw she was on the spot, she lost her wording and fumbled horribly. “…how much…I…how you…how…”

A sigh rumbled off his chest and he nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “’S all right.”

“Spike, I—”

“It’ all right.” He stepped away, releasing her completely and offering a weak smile before extending a hand. “Come on. Let’s blow this joint.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I just—”

His arms spread diplomatically. “I got me forever, Buffy. I got me you. I’m happy. I love you, an’ even if you can never—”

“Spike—”

“I know, luv. I’m jus’ saying if you ever feel that you can’t, that doesn’ change a bloody thing. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.” He stepped forward, clasping her hand as their fingers entwined. “’m not going anywhere. Not unless you’re there, too. You understand?”

There was a second’s pause before she felt she could nod, eyes filling with tears that knew not their destination. It broke her heart; despite everything else, she felt she was at love’s doorstop, waiting for a yes or no. It was a frightening thing; going from one extreme to the other so quickly. She had started the school year mourning Angel, hating herself for what she had to do to him. By Christmas, he was back, dealing with the First Evil, and they were a couple once more. By the time her birthday came around, they had already grown apart because it wasn’t the same. And it could never be the same.

What she had with Spike was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She didn’t want to concede anything right now. She didn’t want to admit she cared for him more than she had cared for another man. She didn’t want to face the absolutes staring her down in the mirror when she got ready for school in the morning. She didn’t want to surrender the knowledge that having it all—friendship, laughter, passion, heat, romance, everything—was more than Angel ever could have given her. She didn’t want to will herself in love, because even if she knew it was true, that made everything serious. It made everything real. Realer than before. It made everything the epitome of real.

But as they said their goodbyes and made their way through the crowds and couples and others who happily sold their heart to the nearest pretty face that would take it, she acknowledged one truth that scared her beyond reproach. Spike’s leaving her would result in a devastation the likes of which she might never recover. More than the teenage angst through which she had suffered the previous year. If anything, that had taught her that life without Angel was more than possible. The relationship she had with Spike now, in her eighteenth year, was something for which many spent their lives searching.

She had it all. He had given it to her. And she couldn’t give him the one thing he wanted. Not yet.

What was worse, she felt she knew what the answer to the love question was anyway. Why she kept it to herself was something she couldn’t understand, nor solve. It would happen when it happened. When everything was right. When voices of doubt no longer shouted her down. When she knew the answer that would satisfy all other ends. When she knew.

They arrived at Spike’s place within ten minutes. He had moved in two weeks before after deciding against nesting in the cemetery. While the idea of a crypt appealed to him, he explained he knew she wouldn’t rest well if she slept where she worked. And he had opted against an apartment because he likewise knew that they needed their space. His house wasn’t anything overly special; near the graveyard so he could meet her for patrols. A cozy three bedroom, one bath establishment. He had everything he needed. A fridge, a telly, and a bed.

Within two seconds of walking through the front door, she had leapt fully into his arms, determined to compensate for the love she withheld. Her mouth tore at his—her hands fighting his clothing and rendering his tie and jacket to the floor without any niceties. Spike moaned into her, guiding her blindly in a clumsy haze for the bedroom and fending off her attack with one of his own.

“Mmm,” she gasped, throwing her head back as his lips skated down her throat.

“You have no bloody idea.” His hands fisted the material of her dress with a whimper.

“Don’t tear it.”

“Wasn’t gonna.”

“Good.” Buffy pulled back just enough to catch his eyes devilishly before ripping his dress-shirt down the middle, buttons flying in every which direction. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Minx.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

“Never.” How he ever found the back zipper, he didn’t know. It was a hasty, ungainly job—he was too drunk with her taste to pay much attention. Amazing how effortlessly she could render him so. The lightest brush against his lips sent him down the hall of continual bliss.

“Mmm. You look even better with that dress off,” he decided, head dipping to taste her breasts. His smiled against her when she grasped at his shoulders, her hands fumbling in much the same way for his belt. True, they had shared moments of captured intimacy here and there, but there was something about this lasting peace that gave him a sense of belonging.

Time had not been good to them this week. And here they were, making it up.

Spike’s eyes fluttered to her face as he took a nipple into his mouth, hand skating the length of her to dive between her legs, discovering at last why she had put on her dress before removing her jeans after the hellhound was dead. He knew she had some freakish aversion to pantyhose, but had not foreseen encountering nothing at all. “Y’know,” he murmured against her skin. “If you’d told me you were goin’ commando tonight, we never would’ve made it to the sodding dance.”

“Hence, I opted not to tell you.”

“Good thing.” His thumb found her clit, and he smiled as she buckled against him. “Glad you finally listened to me. No panties for my Slayer.”

To emphasize his point, he ground his palm against her pussy, then edged a finger into her. He watched in awe as she sighed her pleasure. A long, rattled sigh suggesting nothing outside the highest form of ecstasy. And it only got better; her eyes rolled back when he began moving in and out of her, stretching once again to fill her with another finger.

“Oh God.” She finalized that by whipping his belt out of the loops, sending it sailing in the same direction of his necktie. “So good.”

“Already? I’ve only jus’ started.”

She pulled back lightly, and the sweat lacing her forehead enchanted him. “Always.”

She beckoned his mouth to return to hers as he hastily kicked his shoes off and worked his way out of his trousers. When finally free of all bothersome barriers, he took a good, long minute to run his eyes appreciatively over her blushing body, then seized her by the shoulders and tossed her back onto the bed. His eyes widened ravenously when her breasts bounced on impact, and he quickly followed suit, peppering her neck with ravenous, ardent kisses and pressing himself hungrily against her thigh.

“Oh, God.”

He smiled but didn’t reply. Bringing his right hand to her face, he held her motionless for a minute as his tongue delicately explored her mouth. Clashing against hers, fighting her for the ever-needed dominance. And God, she gave as good as she got. That and then some. Over and over again. It drove him absolutely mad.

It drove her mad, as well. Far and beyond what he did to her, what he gave without asking for anything in return. The temptation was upon Buffy to summon her innate strength and gain the dominant position, to hurry this for both their satisfaction, but she knew somehow that Spike wouldn’t allow that. Despite his own urgency, his legendary lack of patience, he preferred savoring every second of their lovemaking. As though he might not be here someday, and he would have nothing but the memory to drive him onward.

Her insides flushed cold at the thought, and she forced her mind elsewhere.

Just when the urge became too much to tolerate, the hand at her face swept down the contours of her body. He paused sweetly; beholding the wide, imploring look she was giving him. And it was just enough. His adventurous fingers found her insides again, probing to his leisure before he broke away to explore her with his mouth.

And still, Spike took his time. Took the offering of her bare flesh and knelt forward, teasing her stomach with his tongue. And lower still until he was nuzzling her hot, slippery sex. His eyes glued to her face, he watched her, mesmerized, as she moaned and leapt off the bed every time his tongue swept clit. Every time he teased her with the promise of penetration only to pull back. When she at last moaned his name in need, he entered her wet whole, stroking her slick clit between agile fingers. Driving her to that edge for blissful seconds and pulling back when he felt her ready for the plunge. He allowed seconds for her to calm before going in again, grinning into her when her whimper colored the air.

He was enjoying this far too much. And in turn, Buffy felt a dam break inside, losing all self-control. By God, if he made her wait any longer, she was going to have to start without him. She grasped his hand and tugged him upward, tasting herself on his lips when they were eye-level again before employing her strength to flip them over. She cast herself astride him and busied her hands at tormenting his body as he had tormented hers, ignoring the suggestive smirk that arose to his face in turn. The feel of his swollen erection probing her pussy only excited her further, sending a flush across her skin she knew that he found charming. All the places his mouth had ventured burned deliciously. And more, more. Always more.

“Buffy…”

“Nope. You got yours, now I get mine.”

“Always. Oh God. Jus’…” Spike attempted to sit up and found himself pushed back again. She felt his hands on her, but didn’t register the sensation, too busily consumed with her own need. He cupped her breasts, and she responded to the feeling more than she intended, grinding her hips against his and reveling in the longwinded groan she received in turn.

He had it too easy. Lack of a pulse. Lack of body heat. He knew damn well what he did to her. These moments were the sort for which she lived.

Of course, he gave them all the time. And it only took looking in his eyes to know everything. He bore his emotions without shame. He wanted her to know everything. To experience everything.

Spike sat up again. Slowly. He drew her back to him with a gentle smile before replacing the hand at her breast with his mouth, drawing her needy peaks inward as his fingers danced idly at her hips. Buffy released a trembling breath and reached for his cock, pumping him once, twice, and found herself on her back the next instant.

Their fingers laced and their eyes met.

He told her he loved her. It was important to him. Every time they made love, he whispered the words, and every time her heart touched the heavens. He did it as if to remind her that this was it. She found it endearing. More than anything for which she could have ever asked. All and everything.

The head of his cock rubbed tantalizingly across her opening, and he smiled when she whimpered. Then, slowly, he edged himself into her pussy and held.

This. This was perfection. When he gathered himself and withdrew only to return, her world was made. And as they moved together, she knew no other truth.

It was simply a matter of gathering her courage to tell him. Tell him so he knew. Tell him so he believed.

Tell him so he never left her.

Spike didn’t know how long he had been watching her. An hour, two, twenty. She was slumbering peacefully, resting on her stomach, facing him in delicate repose as moonlight poured in through the windows and made lazy play across her bare back. The tiny, nearly indiscernible breaths she took were enchanting; the look she betrayed in her sleep reflecting more serenity than the world had to offer.

He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t do anything but watch her. Curled at his side, her hand entwined with his. Her body was just far enough to both satisfy and make him wild with distance. Distance bothered him—always had. The distance he had placed between them after the night they spent together had all but driven him out of his mind. He had tried to replicate her touch through means that made him ill to consider now. But that was then—that was before the boundaries of their relationship were established. That was before they had even had something to call a relationship. Before he could even acknowledge to himself, let alone anyone else, the bubbly feeling within his chest coupled with the sharp stab of pained longing was something romantics called love. Something he for which had searched blindly with no one, even the woman he had once seen himself spending an eternity with, had ever been capable of reciprocating.

Buffy was the Slayer. She was everything he was destined to hate and more. He had tasted the lifeline of two before her. He had tried to kill her more times than he cared to count. And for whatever reason, she was lying beside him now. Her naked body beside his, giving him what he had never fathomed asking. Never fathomed receiving. She willed herself unworriedly into his grasp. A slayer with a vampire. A vampire without a soul. A vampire whose will of goodness rested within the Slayer. As long as she was with him, he would be as he was.

Because he loved her. He loved her so much. And with every breath he stole, every kiss he treasured, every minute of her time that should rightly belong to anyone but him, he dreaded losing it all the more. Dreaded the feeling accumulating in his stomach bounced back her own shortcomings. He knew she cared for him. Just that was enough to blow him away. And while it might have been presumptuous to want her love in addition, he couldn’t help himself. It was there, an impossible yearning gnawing his insides away. Perhaps he thought it would be easier than this because what she had given him thus far was more than he ever thought to possess. Perhaps he thought since he had played first witness to the drama that was Buffy and Angel the year before, he was owed something akin to that. To the sacrificial bond that had linked them together.

Perhaps it was more his own insecurity. It didn’t matter what reassurances she gave without needing to be asked. He could tell himself over and over again that she had been granted the chance to take her loverboy back and yet chose him. Perhaps it was because he had spent a century playing second fiddle to Angel, and though such had always bothered him, it hadn’t started killing him until Buffy got involved.

If he couldn’t get her love where Angel had, he didn’t know what he would do. Selfish? Absolutely. But Spike wanted to have it all. He wanted her—her friendship, her body, her love. Everything that came with it. Everything that made her Buffy.

She gave herself over willingly. She hid nothing from him. And while he never doubted she was happy, that she was where she wanted to be and with whom she wanted to be, she still seemed so distant. So far beyond his grasp. He kept reaching for her and she kept slipping through his fingers.

But for the few blessed seconds before she fell from him, holding her was the closest to Heaven he would ever get.

Spike sighed, covering the granted space between them and dropping a kiss across her back. He draped an arm around her, shivered off her warmth, and willed himself as close as he could get without swallowing her completely. Tonight had been the picture of her teenage perfection. He had wanted to make it as special as possible. After all, it was a dance, and such was all they had ever done.

They danced well together. So well. She was his equal in everything. There was none that came before her, and none that could ever take her place.

He sensed the minute that she snapped awake. Felt her recall everything that had occurred, felt her sink into him with furthered relaxation, felt her brush a kittenish kiss across his chest. Felt her lashes dance against his skin.

“Spike?”

The vampire smiled softly and pulled back, brushing strands of hair away from her face with loving attention. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Mmm.” She yawned and stretched against him, a sleepy smile gracing her face. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost four,” he replied, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Better be getting you home before long, else your mum’s gonna pound down the door with an axe, an’ I’m not sure I’ll end up fairin’ well.”

Buffy arched a brow, shifting upward and finding his chest a makeshift pillow. Her hand dawdled to his abs, where she etched feather-light patterns into skin she knew was ticklish from experience he didn’t care to relive. “I told her where I was gonna be,” she murmured with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry.”

He blinked. “You told your mum that you would be at my place, getting shagged sideways an’ you’re telling me not to worry?”

She smirked. “Well, I left out that last part. I just figured she would know that without having to be told.” Buffy sat up slowly so that she could see his eyes, a smile playing across her features. “You can relax. My mother does know that I’ve had sex.”

“Yeah, but not with me.” Her gaze narrowed skeptically. His own widened in turn. “What? You’ve told her?”

“What? No! Gross. I don’t want the details of her sex-life anymore than she wants the details of mine. But she knows I’m a big girl in an adult relationship.” Buffy’s eyes fell to his chest again, a hand creeping up his abdomen to play with one of his nipples. She wisely ignored his low whimper. “I told her that I wouldn’t be home tonight. She did the Mom thing where she speechifies me to death, but in the end, she said that she didn’t approve but that I’m old enough to make my own decisions. Besides—hello—graduation coming up soon. I get to move out of the house.”

Spike grinned, stretching to his leisure. “Here’s hoping you get a flat-mate who doesn’ mind a bunch of noise,” he purred. “Think you can pull some strings an’ get space to yourself?”

A brow perked at that. “What kind of strings?”

He shrugged. “Like, ‘’Lo. Name’s Summers. I save the world, an’ I’d like my own room, please.’”

She giggled and shook her head, grinning. “I don’t think so. The Slayer package doesn’t come with benefits, sweetie.”

“I’d watch it, luv. You’re hell on the ole ego.”

“I could stroke it later,” she retorted, feigning an innocent shrug.

He appraised her with a lustful leer. “’m gonna hold you to that, baby.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Buffy offered him a wicked smirk before settling comfortably in the bed. “You’re just gonna have to face it. It’s inevitable that I will be spending a lot of quality time right here.”

Spike smiled, trying hard not to read too much into the promise in her voice while simultaneously making a poor play at ignoring the blurb of excitement her words inspired. “I s’pose,” he replied, trying for casual and failing miserably. He nuzzled her hair with appreciation. “So you can stay? Your mum’s not gonna come at me an’ chop off all my manly parts?”

Her eyes widened as though realizing that such had a possibility, thus she very intently slithered a hand between them to grasp his cock, running her hand back in forth in languorous strokes that had him whimpering and writhing in a matter of seconds. “She better not,” she replied. “I’d be angry.”

“Furious,” he agreed breathlessly, collapsing against the pillow and arching himself into her touch with a long-winded moan. “Ohh…”

“But to answer your question, yes, I can stay.” She paused at that and a shy smile broke across her face. It was quite possibly the most charmingly arousing thing he had ever seen. That she could be holding him intimately and still find the room to be self-conscious. “That is, if you want me to. I didn’t mean to invite myself over or anything. I just—”

Spike grinned and silenced her with a teasing kiss, covering her hand with his and encouraging her to squeeze. She did and he moaned again, his kiss growing harder. “Sweetheart,” he murmured. “If I had my way, you’d never have reason to leave.”

Buffy smiled, her fingertips dancing up his cock. When he arched and whimpered into her touch again, she leaned inward to plant a kiss at his throat before casting herself astride his hips once more. The smile arcing her face grew seductively and she tightened her grip around him, the look she betrayed back in a measured mode of treasuring everything he gave. He memorized her so effortlessly. He knew exactly where to touch her, knew exactly how she liked to be kissed, knew more than anyone had ever known. And now, she wanted to give the same back to him.

Something about taking those final steps had always terrified her. Not anymore.

The eventuality of where this was leading her could no longer be avoided. It was wanted. It was needed.

Amazing how quickly he had become her everything.

Her hand pumped him smoothly, eyes absorbing him as he moaned and writhed. He gave her so much with so little. So much passion to counter the soft and often shy touches she gave him. She could barely touch him and make him hers all within the same.

It amazed her that this was the finish line. That just a few months had passed since the night it had all began. That she had entered the Council’s trap just plain ole Buffy Summers and left with everything he gave, basing the whole of her future on the promise of someday. The same she had rejected time and time again before admitting to herself its inevitability.

It frightened her to think she belonged with a vampire, but perhaps she did.

“Buffy…”

“Yup,” she replied with a wink. “That would be me.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

Spike offered a pitiful whimper and pleadingly thrusting forward. “Need you, baby. So much. So bad.”

“Well…I wouldn’t want to disappoint.” Buffy smiled coyly at him and shimmied down his body so that she was straddling a leg. The move promoted a growl through his throat, and he arched a little to ground his flesh against her soaking pussy.

He looked a little relieved to hear her answering moan. As though the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in his duress made it all the more tolerable. “Ahhh,” he breathed, arching again, moving just a little harder. “You’re gonna be the bloody death of both of us.”

“You first.”

“Already dead.”

“I died last.”

Spike arched a brow.

“Well, I did. And the mystery of two Slayers…? Never mind.” Buffy shook her head, leaning forward against his weight and inadvertently grinding herself more intently against him. They both moaned, but she settled before she could pursue her own pleasure. This was for him. Instead, she returned her attention to his cock, her small hand encircling him as the other measured the weight of his balls. The sound of his answering mewl was all the prompting she needed. She edged herself forward still and took the tip of him into her mouth, her thumbs massaging his sac in sensuous circles as her nails feathered his sensitive skin with attentive care. Spike threw his head back and panted, thrusting forward with neediness he didn’t care to possess. Still, he was gentle. He was always gentle, never wanting her to do anything she didn’t want. Anything for which she wasn’t prepared.

But for that, Buffy remained all the same. Her touch was delicate but tortuous. She nibbled lightly at the sensitive head of his cock before pursuing his shaft with long laps of her tongue.

“Ohhhh…fuck,” he groaned, eyes melded shut with near piousness. As though she was the answer to some unholy prayer—such being the only sort creatures of his kind were granted. “Oh fucking hell.”

“More?”

He thrust forward, nodding desperately. “Buffy!”

She giggled, nuzzling his erection with unexpected playfulness. “What do you feel?” she asked softly. “How…what’s…” She was never good at issuing demands during sex, or any of its various acts, and the idea of making such a request alone had her flushing in ways that she had hoped to have outgrown by now. Spike never poked fun at her, never made to showcase her inexperience. Granted, she was hardly as inexperienced now as she had been when they spent their first night together. There was simply something about Spike, about his intensity, that made it difficult for her. As though the wrong words would inspire her removal from the pedestal he had placed her on.

Times like that, the depth of his regard for her was terrifying.

Moments like this were usually solidified with a kind smile. However, he was too foregone to even notice.

“Good!” he gasped. “So fucking good. Heat. The sun. Fire. Flames. Light. Buffy. Oh God, my Buffy. Mine, mine, mine. No one else.” Her eyes glowed with warmth, and she took to planting wet kisses along the underside of his cock. “Velvet,” he continued, arching. “Satin. Buffy.”

“That’s quite a list.”

“Gonna be the death of me…”

She looked at him poignantly, alarmed to find herself drawn to tears as she shook her head. “No,” she replied, engulfing him fully with her mouth, drawing back just far enough to whisper the last. “Never.”

Spike sighed. It would be a miracle if his sheets made it through the night without finding themselves in a thousand little pieces. “Buffy,” he breathed reverently. “Oh, Buffy. Love you. Love you so much.”

Her eyes fluttered shut and she pulled back again, swirling her tongue around his leaking head—bathing him with wordless emotion. Things she couldn’t yet confess. Things she wanted to convey as much as possible.

Things that breeched her feeling to the point of fright.

Never. Never.

She sucked harder in earnest, drawing him far into her mouth, then back and in again. Mimicking intercourse with her lips, tongue massaging him every time his cock slipped back into her mouth. His skin was musky, salty, and so inherently Spike it had her pressing her thighs together in desperate need of friction. She needed him touching her, but wouldn’t forfeit touching him. Not when he tasted so good. Not when he made the sounds he did.

Not when doing this made her feel like a goddess.

“Buffy…no. I’m gonna…’f you keep…” Another long sigh sailed through the room. “Gonna…”

Buffy withdrew just enough to whisper her answer. “It’s all right.”

“No. No. Inside you. Need to be inside.”

The next thing she knew, she had been hauled upward and resituated in his lap, her breasts pressed to his chest. Spike looked at her with awed wonder in the iron dark. At some point, they had lost the moonlight, and it was just them. Trembling fingers explored her pussy, dipping inside to tease her dripping flesh. A tremor rumbled through her at that, and she was answered by a resonant whimper sounded through her lover’s lips, as though the impact of her arousal for him affected him more than she could hope to touch.

His eyes found hers. Soft. Adulating. And he kissed her with such tenderness the need to cry resurfaced without warning. It felt different, for some reason. This time to feel different. How it was so, she did not know. Only that it was the best form of different she had ever experienced.

He teased her vaginal folds with his moist tip, then slowly slid inside. So slowly. As though to remind her of the fullness he offered. It seemed tortuous hours had passed before he was fully within her.

“Oh fucking Christ,” he moaned, burying his head in the crook of her neck. He held still for long seconds, his arms around her. Hugging her to him. Sharing the simplicity of togetherness. Skilled hands dawdled mindless patterns across her back. A tremulous breath rushed through his body, and he brushed a kiss across her skin.

He was trembling. Buffy nearly started at the knowledge.

“Spike?”

“God, I love you.” He lifted her off his lap just enough to torture them both before pulling her down again, impaling her on his cock. “So warm. You’re so fucking warm.”

“Uhnn…”

Spike began rocking with her rhythmically, cupping her face to see her eyes before worshipping her mouth with his. His movements increased only slightly—his own insistence keeping their tempo slow. He liked it slow; she was beginning to see more and more of that. While they had made love with many different variations, she found that more over, he wanted it like this. This unhurried, seemingly-sanctimonious union. Deeper and deeper. God, she loved it.

Buffy’s eyes fell shut once more, her head falling back. She felt him change at the sight of her exposed throat, but it didn’t frighten her. It never did. Such was expected, and he had control of himself in seconds.

He had not bitten her yet. Not since their first night together. He lavished the mark he had given her then with such adoring attention she thought he would have reinstated his claim on her by now. He hadn’t. And she hadn’t asked him about it since the night of their reunion.

He had said he would. Someday. And honestly, Buffy didn’t know why she was suddenly so eager to feel his fangs in her throat. The thought would have disgusted her not too long ago. But with him like this, with him moving within her deep strokes, laving her neck and breasts with his lips, tongue, and teeth, she couldn’t help but wonder.

She also hadn’t forgotten what it had done to her. How it had sweetened the climax all the more. How hard it made her come.

“So much,” she heard him murmur. “Not enough.”

“What?”

“Buffy.” His thrusts deepened and he captured a nipple with his mouth, his hand brushing hair away from her face before skimming the length of her to massage her where they were joined. She mewled and rested her head against his. Her nerves were on fire. And when she felt his fingers brush against her clit with precision, it was over. From where her orgasm had sneaked up on her, she didn’t know. Only that her body gave way to its pleasure with sensuality she still hadn’t fathomed herself capable of. Even after all this time.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she rode out the waves of her fulfillment. And when he cried out in response, filling her, she had never known a more satisfying accord.

Something had changed. Somewhere in the middle of it all, something had changed. She didn’t know what. Couldn’t. But the waves that were washing over her could not be denied. Something had changed. At some point of unanimous consent, they had met in the middle and opted for the path not taken. The path not yet explored.

He turned her world upside down so effortlessly. She wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

Spike cupped her face again, thumbs caressing weightless circles into her skin as his lips found her temple. “Always,” he murmured, leaving her to wonder if she had voiced her wonder aloud. But he did not elaborate, and she did not ask.

Some things were best left unsaid. Others were made for words.

Buffy didn’t know where she stood now. Somewhere between the iron and the silver, something had changed. Without time or logicality. Something had changed.

She simply didn’t know what.

It was one of those days where she had every song imaginable stuck in her head. And for whatever reason, she wasn’t shy about showcasing her singing voice. Buffy skipped into first block with a grin on her face and Monday Monday, nodding to a befuddled Willow and completely ignoring the stares her mood was attracting.

The redhead studied her with an amused grin. “So, I take it you two had fun after prom, eh?”

Buffy shrugged merrily. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact that I called your house last night around nine and you still weren’t home.” Willow shook her head. “I had to convince your mom to not go prowling the town.”

“I got the big scold when I got home.”

“When did you get home?”

The Slayer glanced down sheepishly. “About a quarter till two last night.”

“Buffy!”

“We…lost track of time.”

Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Well, obviously. Doing what, I wonder?”

“It wasn’t…we actually did a lot of…stuff. Rented movies. Did a couple of sweeps. He prepped me on Marcus Aurelius.” Buffy shrugged, doing her best to avoid her friend’s skeptical gaze. “It was nice. We haven’t had an ‘us’ day in a while. With things with Faith on the side of quiet and Graduation coming closer…it was wonderful. Just what I needed, really. A real day off.”

Willow cleared her throat.

“All right. A weekend off.”

Buffy purposefully neglected to mention the part where she and Spike had made love so to the point of shaking both their foundations. And while neither had mentioned the unspoken charisma that had occurred and in no way pursued the mystic change that had taken place, from the looks they gave each other all through the next day, it was obvious they were thinking of little else. The spark hadn’t faded, either. From reclining in his arms as he coaxed her through Delicatessen—a French film she had surprisingly enjoyed—to the impromptu shoulder massage which took a deliciously slow turn into more marathon lovemaking, the spark remained the same. Shivering her insides. Curling her stomach with anticipation.

“Mom threatened to ground me, of course,” Buffy continued, waving a dismissive hand. “Says I’m getting too reckless where Spike is concerned.”

Willow frowned and bit her lip.

“What. You don’t agree with her, do you?”

“Well, not at first. But you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. He’s distracting you.”

“He’s helping me, Will. Big diff. Look into it.”

Willow’s hand came up defensively. “Whoa. Calm down. I’m just making an observation. Remember, I like Spike. I’ve forgiven the entire ‘trying to kill us multiple times’ and the ever important ‘bottle-in-face’ incident because I know he makes you happy. But remember the last time you got too wound up in your boyfriend? He turned evil.”

“Spike is already evil. He can’t turn much more evil.”

The redhead sighed. “Well, technically he can, but…” She shook her head and forced herself back on track. “That’s not the point and you know it. I’m not saying that Spike’s going to pull an Angelus and try to kill us. I’m saying that you might be focused a little too much on—well, you—to pay attention to what’s going on.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.”

“Buffy—”

“Look. I took a weekend. All right? And hey, we’re all still here.” Buffy scowled. “It’d be different if we’d heard anything from the Mayor or Faith. We haven’t. It’s been all on the side of extremely quiet for a long time. And until Giles and Wesley crack what this Ascension is, planning how to stop it isn’t exactly on the market. I’ve still done my job, haven’t I? Took care of the hellhounds with a big plastic smile on my face.” She paused, considered, and plowed onward. “And besides, suppose the Ascension is the big it. Don’t I deserve a little—”

Willow held up a hand. “All right, all right. I get you.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I just…it’s been too long, you know? Since we heard anything.” The redhead glanced down apologetically. “The hellhounds were something, but they weren’t Mayor-related. I’d like to hear something Mayor-related. But you’re right. You stopped them—”

“Spike and I stopped them. He helps me, Wills. He—”

“I gotcha. I’m just…” She shivered. “I can’t shake the wiggy feeling that the longer things stay this quiet, the louder the big boom is gonna be, you know?”

“I don’t like silences any more than the next slayer, but until we figure out what to expect…”

Willow shook her head erratically. “It’s not just the silences, Buffy. It’s this. I don’t like this. Big booms are loud and scary, a-and they always make me scream and then the people in the movie theatre get angry with me. I’m thinking an-Ascension boom might make me, you know, sound an alarm.”

Buffy offered a sympathetic smile and gave her friend a pat of confidence. “We’ll be fine.”

“We will? ‘Cause dying…I’ve heard it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. A-and if it’s true that only the good die young, I’m gonna take up smoking a-and staying out past curfew. And you know that test in physics? I’ll—”

Buffy arched a brow. “Go and ace?”

“You mock my plan.”

“It’s an excellent plan,” the blonde concluded. “You know what happened the last time you thought being good and reliable constituted a major bad, right?”

There was a sigh of resignation. Time past differently on the Hellmouth, but that didn’t mean anyone would soon forget how vamp-Willow had nearly killed everyone at the Bronze. “Really don’t have to remind me,” the redhead muttered.

“Good thing.”

She was still singing as she made her way to the library for the usual bout of after-school training. Giles had some teacher conference to attend, and Wesley felt rather uncomfortable loitering around the library when the authoritative official was not around, thus she had the wing to herself.

Which was good, because she was going to take up some room. The weekend of playtime was over. And it was good. The sooner they got past the Ascension, the better. With as perfect as things were going, she feared something of the massively bad nature striking in a colossal way. The two days with Spike had given her such energy, such reassurance, it was nearly impossible to ignore what loomed around the corner.

If trouble was coming, and of that Buffy had no doubt, she wanted to be fully prepared for the shebang. There was simply too much to lose. More than anything she had faced in the past. This wasn’t a vampire: this was stepping out of what she had known and applying the lessons learned to something of a grander nature.

So much to lose. Her friends. Her youth. Her family. Her Spike.

Spike.

It amazed her, even now, how quickly things had developed. With everything that had passed between them—everything they had taught each other. He took nothing for granted, of course, and she felt it with every touch. Every time his eyes warmed her likeness with being. The simple harmony of belonging to a whole of one. It astounded her where it shouldn’t; it was Spike, and he always put forth the effort for that extra mile.

That didn’t even begin to cover everything that had changed. Everything she thought was linear had suddenly turned on its side. Their time together over the weekend had been blissful, and nothing frightened her more than happiness. She knew better than anyone that things only started to go really right when substantial trouble was on the approach. And she knew now more than that ever fighting for Spike was fighting for herself—keeping him in her life was suddenly more important to her than anything.

With happiness, there was so much to lose.

Buffy knew what he wanted, and she wanted to give it. But the prospect remained far too fearsome—too stranded beyond the means of tangibility. Too many times had she willed her heart over only to see it trampled. And yes, while she knew Spike would never willfully hurt her, the threat of hurt had her emotionally suffocated.

She was not ready for the full. She was not ready for this to be it.

She had to know it was real before she was ready to cross the threshold. That from such moment on, it would be her always.

Buffy set up a modest training module and relocated her stereo to the library counter, popping in the latest mixed CD that Xander had burned for her. The air immediately exploded into The Great Gate of Kiev, which she assumed was added at Willow’s prompting. The Slayer chuckled and shook her head, jousting to the next number and was satisfied when the air found itself filled with a favorite oldie.

“Nice,” she murmured appreciatively. Then got to work.

As any normal, healthy, and perpetually cursed teenage girl, Buffy had gone through the obligatory obsession with Dirty Dancing and likewise developed a fondness for the music. It was a fondness shared with Xander, though she was sworn to secrecy on penalty of a very upset best friend. Therefore, his choices reflected their mutual love of Dirty Dancing with a few other songs interspersed.

“I can really move,” Buffy sang absently, throwing herself into the heat of her workout, attacking the various props and displays she had set about the foyer with grace and precision. “Do you love me? I’m in the groove. Ah, do you love me? Do you love me? Now that I can da-a-a-a-ance! Watch me now, hey!”

One by one, the barriers around her came down. There was nothing quite like a good workout. It was the only activity that granted total solitude—not that she wasn’t thrilled to be around her friends, but lately, the pressure she had been receiving from Willow was too much to handle. The redhead’s intentions were good—they always were. In fact, everyone’s intentions were about as good as she could have expected. Even Xander, though with everything that had occurred, hadn’t given her as much grief as she would have anticipated.

And still, the only person she could stand to be around for any length of time was Spike. He was the only one not constantly pressuring her. The only one not always reminding her what had to be done. He grew worried on occasion, of course, but ultimately trusted she knew what she was doing. And it was nice. It was one of the reasons the weekend had been so superb.

It was strange to think her healthiest relationship of all time was with a soulless vampire. Strange, but no less true.

She loved this. Loved everything about this.

“I can mash-potato. Mash-potato! And I can do the twist. Do the twist!”

Buffy was so engaged in her routine she didn’t sense the eyes following her every move from the book stacks with amused admiration. So into it that she dismissed the fluttering that cried vampire with a smidge of discern for her similar dismissal of the subsequent alert that screamed Spike. That one was nothing but a pipe-dream. She and Spike had a little farther to go before she knew his presence above all others.

“Tell me baby, tell me baby! Do you like it like this? Like it like this! Tell me!”

Or so she thought until the next minute.

“Oh, you li’l minx. You are jus’ asking for it.”

The next thing she knew, the music was off and Buffy was on her back across the nearest table with a very aroused vampire caught between her legs. He clamped her wrists to the wooden surface and pressed against her hard, rubbing his erection against her center with need that knew no bounds. The look on his face was dangerous and his grin was nothing pure wicked—and Buffy fell awash in a sea of lust. Moisture pooled in her panties, every sense coming to life.

“There’s only so much a bloke can take,” he informed her before demanding her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss.

Buffy moaned, battling his invasive tongue with her own and seizing his arms as she thrust her hips hard against him. He had the power to turn her into jelly so effortlessly, and he never put it to waste. He touched and kneaded and felt her all over, grappling at her as though they had been separated for years.

It took that to remind her that he wasn’t supposed to be here, and she placed a reluctant hand on his chest to push him away.

Not that it did any good.

“…Spike.” His name came out a heady gasp, and she arched off the table as he continued, unhampered, trailing the skin down her throat with lavish kisses. “Ohhhh…”

“Missed you,” he growled roughly, fumbling to untuck her tank top from her sweats.

“I was—ahh—only gone…for a few…few hours.”

“House’s big an’ lonely without you,” came the muffled explanation.

“Your house…” she argued breathlessly. “Is not big.”

“Woke up an’ you weren’ there,” Spike continued, dipping under her waistline and cupping her pussy. “Missed you. So I thought I’d come by. You mind?”

Buffy crooned masterfully under his touch, shaking her head with a long, breathy sigh. “No. Don’t mind at all.”

His fingers played with the elastic rim of her panties. “Drivin’ me outta my mind.”

“What?”

“You. Bloke gets spoiled.” Spike began moving upward again, dropping kisses as he went until their mouths were fused together once more, his hand slipping entirely under her panties and gliding teasingly over her curls, barely skimming her drenched, needy flesh. “Got used to you being there.”

“At your place?”

He nodded and kissed her again, smiling as she whimpered.

“It was just one weekend.”

“Felt too short.” Spike growled and shuddered, running his forefinger up and down her vaginal slit before sliding into her. “Got used to you bein’ there. With me.”

“Uhhhh…Spike…we shouldn’t.”

“Your fault, you filthy temptress.”

Buffy blinked at him, her senses numb and blazing all at the same stroke. “Wh…what?”

Another growl, another finger. His thumb found her clit with a contented sigh. “I told you that first night, right? That first night we were together. Saw you dancing an’ wanted to fuck you into the sodding ground. Remember?”

She did. She really, really did.

“Ohhh…”

“Yeah. Thought so.” He nuzzled her throat lovingly. “Can’t expect a bloke to pass up such an opportunity twice, can you?”

Buffy bit her lip, eyes squeezed shut. The wet smack of his fingers plunging in and out of her body had her mesmerized. He dove and explored, setting her nerves on edge. He stroked her clit softly, sure to add enough pressure to drive her wild as he massaged her inner walls. He was gentle and harsh in the same stroke—in ways she couldn’t comprehend, in ways she knew he knew she loved. He knew her way too well—knew how to make her come so hard her screams could knock down walls. Knew how to calm her down and get her hot again. Knew exactly what she needed when she needed it—the comfort of a hug, the relief of a massage, the consolation of bending an ear. He was always there.

No one else had known her this way.

“No one else will,” he growled possessively.

It took a second to realize that he had spoken. She blinked at him as sweat threatened to dribble into her eyes.

He flashed a grin. “Thinking aloud, sweetheart.” Then, before she could retort, his eyes fluttered closed and he neared to kiss her lips, almost reverently. “God…what have you done to me?”

“Uhhh…”

“Every waking thought. You’re a drug, Summers. An’ the more I have, the more I need. Bloody magnificent creature, you are.” A sigh rolled off his shoulders, his fingers probing and stroking and pushing her closer to climax. His eyes dropped to her pussy, greedily absorbing every thrust. Every time a part of him disappeared within her body. Every time her vaginal lips swelled and folded around him. He drank in every sound she made. Every needy gasp. Every sob of pleasure. Every time she asked for more. Her heat would set him ablaze one day. It was a miracle he had yet to crumble to ash.

“Spike…we shouldn’t…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“We—”

“Don’ object, kitten. Jus’ feel it. Feel me.” He drew back long enough to favor her swollen clit with a lick. “Come. Wanna feel you come. Come hard. Come around me.”

“Oh God…”

“Love you,” Spike gasped. “Love you so much.”

“Uhhhh…”

“No one else could ever do this to me,” he told her, voice clouding with passion. “No one. No one affects me like you do. No one ever has. Ever could.”

“Spike…”

He was pumping her in earnest now, his speed bordering frantic for no reason other than his desire to feel her come apart. This hadn’t been his intention upon coming here, of course. True to his word, he had woken up and missed her. The house did seem empty without her around—and while far too short, the weekend had allowed him the briefest picture into what it would be like to always have her with him. But he wouldn’t suggest it. He didn’t want to frighten her—his love did that just fine.

But when he had arrived and lost himself in the book stacks only to be jarred to the front by the glorious sight of her dancing…well, he couldn’t be held accountable for his actions.

“You drive me crazy,” he whispered, thrusting in and out of her frantically. He loved the way she panted when she came. Loved the way she tasted. His lips fastened around her clit and sucked hard. “Wild. An’ you do it on purpose.”

“Spike—”

“My hot, tight li’l slayer.”

“Spike!” And that was it. With a final gasp, Buffy embedded her fingernails into his shoulder, choked another sob, and came violently. She spasmed roughly across the table, her cry bouncing off the library walls. Spike kept moving within her with sweet softness, retracting his hand only when he sensed the waves receding. Then, when he had her eyes, he brought his drenched fingers to his mouth and licked up her juices with a murmur of pure satisfaction.

It took a minute for her eyes to focus. He loved the way she looked post-coitus. Well, he loved the way she looked regardless, but this was definitely categorized in his internal filing cabinet as one of the favorites. There along with a dozen others. A thousand others.

“Spike,” she said again, voice spent and sexy. Another thing he loved: his name on her lips. There wasn’t anything quite as fulfilling as hearing the woman he loved hoarse from an orgasm he’d given her, murmuring his name.

A light that wasn’t quite love, but so damn close that it couldn’t hurt to pretend.

The internal musings could have continued for hours, but Buffy had tugged him down to her mouth again, favoring him with a soft, sensual kiss. She tasted of sweat and mint-flavored gum. She’d had Raspberry Kool-Aid for lunch. Her perfume was faint. That was better. He preferred her inherent scent over anything she dabbed on herself. It made her full. It made her Buffy.

It was so easy to get lost in her. Such to the fact that neither realized they were no longer alone. A disgruntled throat cleared, breaking the heated silence with the visual of Giles and Wesley crowding the library doors.

Spike drew a long, sly smile and stood to full height, moving obligatorily in front of Buffy to provide her privacy while she straightened her clothing. He had to bite back a chuckle at her fumbled embarrassment. She was too fucking cute at times.

“’Lo all,” he greeted, reaching into the lapels of his duster for his cigarettes.

There was a long pause.

“Rupert and I were about to engage in a little fencing,” Wesley explained, his voice overly cheery. “I do hope that we’re not interrupting.”

“Nope!” Buffy replied, charmingly flushed. She was at Spike’s side the next minute, gesturing that he should close his duster to hide his erection. “We were…just…ummm…”

“No need to add a caption to the diagram,” Giles retorted, brows arched. “I believe we could see what you were doing.”

“It wasn’t—”

Spike shrugged lazily, plopping a cigarette between his lips while staunchly ignoring the malicious look he received in turn. “’S my fault,” he explained, lighting up. “I ambushed her while she was working out. She din’t know I was comin’ by.”

Giles’s expression refused to soften. “And why are you here, one wonders?”

“Please, put out that cigarette,” Wesley requested with expected diplomacy. “I do not believe smoking is tolerated on school grounds.”

The vampire merely looked at him and blew out a long stream of smoke. “’m here,” he said to Giles, “’cause I wanna be.”

Buffy held up a hand before her Watcher could retort. “Just lay off. Whatever it is. He’s here, I’m here, we’re all here. Deal with it.” She sighed. “So, you all are fencing? We can just leave and—”

“Actually,” Giles said, “I was hoping to catch you before you left.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t suppose you got a look at the newspaper this morning?”

No. She hadn’t. She had been too sleepy from her late return home and had employed the time she usually dedicated to breakfast to catch a few more winks.

Giles and Wesley exchanged a grave glance.

“There’s been a murder,” the latter explained. “Brutally stabbed. A visiting professor by the name of Wirth. He was found late last night.”

“There's nothing there that bellows motive,” Giles observed. “But we thought it better if you were aware of it.”

At the word ‘murder’, there was only one possible suspect that even fluttered within the line of possibility. Proof was unimportant. It was Faith. Buffy knew it was Faith. And everything inside fell cold. Dead and cold. “A professor of what?”

“Geology,” the younger man replied. “Like Rupert said, there is no reason why we should automatically—”

“Unless he knew something,” Giles summarized. “A visiting professor with no known enemies, no family in the area…I simply fear that it might be that there was an issue of importance that he was guarding.”

“Something to do with the Ascension?”

“Like I said, Buffy, we don’t—”

She shook her head. “I know.”

Spike frowned. “You’re sure? You don’ know anythin’ about this other than what these blokes have told you. It could’ve been—”

Buffy met his eyes fleetingly. “It’s Faith. She’s been quiet for far too long. And you know Faith…she’s not the quiet type. And a professor of geology—visiting, no less—this close to Graduation? My slayer tingly is all over this one. If they know something, then I wanna know too. The Mayor's trying to hide. I say we go seek.”

“Ah.” Wesley beamed. “By attempting to keep a valuable clue from us, the Mayor may have inadvertently led us right to it.”

Buffy and Spike gave him a virtually identical narrowed glance. “What page are you on, Wes?” the Slayer asked, quirking a small grin. “’Cause we already got there.”

Wesley glanced down, flustered. “Yes, well. You will go tonight. Look over his apartment. Anything of note, report back here.”

“I just love it when you take charge, you man, you.”

“Getting a bit big for your britches there, aren’ you?” Spike added, eyes glimmering.

There was a confused pause. “Uh, we…was that a yes? I have trouble keeping track.”

Buffy grinned her amusement. “I'll go.”

“We’ll go,” Spike reaffirmed, grasping her hand tightly.

“We’ll go.”

Giles nodded. Evidently, that much amounted to some relief. “Be careful. If Faith should show up…”

“Faith won’ get anywhere near her,” the vampire promised coldly.

“I don't think she'll show. Been there, killed that. She's not much for follow-up.” A small smile grappled Buffy’s lips. “And even if she does, I have my own slayer-slayer along with, so no big. All with the protection.”

It amazed everyone in the room she could utter the sentence and not shudder. And still, the astonishment didn’t last. Spike broke into an adoring dimpled smile and brushed a kiss over her cheek. “Gotta admire your spunk, sweetheart,” he told her.

“I’m all with the spunk.”

“Nonetheless,” Giles argued, clearing his throat sharply. “I want you to be careful.”

She rolled her eyes to conceal her gratitude at his concern. “Well,” she retorted. “I’m not gonna go around with a big sign over my head that says, ‘Faith Attack Here,’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m worried about you, Buffy. I always am.”

“Join the bloody club,” Spike grumbled, earning a look of ephemeral respect from the Watchers. “I think we have hats.”

Giles smiled grimly and nodded. “Well, I believe Willow was going to come here after Math Club, and Xander thought he might drop in as well. Do you think it wiser to go now or later?”

There was a pause at that. “Later,” Buffy answered. “No sun, safer. We could get there all right now, but I don’t exactly want a crispy boyfriend.”

“Thanks ever so.”

“And I think it safe to say that there’s better chance that Faith’ll show up tonight rather than this second.”

Giles frowned and stepped forward. “Do you think it wise to purposefully seek her out? That could be exactly what she wants. And, no offense—” He glanced to Spike. “—but she is well aware that you have a vampire with a history of killing slayers on your side. Faith might be erratic, but she is neither naïve nor gullible. If she wants to cross you, she will. And she will be prepared.”

“I know.”

Spike’s hand tightened around hers. “Do you?” He ignored her hurt glance and pressed, “As much as I hate to admit it, pet, Rupert is right. If we should run into the other Chosen bird t’night, it’ll be because she wants us to.”

“Then we’ll take her out tonight. Get her out of the Mayor’s running for the Ascension ensemble.”

Giles shook his head. “Buffy—”

“Look. I know what I’m doing. All right? And hey, not even going alone.” She squeezed Spike’s. “I just know that waiting for her to come to us isn’t doing anything but get professors murdered. I’d really prefer to nix that part and go to her.” The faces around her were somber. “Guys, she’s not even gonna show. It’s not her style. I just wanna be prepared.”

The air grew uncomfortably thick.

“’ll be with her,” Spike reiterated. “My word, Watcher. She won’ get hurt.”

“I can look after myself,” Buffy argued.

“Yeah. An’ with me there, you definitely won’ get hurt.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Giles confirmed with a nod. “Report back here immediately. Wesley and I will be researching the Ascension until such time.” His eyes centered on the young woman’s intently. “Be careful, Buffy.”

A weak smile fluttered across her lips. “Hey—it’s me, right?”

Spike favored her with a skeptical glance.

“Yes,” Giles agreed dryly. “That’s why I worry.”

“I still don’t see how Marcus Aurelius stands as one of the Five Good Emperors with his track record,” Buffy argued futilely, dropping her house key into her pocket after double-checking the front was locked. “His rule was plagued with disaster and he killed a bunch of people. Not exactly a good check in the Buffy Book of Etiquette.”

“So the test din’t go well?”

“I imparted my personal opinions, so I’m guessing no.” She scowled. “It’s just a stupid final anyway. What’s it really matter?”

“How your grades look on your transcript for one.” Spike chuckled. “So, you started arguing with the bloke right in the middle of the essay? Smooth move, Slayer.”

“I know you told me not to, but it bothered me!”

She turned to meet Spike’s bemused expression just as he shook his head and took her hand. “The why’s not really important,” he explained. They set out, their stride so much alike it was difficult to pause without the other pausing as well. If a change in the pattern occurred, they did it together—often without forethought. “Jus’ that he was. An’ as much as you might not fancy it, death has always been a part of monarchy regime. Aurelius is no different than Augustus or Vespasian or Hadrian or any of the others that came before him. He just knew what to stay out of.”

“He persecuted Christians!”

“An’ I suppose the Christians never persecuted anyone.” He chuckled off her dirty look. “Someone’s always persecuting someone else, pet. It’s the order of the bloody universe. You can’t change that. Whether it be Marcus Aurelius or the Spanish Inquisition or the sodding Holocaust. Everywhere you look, you see another human monster.”

“Love how you snuck the ‘human’ part in there.”

“Jus’ putting things in perspective, is all.”

“Uh huh.”

Spike sighed dramatically as they turned the corner toward the side of town where the professor had been murdered. “’S not so important that you understand why he was but know that he was, or so ‘m guessin’.” His grin grew when she bristled and he couldn’t help brush a kiss across her cheek. “You’re lovely when you’re confused.”

“Get on with it, Bleach Boy.”

He chuckled. “To me, seems like your teacher shoulda spent more time tryin’ to explain the bloke’s philosophies. That’s where the studying bit comes in, luv. Marcus Aurelius was a Stoic.”

“A what-ic?”

“A Stoic. Part of the stoicism movement. It was one of the philosophical movements of the Hellenistic period.” Spike’s grin wavered when she favored him with a devilish smirk. There was a pause and an uncomfortable shuffle. “What?”

“My boyfriend’s a brain. Who would’ve thought?”

He scoffed and ignored the way his heart nearly skipped. Rarely did anyone ever appraise his intelligence—namely because he often went to great extents to conceal he had any. There was so much he had spent years repressing. His childhood. The severe teachings of a sadistic schoolmaster who enjoyed punishing the students more than educating them. Never had he thought the outcome of such rigorous schooling could be rewarding.

Then again, never had any woman been attracted to him for his intelligence, imparting his need to feign he had any. “I can stop, ‘f you like,” he added diffidently.

“No! No.” A shy smile crossed her face. “I like you all brainy. It’s sexy.”

Warmth split his insides. Finally, Spike understood what she meant when she said that he allowed her to be herself. He had always comprehended the words, of course, but never gotten it. And now he got it. Because she gave him the same.

“Sexy, huh?”

Buffy blushed, nodding. “Oh yeah.”

“Is it sexy to know the term stoicism derives from the porch—stoa poikilê—in the Agora at Athens decorated with mural paintings, where the members of the school congregated an’ their lectures were held?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Okay…who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?”

Spike pouted. “Thought my encyclopaedic knowledge was sexy.”

“It is. It’s also kinda wiggy.”

Spike chuckled and kissed her cheek again, squeezing her hand. “Guess I can give you the Cliff Note’s run through, then,” he supplied. “Stoicism’s basically the belief that focuses on the good an’ purging all other reactionary impulses from your system to give you a plane of higher importance…or what all. In Laymen’s terms, believing in the divinity of the cosmos as an intelligent, living being, at times stressing the accord of all things an’ the importance of resigning yourself to whatever happens.” He frowned. “At leas’ I think so.”

“Oh, so you don’t know as much as you thought?”

“Gotta remember, it’s been over a century, sweetheart. Quite literally. Think I’m getting it confused with predestination.” He smiled when she frowned at that. “Calvin, that is. But he din’t come till centuries later.”

“He’s the one that thought people were marked from birth on whether or not they got into Heaven, right?”

A grin crossed his lips. He had taught her that. “Score one for the li’l lady.”

“Still say it’s a stupid philosophy. What if a murderer was ‘predestined’ to go to Heaven? So he can go out and kill all those people and still get in?”

“Think the Almighty Wanker’d know it if a bloke was gonna turn into a murderer, luv—at leas’ according to what your Good Book says.”

“But if it’s predestined, and the person who got in goes bad, there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“I think we’re getting off topic here.”

“That’s basically saying that a person could sit down and just let everything happen to them from where they’re sitting. Like, say I was predestined to save a bus load of kids from going off the edge of a cliff.” Spike simply stared at her. God, she could make the smallest issue exhausting, and he loved her for it. “So, if I’m predestined to it, does that mean I don’t have to do it and yet since it’s written in the Big Book Of Things That Will Happen, it happens anyway? I could sit down and watch Jeopardy and somehow save the kids, too?” She looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

“Think I lost you, luv.”

She pouted. “Predestination sucks.”

“Then don’ believe in it. Problem solved. But we were talking bout—”

“Stoicism, right. But from what you said, in that philosophy, everyone thinks that things happen for a reason.”

“Doesn’ seem too far off, if you ask me.”

“But it follows the same scheme as predestination?”

“Somewhat. Look—”

Buffy shook her head with conviction. “The crackpots who made these up obviously never met a slayer,” she decided. “If all my battles were predestined, then—”

“Some of them were.”

The look he received only intensified the wish he had the capacity to let some matters slide.

“What?” she asked.

Spike sighed and glanced to her, exhausted but enthralled. Never had he imagined he would spend an evening going to investigate a murder while arguing philosophy with anyone, least of all the Slayer. Least of all Buffy. “Well, there’s a certain measure of predestination in everything your Watcher brings up. Half of what you have to fight is stuff he’s dug outta those books.”

Her pout intensified. “So?”

“So, predestination exists in some circuits. You’re the difference, sweetheart.” He smiled warmly. “You take out the nasty ‘Slayer’s gonna die’ clause an’ switch it to your favor.”

“I’m sure you have a point. I’m sure of it.”

Spike smirked and plucked a cigarette between his lips. “Simple. Post hoc ergo propter hoc.”

“…uhhh?”

His grin broadened and he nuzzled her lovingly. “Things you do have an impact on the universe—it’s only a matter of time before you realize that. Come on, luv. We’re here.”

“Wait. Whoa. What does that mean? That post hockey whatnot?”

Spike’s heart swelled. She was so fucking adorable.

“‘After this, therefore because of it.’ Jus’ give it some thought.” He winked at her. “Now, we have a professor to be tending to, right?”

Buffy was still frowning. Then, with schooled control, she nodded and stepped forward. “Right. Well, the afterwards, and…” She stopped and shook her head again. “Remind me not to argue philosophy with you again. As in ever.”

His eyes twinkled merrily. “Too challengin’ for you?”

“Hey!”

“Well come on. You’re the Slayer. If you can’t take a li’l heat—”

“I think the last thing you need to be worried about where I’m concerned is whether or not I can take your heat.”

“’Cause I don’t give off any or I give off too much?”

Buffy smiled. “Pig.”

“Fine animal. Smart, too.”

“Okay, we’ve got fine, smart, and I’ll add dirty for good measure.” She grinned. “Yup. You’re definitely a pig.”

“If that’s the criteria, I gotta say you are, too.”

She glanced down at that, her expression growing long and serious. He sensed it within a beat of taking.

“You think if predestination is real then the professor was supposed to die?”

Spike had to clamp down on his tongue before the more immediate retort could escape. She took this seriously—he knew she did. She took so many things seriously—things that seemed so trivial to him. It was one of those unspoken matters that assisted in breaking their relationship from Cloud Nine to a realer Cloud Six. Where the white wasn’t as white and the sun was harder to see. He remembered vaguely what it was like to fear death. To feel his insides recoil at the thought of someone brutally murdering someone else. How he had strayed from such things during life for the realism of it all.

As William, the darker aspect of life was something he studiously avoided. The transition from William to Spike, in that regard, was the most radical in his existence. From one extreme to the other—trying desperately to eradicate whatever humanity lingered in his system. To move it over for the more palpable rage that fell victim to anyone who crossed his path.

But he had never been a monster. Despite what the books said, despite what anything said, he was as he always was. Spike. William. No more. No less. William buried under layers and layers of anger and heartache, resentment and intolerance. The more time he spent with Buffy, the more he feared the full re-emergence of everything he had once thought to be long dead. Everything he had promised himself he was not, and never would be again.

And strangely, though, caring about what she cared about came just as easily. It didn’t bother him as much. Such was the price of love, and for her, he would strip the barren woes of his bruised heart if it meant he could keep her.

He didn’t want to speak for only what she wanted to hear. If anything, they had to be honest with each other; even when they met at a crossroad.

“If predestination was real, luv,” he murmured, “then you’d have to take into account the loads of other stuff that’s happened because it was supposed to.”

He watched her as she drifted. Watched memories shade across her face and scatter like ripples in a lake. He could almost taste them as they rolled into her internal shadowland. Her calling. Her death. Two slayers. Angel. Their meeting. Jenny Calendar. Their truce. Angel’s death. Drusilla’s leaving him. His return. Faith. Them. Where they were now. Holding hands, staring in the face of the upcoming task. One. Slayer and vampire. Drawn irrevocably together for everything they shouldn’t be but were all the same.

“I don’t know,” she said at last, a defeated sigh sagging her shoulders. “I just feel that…maybe…I could’ve stopped this.”

“By what? Reading Faith’s mind?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Reading minds? Been there, hated that.”

He squeezed her hand again. No, that had not been a fun two days at all. “You couldn’t have stopped this, baby,” he told her, brushing a reassuring kiss across her forehead. “Please don’ tear yourself up over something that you din’t do. You suffer enough. With as much as we’ve been looking for your evil twin, I’d think—”

“That’s just it, Spike. Have we been looking? Have we really?”

He frowned.

Buffy sighed and glanced down. “Willow suggested today that maybe I’ve been spending too much time with you and not focusing on my work.”

“Rot.”

She arched a brow. He sighed.

“Right, so we spend a lot of time together. Red does know that we patrol, right?” Spike didn’t wait for a response, raising a hand with a shake of his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong, pet. We went to the Bronze to hassle the regs. We hit all of Faith’s hangs. Tried sniffin’ her out, even. Din’t work. End of story.”

“But I—”

“But nothing. An’ shame on Willow for even slightly making you believe this could’ve been your fault.” Spike sighed once more before a pleading note hit his voice, the cardinal accusation falling down around him. “Doesn’ she know that I’d rather have a nice sunny stroll in the park than see anything happen to you? I wouldn’t let you shirk your duties, Slayer. That daft loony would’ve found a way to off the sod. We’re jus’ innocent bystanders.”

He felt her lips quirk at the implication that he was an innocent anything, but she didn’t call him on it. “So you’re saying that it was meant to happen?”

Ah, tricky. Very tricky.

“Predestination, pet?”

Buffy nodded, turning to the building before them. The tension he felt rolling off her shoulders made his insides churn with anger that honestly failed to surprise now. Anything to suggest any of what had transpired was at all her fault was bound to get him royally pissed. The Slayer took matters of life and death very seriously, as every good slayer should—but unlike those of the past, this one had a tendency to feel for every life lost. Everyone she couldn’t save. As though her hands were painted just as red as the monster behind it.

Especially if said monster came in the form of a human.

“I don’ know,” he replied at last, tucking an unruly lock of hair behind her ear. “I gave up searching for higher meaning in life until you came along an’ suddenly everything had meaning again, so I’m feeling my way around. Testing out the groundwork.” He smiled when she looked at him sharply, shrugging his honesty if not bearing the scathed burnings of a heart too easily broken. “An’ even so, all I do is enjoy it. But I know there’s nothing you coulda done. Nothing any of us coulda done…not with what we know. So yeah…maybe it was predestined.”

Buffy nibbled her lip in thought, then turned back to the building slowly. “After it, therefore, because of it,” she murmured, catching him by surprise. “Another way to look at it. Because of what I do, or did, this man is dead. Two philosophies in one night, Spike. They contradict themselves pretty well.”

There was a long silence that broke at that; he could do nothing but stare at her.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

“There’s a reason that’s a logical fallacy, sweetheart. Life doesn’ work that way. You can do the math all you like.”

“And now?”

Spike turned her into him intently, coaxing her chin up with gentle fingers. “Buffy, listen to me. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

There was resolution behind those eyes. Resolution set in confusion. The combination was enough to shatter his will if all for her sake. “Then why,” she asked softly, “does it feel like I have?”

“Because you’re you, sweetheart. An’ in the book of Buffy Summers, nothing will ever be enough.”

The smile he received was grateful but forced, and even as she faded back to the business that awaited them, he felt a familiar pang gnawing his insides. The same thing that could kill him a little more each day if he wasn’t careful. There were certain truths with which to be reckoned; the look on her face notwithstanding. One step forward, two steps back. And while there was nothing to tangibly suggest it, he could feel her slipping away from him. As though all that had transpired since they left the library was finally coming to reason. As though her calling had suddenly leapt onto a chair and was screaming its numerous reminders about how wrong she was in everything she did.

But she hadn’t said anything, and she wouldn’t. They were far beyond that. He knew her well enough to understand that second-guessing herself and her actions was fruitless. For all they had shared, there was nowhere to go but ahead. He had told her as much the night they came together. The night that initiated this all-too-brief period of continual bliss.

The fall wouldn’t surprise him, but that didn’t mean it would hurt any less.

What she felt for him remained shrouded in mystery. If she continued receiving all these reminders about the origin of his nature, whether by human hand or not, she might change her mind. Might walk away. And then he didn’t know what he would do with himself.

In the end, he was still a monster. He always would be. It was in his blood. It was who he was. It was for what he was made. For what he had always been made. He was a monster in fancy clothing, and nothing could change that.

Buffy’s hand tightened around his and she pulled him closer to her; jarring him back to reality with a wan smile. The light-heartedness around their evening had collapsed at some point. There was nothing left but truth.

“Everything all right?” she asked softly.

He nodded, but he knew she didn’t believe him. “Jus’ fine, sweetheart. Let’s do what we gotta an’ bugger off. The sooner we get back to your Watcher, the bloody better.”

“You’re gonna end up sounding like him, you know.”

“In some instances, that’s not such a bad thing.” He chuckled humorlessly when she arched a brow at him. “Note I said some.”

The brow refused to lower but she nodded all the same, squeezing his hand again before they made their way up the walk and through the doors. It was not difficult locating the professor’s room—the second floor was completely shut off, yellow tape bannered across the hall. Spike quirked a small smile when Buffy wordlessly slithered under the tape, as though tampering with a crime scene was the most natural thing in the world. There were certain aspects of her life that had become so commonplace that even she neglected to stop and note the irony.

The room itself was a collective mess. A scatter of papers and files, open books and the like. Buffy sighed, her eyes burdened.

“’S not as bad as it could be,” Spike said softly.

She graced him with a skeptical glance.

“What?”

“It’s a mess. I don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

He shrugged. “We’ll know it when we find it, eh pet? Let’s jus’ get started.” He turned then and snatched a random box from the corner, depositing its contents onto the kitchen table. “Jus’ take whatever looks important.”

They were spaced on either side of the room, respectively digging through whatever looked remotely important and crating it for later research. It worked for a while. The grateful resignation on her face was assuring but tiresome. The same that read she knew she was being difficult. The weight of guilt had all but broken her between here and the street, and set in with stress and fatigue, it made for a messy combination.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“What for?”

“For being here. For understanding.” A soft smile crossed her face. “This…everything…would be so much harder without you. I know that I have…it’s not like I’m alone—far from it, actually—but you make me…well…you just make me.” Everything in the world stopped for her, and he was no different. The words crossing her mouth were so far from what he was expecting that it nearly bothered him. He was used to knowing exactly what she felt when she felt it. This was…

There was more to it, of course. Always was. And perhaps that meant to say that she would never stop surprising him.

“You keep me from falling apart,” she concluded softly. “I fell apart last year. Died the year before. Haven’t yet, and Faith’s given me every reason to. Faith plus Angel and Ascension and…everything. And even…with this…” She gestured broadly to the room. “I don’t know how I feel about it. A part of me wants to die because I could’ve stopped it.”

“Buffy—”

“It was a life. And that’s what I do. Every time I don’t save someone, it feels like I might as well have killed them.”

He shook his head. “Sweetheart, I told you, there was nothing you could’ve done—”

She nodded dismissively. “I know, I know. I hear you say it, but…God, Spike. We were having fun this weekend while someone got killed. Someone who wasn’t supposed to die. And who knows? Who knows how many others have gotten killed on my watch just because I’ve been distracted. Last year, it was Angelus, and this year…” Tears formed behind her eyes, and she looked away harshly. “But I can’t. I can’t keep doing everything. And I owe you so much. That’s the kicker. You keep me from falling apart and I’m suddenly terrified that it’s making me blind to everything else.”

“It’s not,” he assured her. “I wouldn’t let it. I wouldn’t let you get hurt because of me. I wouldn’t let you not do your job.”

“That’s just it. You won’t let me get hurt, but what about everyone else? What about Professor Wirth? If I hadn’t been thinking about myself, he might still be alive.”

“Might.” Spike exhaled deeply and crossed the room, grasping her by the shoulders. “You can’t live on absolutes, Buffy. Tell me, really, what you would’ve done had I not been a factor, huh? Gone patrolling. Hit the usual places. Looked for Faith an’ come up empty-handed. Do exactly what we did. You had nothing to do with this bloke’s death. An’ I won’ let you tear yourself up about somethin’ that isn’t your fault.” He rumbled a small, unthinking laugh and shook his head. “We talk about predestination an’ Stoicism. Some things can’t be changed. Some things are not supposed to be stopped. No matter how you look at it.”

Buffy’s expression hardened, though it wasn’t directed at him. More of a defense mechanism; drawing in her own ideals and evaluating them on a status based on principle.

“Innocent people die every day, sweetheart,” Spike continued softly, stroking her cheek. “’S the cycle of life. You’re jus’ one person. Albeit, the most gifted of such persons I’ve ever come across, but there’s no sodding way you can be everywhere at once.”

“It feels like I should be.”

He shook his head again, unable to stop himself from pressing another kiss across her brow. “You can’t, baby. You try too hard. You win so much that somethin’ like this breaks you. It wasn’ your fault. This bloke was murdered by someone who never even had a chance of touching what you can do. You amaze me. With everything…with who you are. With how much you care.” He nodded vaguely to their surroundings. “The git might’ve not had a friend in the world, but by golly, my girl’ll weep for him. That’s who you are. It’s a blessing an’ a curse rolled into one.” A small smile crossed his face. “Trust me. I know somethin’ about those.”

There was a long beat of silence before Buffy nodded, raising her eyes to meet his. Her vision was blurring again. Tears born out of something other than grief. While the sight tore at his heart, it tugged a smile to his face.

“You see?” she whispered, drawing him near for a brief kiss. “This is what I mean. With you, I’m not alone.”

smile grew. Kind and loving. “You never will be again, kitten. I’m not going anywhere.” His thumb drew comforting caresses into her cheek, flickering her tears away gently. “An’ again, I won’ let you shirk your duties. Told you as much before…know it’d be the same to hurt you if others got hurt. Remember?”

She nodded her agreement. The conversation seemed so long ago. A night in the graveyard after investigating the Mayor’s office for clues pertaining to the Ascension. The same night that Angel had pretended to be Angelus for Faith’s benefit. The same night she realized it was useless to continue fooling with herself. The night Spike had first told her that he loved her, and she started building the plethora of emotions into something that would one day be called love.

“I won’ let it come to that. I won’ let you destroy yourself.” Spike released a trembling sigh and buried his face in the nape of her neck, the thought alone enough to overwhelm him. “Can’t. I love you too bloody much. So much. Almost like ‘s gonna fill me up someday, an’ I’ll explode ‘cause my body can’t take it.” He turned his eyes back to her. “I still don’ think you know what you do to me, Buffy. To what degree you’ve turned my world upside down. You’re so much more than I can take. But God, I have to try.”

The tears running down her face set against her like water lilies. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Spike—”

Whatever moment toward which they had been leading was sufficiently severed the next beat; Angel came crashing into the room, quite literally, and the couple made the obligatory break apart. It was more out of courtesy. And though the younger vampire had none, he knew better than to provoke his lady’s ex if hurting her was something marked on his Never Gonna Do list.

Still, it was fun to watch Angel bump into things.

“Ow,” came the unconventional greeting.

Buffy jumped back and wiped her eyes, forcing a small smile to her lips. “Stealthy.”

Angel glanced up. Though it was obvious he had known to expect them together, hurt flashed across his face. That much was fair, Spike wagered. But then, he didn’t care.

“Not my best entrance. I think they were mopping in the halls.”

“We din’t have any trouble,” Spike felt obligated to point out.

Buffy cast him an amused grin before glancing back to Angel. “What are you doing here?”

“I checked in with Giles. Told me what was up…I thought it’d be better if you had three pairs of hands instead of two.”

“Yeah…” Spike drawled. “Ever heard that sayin’, ‘two’s company?’”

A wry grin tugged the elder’s lips. “Oh come on, Spikey. Don’t tell me you missed the sitcom. As they say in the song, ‘Three’s company, too.’”

Spike snorted in disgust and began rummaging through the boxes. He needed a distraction, and fast.

And, as it would, the discussion continued around him, unhampered.

“So Giles sent you?”

“No. I came on my own.” Angel paused for a long minute. “Giles actually doesn’t know I’m here. He thought it would get messy if I tagged along, especially since you brought…” No one needed to finish that sentence. It did that on its own. “But I still thought it would be for the best. Especially if you run into Faith.”

Spike snickered into the report he was reading.

“Something funny about that?”

“Oh no, mate,” he replied. “Nothing funny. Except that you don’ seem to think the Slayer an’ I can handle a rogue jus’ fine. I’ve seen them both in action; this Faith bird has nothing on Buffy. An’, well, you know me. I jus’ love a good brawl.”

“Especially if the intended comes with a special calling attached to the package, right?”

He shrugged lazily and reached for his cigarettes. “Maybe once. As far as slayers go, I don’ think any other would be able to…oh, how to put it…satisfy my pesky itch the way Buffy does. An’ quite frankly, I’m not really aimin’ to let another take it for a drive. We can handle this, Peaches. Sod off.”

Buffy smiled wryly. “And Giles had the gall to think you guys wouldn’t get along.”

The vampires scowled and pointed accusingly at each other. “He started it.”

“How is it with nearly four centuries between you two that I’m the adult here?” She shook her head with an amused laugh, then glanced to the document in her boyfriend’s possession. “What’s that?”

“Huh? Oh.” Spike glanced down, quickly skimming the first page. “’S a report. Some excavation of an old lava bed, looks like.” He frowned and looked up again. “Seems our prof was a volcano-ologist, luv.”

Angel stepped forward. “Anything in there that connects him to the Mayor?”

“Dunno yet. Better let Rupes take a crack at it.”

“Agreed.” Buffy snatched the report back and placed it in her box, which was immediately snatched in turn by Spike along with his own findings.

“Never say chivalry is dead, pet,” he told her with a wink as the three made their way into the hall.

“With you around?” she replied. “Never.” With a diplomatic nod, she turned to the sulking Angel, who was doing his part to say little while it was more than evident that there was a shadow lurking in the far recesses of his comfort-zone. After their initial night of revelations, there hadn’t been much to discuss where the elder vampire was concerned. He had made his objections known, grilled both Buffy and Spike to the tenth degree, and delivered more than his fair share of the scorned lover syndrome. But that was as far as it went. He took what he was owed and kept his business to himself. In most instances, there was little sense in prolonging his torment by subjecting himself to a daily display of all things in the Edenesque relationship that was Spike and former girlfriend.

They stopped at the curb outdoors to say their awkward goodbyes.

“Well,” Angel drawled. “I guess you guys don’t need me to come with you.”

Buffy shrugged. “You might pop by later. See if Giles has anything new on the Ascension and whatnot. Just to keep everyone on the same page for what’s gonna go down and everything.” She glanced to Spike, who nodded in agreement. “Might as well run through the plan once with everyone there so that whatever alterations are made won’t get confused with…you know…other versions of the plan.”

“Right.” Angel pursed his lips. “I found a place. Don’t know if I told you. Moving to Los Angeles when all this is over.” He glanced distastefully to Spike but didn’t say anything in that regard. “I just…I’ll let you know, should we not…talk again. Directly, that is. After everything’s over.”

“Los Angeles is good,” she agreed. “Not too close, not too far.”

“Not bloody far enough,” Spike murmured.

“I want to be close enough that I can get here quick should I be needed.”

Buffy nodded awkwardly. “Well, good. You’re all with the thinking ahead.”

“I have to be.” Another long, uncomfortable pause. “Well, if that’s it, I guess I’ll—”

In truth, Spike heard it before he saw it. Heard the unmistakable zap of something flying through the air, too fast to be a stake, too slow to be a bullet. His eyes caught sight of movement from the roof of a building across the street two seconds before the arrow came to view, and he threw himself with instant reflex, dropping the boxes and leaping to shove Angel out of the line of fire.

He would wonder why he bothered later. At the moment, it seemed like the thing to do. Even if it did little good. Angel was far too massive to out-navigate something that moved that quickly, especially without more direct former warning. And though the attempt was admirable, his side speared through with arrow and they collapsed wearily to the pavement.

Spike heard Buffy call for him, then Angel once she saw the damage. He wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the rooftop across the street where no one awaited his scrutiny.

“That was close,” he murmured, fighting to his feet.

Buffy was instantly at his side, eyes scanning him for injury, hands feeling up his sides. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, pet.” He turned his gaze to the elder vampire. “Took a nasty chunk outta Peaches, though.” With a grunt of longing disavowal, he moved to help the wanker up. “You all right, mate?”

“Yeah,” Angel replied, jerking the arrow free of his side. Then, with a small air of concession, he added, “Thanks to you.”

“What was that? Could you say it a li’l louder, please?”

“Guys!” Buffy made quick tracks to get between them. “You two can argue all you like at the library.” Off Spike’s questioning glance, she shrugged and replied, “We should help him. Come on.”

Spike pouted. “Should’ve let him dust. ‘S not like he’s much of a bleeder, kitten.”

“Please?”

Oh, with the eyes. She always made with the eyes when she wanted something. And he, being a world-class git, fell for it every time.

“Right,” he grumbled, turning to collect the supplies he had dropped while Buffy tentatively inspected the small wound in Angel’s side. “How silly of me. Guess three’s company after all.”

Hell of a time to get petty, mate.

He couldn’t help himself even against his better judgment. Angel would heal fine, but it was likely in their best interest to speed up the healing as much as possible, especially with the Ascension on the rise.

And it meant the world to Buffy.

Funny how things with Angel, regardless of circumstance, always did.

If Spike thought he was being petty before, he did not know the meaning of the word before entering the Sunnydale High library that night.

It wasn’t enough that the wanker hadn’t died. Oh no. In mere seconds, he had a concerned group congregated around him, prattling endlessly with a series of inane questions. And granted, as he knew from experience, arrow wounds weren’t exactly pleasurable, the Scoobies on a whole had seemingly neglected the realization that Angel was a vampire. It wasn’t as though the wound was fatal.

Well, if he wanted to be perfectly honest, the other Scoobies had very little to do with it. He simply hated seeing Buffy fawn over the magnificent ponce. It was innocent, of course. All dollied up and innocent. She had to make sure the great big brute was all right, didn’t she? She owed him that bloody much for leaving him for the enemy.

Still, Spike couldn’t banish the coil of disgust that furrowed his insides every time his girl’s hand made contact with his grandsire’s skin. Even if it was to dab disinfectant…and what the bleeding hell did a vampire need with disinfectant, anyway?

He needed to kill something. Pronto.

“I heal pretty fast,” the wanker was saying. “I should be all right.”

God. Hadn’t Spike been telling them that for the past twenty minutes? Figured they would listen to the souled one before giving the actual boyfriend a second glance. Hadn’t he been the one to save the git’s life in the first place?

Buffy caught his eye then, an amused smile playing across her face. Oh, she was just eating this up. Bloody brutal bint. Poking fun at his duress.

He was alarmed when he felt himself almost smile back. That was how she got out of these situations. By looking adorable and subjecting him to more of the same. No. Not this time. Not if he had to stand here and watch the lot of them pretend that Angel was dying of some third-world disease that would suck the marrow from his bones and turn his vitals inside out.

“You’re just lucky Spike was there,” his girl said the next minute, ignoring the sharp look her observation earned. “Else we could’ve been scraping up dust instead of patching up flesh right about now.”

Though Spike felt a surge of pride in her reaffirmation, he groaned all the same. “God, Slayer, don’ rub it in.”

“Oh, give it a rest. You saved him for a reason, right?”

“Yeah, so you wouldn’t spend valuable shagging time crying over the git.” The series of looks that statement earned were not encouraging from any angle in the room. He released a long groan and plucked a cigarette between his lips. “Oh sod you prats. You know why I did it.” He turned to his grandsire, straight-faced. “This is so hard to say…I love you, man.”

Angel rolled his eyes. Xander burst out laughing. Even Giles cracked a smile.

“And when were you going to tell me about this?” Buffy demanded, eyes dancing.

He grinned at her. This was more like it.

“You know I love you, sweetheart. No offense to Angel…well, all offense to Angel, but he jus’ doesn’ have the…” He stopped, drinking in her bemused expression. “How do you say, kinks an’ curves that—”

Xander’s laugh quickly became a disgusted cough. “Could you, like, not do that now?”

“I see your now and raise you an ever,” Angel muttered, hand covering his side with some need to throw in last-minute dramatics. “Have you forgotten the wounded, here?”

“What happened to not being much of a bleeder?” Spike replied nastily.

“It’s something I can overlook if it means not having to witness…” He trailed off indecisively. “That.”

Buffy merely grinned and tossed her boyfriend a coy look. And he ate it up.

That’s my girl.

It amazed him that she had progressed so much. Usually, a comment like that was followed by the delightful flush of her cheeks as she immediately stepped in to either make a flimsy excuse or reprimand him for his bluntness. Not tonight, for whatever reason.

Maybe we’re finally getting somewhere.

“Yes, quite,” Giles agreed, stepping forward. “We should progress with business. Did anyone get a good look at the shooter?”

The three exchanged a series of looks.

“It came from the roof, is all I know,” Spike said, shrugging and blowing out a pillar of smoke. “Saw it right after I heard it. Din’t get a good look, though. Was too busy saving my ungrateful ponce of a grandsire.”

“I never said I was ungrateful!”

“Really? Well, ‘f you’re so bloody obliged, you might as well act like it.” He sniffled theatrically. “I’ve got feeling’s, too, you know.”

Buffy shook her head, eyes narrowing as her tone became strained. “Spike…”

“Can we muzzle him?” Xander asked hopefully.

“He’s just acting up ‘cause I’m bandaging up Angel,” the Slayer explained, smirking at his offed expression. “It’s no big.”

The elder vampire grew quiet at that. “You’d think we were doing something scandalous. Like, oh say, having sex while you’re involved with someone else.”

A warning growl clawed at the back of Spike’s throat, though he was reacting more at the wounded look that overwhelmed his girl. While he knew she regretted nothing, there was the leftover massive guilt that came with the warning stamp of infidelity. Buffy was a true spirit—whatever lies she told were usually to protect herself from scrutiny or to explain a demonic act to people unwilling to see the truth. To live in such a large lie for as long as she did, without having any friends to whom to turn, had done its number on her. She was still picking up the pieces whether she wanted to admit it or not.

But getting in a fight to defend her honor would do little good, so he settled with a hardly-gratifying, “Watch it, mate,” instead.

To his great surprise, Xander raised his voice in accord. “Yeah, man, that’s not cool. Sure, Spike’s an evil bloodsucker, but…really. I’m seeing a pot/kettle scenario, here.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. For once, Harris’s blatant and willful ignorance of the soul/unsouled circumstance was much appreciated.

“Whatever,” Buffy said abruptly, rising to her feet and bolting to Spike’s with almost instinctual need. That unspoken certainty that willed itself for reassurance whenever her ethics were challenged. Bloody Peaches. Spike wrapped an arm around her middle and nuzzled her stomach with a murmur of approval. “The point is,” she continued, “Angel’s fortunate that Spike was there.” She turned to the aforementioned vampire at that, gaze hardening. “One more second, and Faith would’ve added you to the pollen count.”

Giles glanced up with interest before the elder demon could reply. “You sure it was her?”

There was a dry snicker at that. “Well, I’ve narrowed down my list of one suspect.”

Spike smiled inwardly, snuggling into her. Yes. That was his girl, all right. Sassy. Right to the point.

God, he loved her.

“Ooohhh.” The small exclamation was far too out of place, given the circumstances, and everyone at that turned to Wesley, who was seated on a nearby table as he perused one of the confiscated reports. By looks alone, he hadn’t been paying much attention to anything for the past ten minutes. When he realized he was suddenly the focal point in the room, he smiled with that certain Wyndam-Pryce bashfulness that was not quite bashfulness, and lowered his reading material. “Sorry. It’s just fascinating.”

Giles frowned, interested. “What?”

“Well, it seems our Mr. Wirth headed an expedition in Hawaii, digging in old lava beds near a dormant volcano.”

Buffy glanced up. “I’m not fascinated yet.”

“Second that,” Spike replied, nuzzling her hair.

“He found something underneath,” Wesley explained. “A carcass, buried by an eruption.”

“A carcass?”

“A very large one. Mr. Wirth posits that it might be some heretofore undiscovered dinosaur.”

“A demon?” Angel guessed.

Giles nodded wanly. “Yes, that would be something that the Mayor would want to keep a secret. If it's the same kind of demon he's turning into and it's dead, it means that, well, he's only impervious to harm until the Ascension. In his demon form, he can be killed.” He balked at the blank stares that Spike and his Slayer gave him in turn. “Oh, sorry. You were not here for Xander and Anya’s rather…disturbing revelation.”

Buffy immediately tensed. “What?”

“Apparently,” Harris jumped in, “my prom date has known about Ascensions all along. Hell, she was at the last one. Doing what, you ask? That’s right. Reaping vengeance. Anyway, she went on this spiel about how all the demons we’ve seen so far are only human hybrids—”

“That’s right,” Angel intervened. “True demons are much larger.”

Xander nodded. “That’s what she said.”

“And the only way this other demon was stopped was with a volcanic eruption?” Buffy asked with a whimper.

Wesley shrugged. “That was how this particular demon was defeated. Times have changed, as you are well aware. But otherwise…yes.”

“Great. So all we need is a million tons of burning lava. We're saved.”

The elder vampire nodded his accord, moving to stand at last. “Well, it’s a start anyway.”

Then, before anyone could react, he had tripped again.

Spike supposed it was instinct that tore Buffy from his arms at that, driving her directly to the undeserving side of his equally undeserving grandsire, but he furrowed once more in contempt. He couldn’t help it—and wagered he wouldn’t try if he could.

“Okay,” Buffy said, helping Angel to his feet, “you’ve been a real klutz today. You need—”

Angel grasped her shoulder with sudden desperation, effectively slicing through her reprimand. His eyes went inexplicably wide, nearly mad with unnamed need.

And then, there it was. “Damn,” he muttered.

That was the last thing he said before he fell once more—unconscious. The room quieted with shock; Buffy’s gasp ringing a delayed beat later as she hurried to her ex’s side, turning him over panicked desperation.

Spike’s eyes widened. “Oh, bollocks.”

“Did he just pass out?” Xander asked, standing to gage a better look.

“Yes,” the Slayer replied, placing a hand to his forehead. “Angel, come on. Wake up. Wake up for me.”

“I do not understand,” Wesley offered with a frown. “Vampires do not contract disease. I—”

“I know what it is,” Spike offered, hiding his shameful rouse at the sight of Buffy prodding his grandsire, the ever-important role of the concerned girlfriend. It was far from the truth, to be sure, but it still caused an unpleasant rumble to upset his stomach. A bitter taste to fill his mouth. And when she looked at him with such implicit eagerness, the feeling only grew, and he hated himself for it.

It was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. But there was something else there. Something other than her concern for someone’s well-being. A certain Buffyesque touch that only emanated from her psyche whenever Angel was implicated. Whenever it meant that something was about to happen to her first sweetheart. The same that she kept well concealed when ever it was one of the Scoobies’ turns to take a bow for the ever-elusive audience and keel over. Something she kept even from him.

“Saw it back in Prague. Bloody mob got wind of a few vamp nests an’ started hunting them down with it.” Spike glanced away at her scrutiny and instead focused on a spot on the floor. “Don’ know if they knew we were vamps, ‘course, but they knew we were dead. Or supposed to be dead. It’s this mixture or what all…a potion that kills dead things. Or undead things, I should say. Researched it a bit when I was lookin’ for a cure for Dru, but gave up once I found out that she’d be dead already had she been infected.”

“What do you know?” Giles asked softly as a slowly calming Buffy propped Angel against the nearest bookshelf. “Other than…that. I’ve never—”

“’S not as popular anymore, mate. Bloody hard to come by, too. But it works jus’ like that.” He tilted his chin toward his gradually-coming-to elder, who had sprung a nasty sweat. “Get infected, think nothin’ of it, then the aftershocks settle in. Made specifically for vamps in the fourteenth or fifteenth century when they weren’t as fabled as they are nowadays an’ there was only one slayer to protect the lot. The stuff ensures that a vamp’ll die if he gets contaminated, no matter where you hit him.”

“Fascinating,” Wesley remarked.

“Indeed,” the other Watcher agreed.

Buffy looked up at that, her eyes wide and filled with agitated impatience. “Enough. All right. Big history. We got it. Feel free to skip ahead to the part where, ‘and you cure it by’ begins.” She arched her brows expectantly and pressed her hand to Angel’s forehead again, irritation overwhelmed with near immediacy with concern. “Angel, come on. Wakey wakey. Talk to me.”

The sound of her voice must have helped. He stirred a bit and grasped her wrist with weak but fervent need.

Spike’s eyes darkened a fraction more, but he cleared his throat and continued. “That’s just it, sweets. There is only one cure.”

She turned to him again, gaze wide with expectancy. “And that would be…?”

He gestured to her.

“Me?”

“Slayer blood.” He felt the temperature in the room drop to the sub degrees, but shook his head and continued anyway. Their fault; they asked, he told. That was the way it was. “’S all I found in books, an’ I’ve seen it work. Actually, pet—an’ here’s a funny story—it was probably how the chit before you were called snuffed it in the firs’ place. Seems as I recall, a slayer showed up in Prague, an’ was killed for that very reason. An’ no…” He turned to Giles and Wesley, who were immediately at the ready to ask the expected. “Not by yours truly. I had my hands full with Dru at the time; din’t find out about the li’l antidote until after she was all dead an’ drained. An’ trust me, pet, I looked everywhere else. Not that I would mind killing a slayer, right? But then, I wouldn’t’ve met all of you.” He glared at her scowl, at the beads of instinctual hatred flashing behind her eyes. And yes, while he understood that everything now was reaction under pressure, it hurt still. It hurt to see her like this—doting Angel while snapping insistently at him as though he was doing anything but try to offer his opinion. He hated the look that had briefly flashed across her face at the mention of Slayer’s blood being what she needed to counteract the poison. And he hated the feeling welling inside about all others. The same that suggested for the minute—between the two of them—Angel was the lucky one. “’m jus’ telling it like it is, sweetheart. Slayer blood’s the only thing that’s gonna get your boy all well an’ broody.”

Angel turned at that, weakly reaching out for her again. “Buffy…”

However, she wasn’t listening. Spike had her undivided, and he had it in spades.

“Is that what this is about?” she demanded heatedly. “You’re jealous that I’m worried about Angel? God, I can’t believe you!” She turned back to gesture at him emphatically. “He’s dying! You just told me so!”

“I was here, pet. I remember what I told you.”

“And you’re jealous? You arrogant bastard.”

“Sod. All.” Spike leapt to his feet, batting a dismissive hand at her before pivoting violently toward the dumbfound Watchers. Harris looked to be shrinking into a corner somewhere, a look of awed fear sinking in his eyes. A snicker rose in the vampire’s throat. He didn’t blame him. Couldn’t. The sight had to be pretty damn funny in that drastically unfunny way. “You blokes better call up Red an’ her li’l wolfie. An’ hey, while you’re at it, even the demon bird an’ Cordelia. Might as well get a bloody crowd.”

“Right,” Giles said, surprising him with his unquestioning cooperation. Surprising Buffy, too, from the looks of it. Talk about sodding role reversal. An’ we’ve entered the Twilight Zone. “What do you need?”

Spike tossed a dirty look in Buffy’s direction. “Jus’ have Willow set up a li’l lab. Somethin’ that’ll drain anything right an’ proper. I’ll be back in a flash.”

He turned at that, a heated line straight for the library doors. His veins were about to combust with an unnamable emotion. Something there akin to frustration, envy, and self-aimed shame. The part of him that screamed his unneeded discrimination in the whole of the situation was drowned out by the voice that reminded him that she should understand. Regardless of the situation, he had thought them beyond this. Not just her—himself as well.

Pissed off like a scorned lover. He was so frustrated with himself he could barely see straight. Spike was accustomed to frustration and anger, most unexplainable but some not. This outstretched anything he had ever experienced. Being in the wrong and knowing it but still feeling right. Still feeling something that screamed he was not entirely as heinous for his twisted logic as she would have him be.

Not entirely.

It was for that reason that he left. He could do nothing else. And when her voice reached him as he prepared to push through he doors to ask where he was going, he didn’t even turn to face her. Rather, he tossed an ambiguous, “To do what I’m good at,” over his shoulder.

Then he was gone.

Spike knew she was there before he saw her. His jaw tightened and he released a long sigh, but did not do anything to discourage her. With how everything had turned so sour so quickly, he found, for the first time, dealing with Buffy was not something to which he looked forward.

Spike knelt to the ground and did his best to appear thoroughly engaged. Not that it did any good, of course. The Slayer had no means of tact, especially when she was on the go to find yet another head to surround her fortress.

Right now, he didn’t know if she was angrier with him or Faith. And frankly, were it the former, he didn’t know if he could blame her.

Appearing occupied did little good. Buffy only reacted based on what she wanted to see, at least when it came to her personal relationships. They were alike in that manner, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in the right, and thus did not attempt to look apologetic. After all, it was she who had come after him.

And likely not even for him, he realized. If anything, she was out here to help him snag the antidote that would save her precious Angel.

Spike sighed heavily and stood, shaking his head with a wry smirk. Some things would never change. He was only surprised that it had taken him so long to see it.

Buffy stopped a few feet away from him. “Hey,” she said softly.

He glanced up, tilting his head diplomatically. “Slayer.”

Her eyes narrowed at that and her hands fell to her sides. “So, you’re still all moody?”

Spike snickered and turned his gaze downward again, though he had lost sight of what he had been pretending to scrutinize. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Because I’m worried about Angel? I’m sorry if I didn’t know our relationship came with a clause that forbids us about caring for our former lovers.” She didn’t falter under the icy glare he sent her way, and he hadn’t expected she would. That was another thing about Buffy he knew intimately. Once she got the idea that she was right, it took severe evidence to change her mind, and even then the chance was remote. “I really don’t see where I’m being unfair here.”

Of course not. She wouldn’t.

Then again, neither did he. Sure, the big ponce was mortally wounded and, unless Spike could bag his third slayer tonight, would die a slow and agonizing death, but did that mean she had to fawn over the big git as though he were the earth and sky? As though the mark of his death would mean the end of everything that had made her life valuable?

He had the sinking suspicion that, should Faith not be acquired tonight, she would do something colossally stupid to save the bastard’s life. Something like offer him her neck with the empty promise that Angel could stop drinking when her life became endangered. Something that she would never offer Spike, and likewise something he would never take. He hadn’t allowed himself to sample the richness of her blood yet for that very reason. The first night, the same that seemed so long ago, he had taken her essence because of what he was. A vampire. And she was the Slayer. And yes, while he was enjoying her body for reasons that vampires, by nature, should avoid, he had wanted her in that fashion. Out of brutal savagery and cunning. Out of a reminder of what he was.

It was the same reason he had refused himself that pleasure since the start of their relationship. The true start. If the first time had been out of savagery, he wanted the next time to come from love. And that was something he didn’t think Buffy could give him. There were some times when he felt himself so close—so bloody close—to breaking through that impenetrable wall of hers. So close, but never close enough.

And he was so fucking sick of playing second fiddle to Angel, no matter the circumstance.

“Right,” he said at last. “You’re bloody right as rain, as usual, an’ I’m the arse that fucks everything up. It’s all right then. Next case, please.”

“Spike!”

“Sod off, Buffy. I have me a Slayer to find, an’ you’re only here to distract me.” He smirked. “Wouldn’t want to waste time bickering when we could be saving dear grandpappy’s life, now would we?”

“God, what’s wrong with you?”

“Why don’ you tell me, sweetheart?”

“I…can’t believe that you’d be jealous of—”

“Believe it.” He paused, chest crashing with harsh, heady breaths. They couldn’t get into this here. Not now. “Just go back to the library an’ make sure Angel’s comfy enough. I can handle this.”

“I don’t want to go back to the library.”

“Fine. Go to his place. Jus’ don’t—”

“Spike!” The plea in her voice was enough to make him stop and face her fully. “I came out here to see you. Because of the way you stormed out—”

“Right.”

“I did! I…” Buffy sighed and broke away, fingers drawn to her temples. “Look…whatever…I don’t want to mess things up between us. And yes, while I think you’re being overly-possessive and jealous right now, that doesn’t mean I…” She broke off again, shook her head and looked away. “I can’t fight like this. What happened to Angel is horrible, and I’m worried about him, yes, but that doesn’t change us. What you are to me. I just want us to be okay.”

“An’ what is ‘okay’, sweetheart? Your version or mine?”

“Don’t do this.”

“Why not? Feels like the thing to do.”

“Spike…” Buffy was beside him the next second, grasping his wrist. Her eyes were wide and pleading. “Please. Can we just be us? We’re happy, right? Before…just tell me we can be us so that the ‘moving on’ thing is possible.”

He looked at her for a long minute, drinking her in as though he hadn’t seen her for months. There were several harsh realities to face in the coming days. Many he didn’t want to and even more he feared had yet to come out of the woodwork.

At last, he released a deep breath and nodded. There was something precious about anger he desperately wanted to maintain, but couldn’t where she was concerned. And that fact alone annoyed him more than nearly anything else. “I don’ know,” he murmured. “God, I hate this.”

“I do, too.” Buffy pursed her lips. “It just happened so fast.” She cast her eyes downward. “Why don’t you trust me?”

“I do, baby.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I don’t know what you’re worried about. There’s nothing between me and Angel. There hasn’t been anything since…since our first night together. My birthday. Even after you left and…” A long breath pressed her lips. “It’s just us. You and me. There’s no one else.”

Spike smiled dryly. “You might not be with him, luv, but don’ give me rot about there being nothin’ between you two. That’s bull an’ you bloody well know it. You love the sod. Anyone would know it from lookin’ at you.” His own gaze followed suit and settled unpleasantly on the ground. “You love him.”

“No, I—”

He looked at her and she sighed.

“Okay. Yes. But not like that. More…friend love. You know? ‘I-don’t-want-him-to-die-even-though-we’re-not-together’ love.” She shook her head again. “I thought we were past this. I want to be with you. I’m so much happier with you than—”

Spike smiled wryly. “You’re happier with me; you love Angel, but not like a lover, an’ there’s nothin’ between you except a stormy past that somehow mucks up with my life everywhere I turn.” He shook his head. “An’ through it all, despite you’re being happy an’ all that, you still don’ love me.”

The color drained from Buffy’s face. He didn’t blame her. It was the first time he had ever dared mentioned it, but hell, he was feeling ballsey tonight. Might as well put everything on the table.

“Spike—”

“Right. I’m not a patient bloke, Buffy, an’ you know it. An’ yeah, I don’ want it where it’s not real. I’m jus’ so sodding tired of playing this game with you. Of being happy but not having everything. And I fucking hate feeling the way I did tonight.” He shook his head violently, tugging away, his feet itching to pace. “It shouldn’t be this way. I can’t bloody well stand it. The looks. The sighs. The little touches…oh fucking Christ, I hate the touches. I shouldn’t want to tear the git’s head off for touching you. I shouldn’t want to tear yours off for touching him. You’re not together? Fine. You don’ love me? Fine. But I love you, sweetheart, an’ it’s better that you remember whose heart you have in your hands whenever you decide to play Nurse Slayer with Peaches.” Spike pivoted to a sharp standstill, turning to face her abruptly, not particularly caring to diagnose the look on her face. “You can break me on a whim. Whenever you feel like it. It’s all a fun li’l game that we play to keep ourselves from being bored. Well, guess what? I don’ wanna play anymore. I’m bloody through.”

“Spike!”

“I don’ know what the fuck we’ve been doing these last few weeks, but it hasn’t been getting anywhere.”

God, now there were tears in her eyes. Couldn’t he ever learn to keep his big yap shut?

“It hasn’t been getting anywhere?” she demanded hoarsely. “None of it? God, are you even listening to yourself? I don’t know where you’ve been, but these last few weeks have been the best of my life. Since I was called, since before I was called…I’ve just been with you. Are you telling me now that because of tonight, it’s—”

Spike held up a hand, his shoulders slumping in defeat. No. He couldn’t do that. He was being an over-reactive wanker and he knew it—saying things he didn’t mean in ways he didn’t mean to say them. He just didn’t know how to stop. How to make these feelings go away. How to make everything go back to the way they had been just three hours before.

“’S not tonight, pet. An’ you’re right: what we have it’s so bloody amazing. I jus’ don’ like feeling like I’m back at square one. Took me too long to get here. To get with you.” He released a long sigh and stepped forward. “I jus’…hated it. An’ yeah, the wanker’s dying. Not exactly being one for Mr. Sensitive here…but god, I hated watching you touch him. An’ then later—”

“I know. I’m sorry. But you have to trust me, Spike. I would never do to you what I did to him.” She smiled gently and cupped his cheek, and he warmed at her touch. “Never. Call it what you want…I don’t know yet. And I know you’ve been waiting. I just have to be sure. I don’t want it to be something…and then not.”

His eyes fluttered closed and open again. “There was once a time,” he muttered, “I’m willing to bet you thought you’d never do to him what you did to him…with me. Right?”

“Of course.”

“So how—”

She silenced his protest with a kiss, and he instantly melted into her. They were warring within seconds, teasing and nipping and moaning at the feel of such blessed reunion. As though they had been separated for weeks. Spike grasped her shoulders in desperation before breaking away and taking chart down her throat. And then she murmured, “Because it’s you. Not him. Because this time it’s you.”

For all the world he could have taken her there on the rooftop had he not known they were running against the clock. But she would never forgive him if his hissy fit cost Angel his life—and despite how he resented the notion, there was no sense making a thing out of it.

Once Angel was cured, they could talk. Until then, it was better to keep these feelings bottled up. And it was hard—he was the first to admit it. Spike dwelled in his emotions with almost the same intensity that Buffy did. He had seen her nearly torn apart the previous year because her feelings for the great git were so fantastic she couldn’t see where he was the bad guy. And it had gotten Jenny Calendar killed.

But in the correct setting, the same emotions could be wonderful assets. His had driven him to set things in motion. Things which brought him here. To the side of a woman he loved more than he’d ever loved anyone.

And she was the Slayer. That amazed him.

Tonight was different, though. He had the other slayer to find and drag back to Scooby Central. Then he could take Buffy home and have the talk. Find out where they stood.

He didn’t understand how she could be so blissfully happy with him, as she claimed, and still deny him the one thing he wanted. How she could have loved Angel as unconditionally as she did if she was so miserable with him. And he was tired of waiting—he would wait until the end of time, but he was so fucking tired of waiting.

He was beginning to think the only way of getting this girl’s love was to make her miserable, but that was something he was unwilling to attempt.

“Buffy,” he murmured after they pulled apart. “Kitten, head back to the library an’ make sure Angel is all right. Wouldn’t want the wanker dyin’ on you or what all.”

She arched a brow. “And leave you out here to face Faith by yourself? Ummm, don’t think so.”

His gaze narrowed. “You don’ think I can handle myself?”

“No, I really think you can handle yourself. But Faith’s a bit unpredictable.”

“Well, it’s a bloody good thing I’m not your conventional vamp then, isn’t it?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Don’t getting pissy about this. Angel’s down, and yeah, while I’m worried, I can still strategize. If something happened to you, too…” She shuddered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if that arrow had hit you.”

There was no way he couldn’t soften at her honesty. No way he couldn’t warm from the inside out. She did so many things of which she was unaware, said so many things, that blatantly screamed the one thing she kept inside. And when she looked at him with love in her eyes, there was nothing he wouldn’t do but to keep her like that—just like that.

“Right,” he agreed, pressing his lips to her forehead. “What are you packin’?”

She shifted slightly and lifted up her left pant-leg to reveal Faith’s dagger strapped to her shin.

“I don’t want to use it,” she muttered. “But it might…you’re planning on draining her for Angel, right?”

He nodded.

“To death?”

“If that’s what you want, sweets. Doesn’ need to be to death, but as close as you can bloody well get.”

Buffy’s expression hardened. “Then no,” she said. “I don’t want to be responsible for…and yeah, she’d kill me in a heartbeat, but—”

“You’re better than that.” She met his gaze, and he smiled weakly. “Better than that. Better than me. I’d just as soon watch the bird squirm until there’s no squirmin’ left in her. But that might jus’ be ‘cause she’s a threat to you.”

“Not for long.” She released a long breath and turned her attention back to the town. The town seemed so small from this angle. “So, did you pick up anything?”

Back to business.

That’s more like it.

“Think she headed in the direction of daddy’s office,” Spike replied, pointing. “Probably a check-up on what happened an’ all that.”

“Seems like as good a place as any to start.”

It likely was, but Spike didn’t want Buffy anywhere near here—not with what was about to take place. It had nothing to do with typical male chauvinism, or even protecting her from the horrors of life’s darker nature. The Slayer needed no such protection. However, there were some truths with which to be reckoned on the larger scale. She was not one for violence against humans, however much it was deserved.

Battling with Faith wasn’t going to be pretty. It would be ugly, messy, bloody, and quite possibly fatal them both.

No. There was no way for Buffy to know that. After all, how many times had a slayer fought a slayer? Whatever experiences she had dolled in the past were minor compared to the rush of fighting one full strength, head-to-head.

He knew what it was like. All too well. And there was nothing like it in the world. Not demons, not vampires, not anything.

Girls were chosen for a reason—they were damn near impervious without realizing it. When he told the tale of taking out the two slayers in the past, he always neglected to tell the part where he had almost lost his life in the process.

He had to fight Faith for her. It wasn’t about saving Angel. It never had been.

It was for that reason Spike stopped her once they reached City Hall. The reason he adapted a look of confusion as his upturned nose sniffed idly for leads he didn’t need.

Buffy frowned, worry etched into her eyes. “What? What is it?”

“Lost it.”

“What?”

“Her scent splits here. Don’ know which direction she headed.” He sighed and avoided Buffy’s gaze, shuffling his feet at the ground. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t a gifted liar. It was more he hated lying to her. “Her place is to the west, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Why don’ you head that way, then? I’ll follow the other.”

Incredulity spread across the Slayer’s face. He didn’t blame her.

“You’re kidding me, right?” When he didn’t respond, she sighed in aggravation and tugged at his arm. “Come on, Spike. I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“’m not trying to get rid of you, luv. I jus’ don’ want the chit to get away.” That was simple enough. Mostly truthful, even. “Better if we split up. I’ll be right along if my lead turns out bad.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed even further. “You’re lying.”

“Am not.”

“Then you take the west, and I’ll take whatever direction you’re thinking she’s actually in instead of being sent on a wild goose chase.”

Spike’s brows arched and he shrugged. “Do whatever you like. You want east, you take east. See what I sodding care. I jus’ want the job over an’ done with.”

The glimmer in her eyes died, and a cute pout seized her lips. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in A Princess Bride, and both cups are poisoned?”

Spike smiled weakly and offered a shrug. “‘Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line,’” he quipped, earning a glare.

“If you’re lying to me…”

“Honestly, sweetheart, why would I lie?”

She just looked at him. He sighed.

“Listen, I can’t do anything but what I came out here to do, right? So I’m heading whichever way you’re not. Jus’ lemme know.”

There was another second’s hesitation. “You’re for real?”

“As real as they come.”

“So I can take the east?”

He shrugged again, reaching for his cigarettes. “If that’s what makes you happy.”

“What makes me happy?” Another long, hard pause settled between them. “What makes me happy is the truth, Spike. I want the truth.”

“You have it.”

“If I find out differently…”

He nodded, waving a dismissive hand. “Right. You’ll stake me good an’ proper. Gotcha.”

“No.” The fierceness behind her voice was as staunch as he had ever heard, and drew him to an irrefutable standstill. “I’ll just be hurt. I trust you more than anyone…and if you’re lying to me just to get me out of the way…if you’re…and you get hurt, I’ll never forgive you for that.”

The words did just what they were supposed to do. Pained him with guilt. Settled him into a vat of remorse and reconsideration. But there was nothing that could move him from his decision. He was there. Had nearly been born there. And nothing would take that away.

If she stayed, she would get hurt. Not by Faith, of course. No; by what she saw. Spike the monster. Spike the slayer killer as she had never seen him before. Not even last year, because truthfully, his heart hadn’t been in it like it was now. Even before he knew his feelings for Buffy, there was something that held him back from giving it his all. Knowing that, if anything, she made the world more interesting. He preferred her in it, when all was said and done. In the world, even if all she did was muck up his plans.

Hell, at least it was interesting.

Faith was nothing like Buffy, and he would not grant her the same clemency. With her, he was all vampire. And there was no way he was going to let his girl see him like that. No way.

If she saw him for what he truly was, she would never forgive him.

Looked to be he was running that risk either way. Better for her to think him a liar than a monster. He couldn’t stand the latter. Not after what they had shared.

Thus, he parted his lips and spoke the untruth that would change his life, one way or another.

“’m not lying, pet.”

He wasn’t quite sure when the first pang of regret struck, but wagered it centered on the acknowledgment he had just lost everything. If not with the start of the night, then certainly by the end. She had come to him to make up for his earlier spectacle, even when she had nothing for which to apologize. She had reassured him after he challenged their relationship. She had reached for him when he was doing his damndest to pull away.

He had her trust. It was all he had. And with her departure, that was gone as well. Many people wandered through life and didn’t recognize their colossal mistakes until well after making them. He supposed he should get some sort of medal for knowing what something was when he saw it.

There was nowhere to go from here.

He suspected Faith knew that, too, and had delayed her entrance to get a good seat.

“Wow,” she said appraisingly, sliding out of the shadows in which she had been lurking. There near City Hall. Just as he had known. “That took nerve. Lyin’ to B to her face? Man. Glad I’m not in your shoes right now.” A small smile crossed her face. “For more than one reason.”

Spike glanced up wearily. Yes. There she was. Dark hair, snark, attitude, and a crossbow strapped to her back. A slayer. His fourth. He had his third in Buffy. This would be his last.

“What?” she asked when he refused to respond. “Not funny enough? Grow yourself a sense of humor.”

“Right next to your tombstone, I’d wager.”

“Ohhh, big words. I was thinkin’, we could use your dust as fertilizer. ‘Cause even if I don’t get in the winning punch, I’m willin’ to bet B’s gonna take you to school on that one.” Faith feigned a sigh and rolled her shoulders. “Kinda hurt that my own girl didn’t sense me here, you know? Guess it was that extra vampy charisma.”

“’m guessing it was because slayers weren’t structured to have slayer tinglies.” Spike pivoted on his heel to face her fully, eyes darkening with intent. “Lucky for us, eh, pet?”

“Lucky for me, I guess. Get to boast as the one and fucking only who took down the notorious Slayer of Slayers.” She paused thoughtfully, pressing a finger to her lower lip. “Or is that Layer of Slayers? Not really on the up of which nickname you’re goin’ by nowadays.”

“Oh, aren’ you jus’ a barrel of laughs?”

“Figure it’s the least I can do.”

A dry smile tickled Spike’s lips, and he shook his head incredulously. “You really don’ get it, do you?” he demanded. “You daft bint.”

“Get what?”

“Who I am. What I am. A slayer’s supposed to feel her fear an’ use it to her advantage.” He cocked his head. “If anything, your lack of fear’s gonna be your weakness.”

“And when did you get so educated on slayers, huh? Just because you bagged a couple and fucked another? Puhlease. It has nothing to do with the moves, Spike. And you know it.” Faith’s eyes flashed dangerously as she paraded forward. “It’s all about the gut. The feel of it. I’m not B. And I’m not some slayer sob story whose ear you’ll bend before ripping it off. Know why I’m not afraid? Because I’ve seen you, William. You’re about as pussywhipped as they come. And sorry if I don’t blink at the whipping boy. He’s just too easy to kick when he’s down.”

Spike wagered she had anticipated the move before he made it, though the look in her eyes clearly read her astonishment. He had her shoved to the ground before she could retaliate; even though she was on her feet the next second, the strong walls she had placed around herself had wavered enough for him to catch a glimpse at her insecurity. Her own makeshift lie behind her bravado. The same she would die before revealing again, and kill to protect.

“You don’ get it, do you?” he snarled nastily. “You really don’ get it. Know why I’m here? Because I’m not Angel. I’m not some useless sod plowing through the decades, moping an’ weeping about my poor, battered soul. I don’ have a mission of redemption to fulfill, an’ I’m not a bleeding Samaritan. I am William the Bloody, an’ I have a reputation for killing slayers because I’m very good at it. Angel’ll push you to the line, sure, but I’m the one who’s not afraid to shove you over the edge. Get it, Faithy? I’m not here to rattle your chains. I’m not here to pose prettily an’ make a bunch of nancy threats that you an’ I both know I’ll never make good on. I’m here because I kill Slayers. Because, unlike everything you’ve faced before, I am a vampire. A real one. Not a fledgling. Not a no-name looking to make a reputation for himself. I have my reputation. An’ you’re about to learn how I got it.”

Another smack to her jaw sent her to the ground, but she leveraged her position to sweep him off his feet with a roundabout kick that had him on his back in seconds. Then they were off to the races; leaping up on virtually the same beat, circling each other like hungry hawks waiting for the prey to make the first move.

“You see, I don’t even know why you care,” Faith returned a minute later, not wavering. “From where I’m standing, I did you a favor. You know B’s not gonna let-up until soulful loverboy is out of the picture, right? I’m really failin’ to grasp where his dyin’ equals bad for you.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “This isn’t about Peaches, sweetheart. It’s about you an’ me.”

“Really? Well, isn’t that sweet.” She shrugged her shoulders diplomatically. “If that’s the case then, Willy, put on your dancin’ shoes, ‘cause I’m about to take you ‘round the town.”

He scoffed. “We’re not dancing. I know dancing. I’ve danced my lot with three Slayers who knew what the dance was all about. Last one, ‘specially. An’ honestly, ‘f you can’t tell the difference, maybe you need to look into a new profession.”

It was the sort of calamitous duel that commanded awe from anyone who might pass by. The same air that thrived in old Westerns. And seconds later, Spike came crashing down with a callous thump, rolling to his feet in seconds.

“Think we’re dancin’ now?” Faith spat.

He grinned wryly and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “You haven’t seen anythin’ yet.”

Faith advanced, twirling a stake idly between her fingers. “And I suppose you’re gonna show it to me. Fucking arrogant asshole. Don’t you get it? I own this town. And come two days, there isn’t gonna be anything left to save. You and your girlfriend’s friends are all gonna be fucking kibbles and bits—you’re wasting your time with me.” She reached with a dead standstill, grasping his throat and hurling him to the other side of the street. The roar that pierced the air was enough to make anyone’s blood run cold.

And the next instant, she was assaulted by the vampire she had provoked. They met in the middle, a clashing fury of hits and misses. Connecting and clawing and fighting the way a slayer and demon should. All out fists and fangs.

“Come on, Spikey! Don’t quit on me now.”

And Faith came for him again in a mix of blows and low kicks. All hell unleashed, hardhearted and malicious. It seemed she was everywhere at once, scratching chunks of skin through layers of black fabric. Flesh tore and nails dug: Spike hissed his pain but revealed nothing else, kneeing her with the first open shot he could manage, before kicking her back. Again, she found herself consigned against the pavement, blood filling her mouth.

And yet she was unmoved.

So much anger. So much unvented fury. The true essence of a slayer’s calling.

It’s about power.

“Come on! Give it to me!” An angered fist sank into his gut, her knee butting up to greet his fallen head. “You said you were a vampire, Spike. Give it to me! Show me how much demon you are! Don’t flake on me now!”

A floodgate opened. Spike roared in semblance of his own demoralization, matching her strength for strength. It wasn’t often that he encountered someone that could give him an honest run for his money—he had with Buffy, always with Buffy, but not like this. Not with this wantless wanting.

And they fought. Harsh and real. With vindictiveness that he had not known with his formers.

The slayers in his past…those had been fun.

This one was more. So much more.

This one was the line between life and death.

The world could come to a stop without his realizing it. And that blessed loss of control was frightening enough to bring everything else to an inner halt.

Faith wiped blood off her chin, black eyes dancing. “Is that all you got, vampire?” she demanded nastily. “’Cause if it is, and I really hate to say this, then your fucking bark is definitely worse than your bite.” The Slayer rumbled a particularly unladylike snort. “Speaking of, I know I wasn’t here for the big soap and all, but honey, I’ve seen both sides up close and personal. The way she acts about you? Not really much for the carin’. You think she woulda sent Angel out here to pay me some retribution had it been you that was shot? Please. You’ve taken the passenger seat, buddy. Kinda pathetic when you think about it.” She offered a nasty shrug. “And hey. Even when you don’t.”

“Buffy din’t send me anywhere,” the vampire snarled. “Came of my own will.”

“Oh. To stand up for Angel? How fucking sweet.”

A smirk drew across his face. “Like I said, pet, this isn’t about Peaches. It’s about you an’ me.”

“I get the funny feeling that you’re lying.”

“That would be your problem.”

It hit from nowhere then. The scent he could have identified anywhere. And without warning, everything else drew to another standstill. He felt his insides freeze and his blood run colder than normal. The art of falling in the worst way imaginable. A kid with his hand caught in a cookie jar.

A very big cookie jar.

“Oh, don’t take it personally, Faith. Tonight’s the night for lying, it seems.”

The raven-haired slayer fell to the ground with the brunt smack of a calculated punch, and Buffy stood on the other side. Her eyes were stormy with a plethora of emotion, studying him with a mix of hurt and anger that drove the proverbial knife into his chest before giving it a good twist.

He had known this would happen, of course. That didn’t make the sting any less potent.

“Ohhh…” Faith cooed, eyes glimmering at the blonde duo. “Somebody’s in trouble. B, glad you could make it. And here I thought you were gonna miss all the fun.”

That was all it took to drag away his girl’s gaze of accusation. Better now.

Though he couldn’t ignore the way she flinched when he attempted to near.

Buggered beyond reproach.

“Wouldn’t miss this,” she retorted coldly. “Not for all the world.”

“Your boy seems to think it wiser, otherwise.”

“This isn’t about my boy, and you know it.”

The other Slayer shrugged, hopping to her feet once more. “His words, not mine. What, B? You here to gut me? Take back what I stole from you? Right then. Steppin’ up in big sister’s shoes. Gotta say I’m impressed.”

Buffy smiled dryly. He knew that smile.

“This isn’t even about you, Faith. Not really. It’s only about one thing.”

There. That had her attention.

“Oh. And what is that?”

A window of opportunity opened, and he seized without forethought. Before either could react, he dove for Buffy’s legs, ripping away the concealed dagger and turning it on Faith without a second’s hesitation.

Strange. He was a vampire, and yet he was surprised at how easily the blade slipped into Faith’s side. How effortlessly it sliced through skin and broke the smell of her rich blood into the air. He had seen daggers work more times than he could count; had been at the wielding end for much of the same. And yet, watching Faith fall to the ground breeched an entire territory of new wonder.

Still, he managed to gather his bearings. The chit wasn’t dead, and the Scoobies wouldn’t allow her to become so. He instead turned his attention to Buffy, who was staring at him with a mixture of horror and awe.

“There,” he barked, immediately defensive. Easier that way. At least he would be prepared. “Are you happy now?”

Her face crumbled and he felt a familiar pang stab his heart. This wasn’t her fault. She had done nothing except what she said she would. And here he was, mucking things up even further.

Stupid, heartless wanker.

But that didn’t mean he could stop. Not for her. Not even now.

There were more important things.

“Do I look happy?” she demanded. “You lied to me. I knew you had…but…God, Spike—”

“We got the bird. That’s all that matters.”

“No!” She covered the space between them, seizing his elbow. “No, that is not all that matters. I can’t believe you! First with earlier, and then…what happened? I don’t get it! I don’t…”

“You can’t.” Spike sighed and avoided her eyes. “This is not the time, sweetheart. Break my heart rightly when we get her back, okay? After all…that’s all that matters, right?”

There was a long pause; her confused anger burned him until it was his. Hell, it always had been. That knowledge of being in the wrong for the right reasons reemerged. He didn’t know what the fuck either of them was playing at anymore.

“Why…” she asked a minute later, voice laced with aggravated tears. “Why don’t you trust me? I don’t…I…”

For the second time that night, the sound of an arrow whizzing through the air caught his attention. For the second time that night, he knew its course without having to be told. And before either of them could counter, the skin at his chest pierced with the dripping venom of his own avarice. Inches from his heart; a perilous feat.

He fell to the pavement in Buffy’s arms, vaguely aware of her scream. Tasted the salt of her tears dribble onto his lip, and knew the flavor had changed.

He suspected it was the last thing Faith saw. Lying there on the pavement with her crossbow curled in grasp. Last fucking hurrah. Watching Buffy scream and plead with her poisoned lover before the world tumbled around her, falling into its knees for its shameful irony.

Clemency at last.

They were truly even now.

A/N: I'd kinda forgotten about posting my revamp of this fic. Sorry!

A little reminder: this is an old story. I cleaned up the language, but I did not perfect it. It's still flawed...but decent enough, I suppose, as far as fanfic goes.

An entire branch of Giles’s ancient, irreplaceable text went crashing to the floor. Just as quickly, Buffy had laid Spike across the newly barren table with softness that would have surprised anyone who knew her, her eyes drawn with one purpose.

“Hey!” Wesley protested. He went ignored.

Willow was at her side the next instant, helping her calm Spike’s mediocre struggles. “Where are Giles and Xander?”

Buffy said nothing. She was too preoccupied with elevating her lover’s body. Was it enough? Was it too much? Did vampires need to be elevated? If she shifted it a fraction of an inch lower, would that make him more or less comfortable? She didn’t know. She was the Slayer. She was supposed to know things and she didn’t.

The world was outright maddening.

The vampire’s mouth fell open, his eyes soft and kind. So far from his earlier outrage. Funny how death could put things in perspective. “Sweetheart,” he said soothingly, capturing one of Buffy’s hands to draw her attention home. “Luv, Red’s tryin’ to talk to you.”

“I don’t know where they are,” came the short rejoinder, her fingers tightening around his—anchoring him to her as her free hand sought the surprisingly soft locks of peroxide hair that crowded his brow. “As soon as I saw Giles pull up, I grabbed Spike and ran.”

“She means ‘grabbed’ in the literal sense,” Spike added, offering a weak smile.

Willow frowned. “Ran?”

The blonde met her friend’s gaze and shrugged. Her voice was calm and erratic at the same time. She was numb. Thoroughly numb. And Spike was hurt.

“Got here faster than they did, didn’t I?”

“Those were antique volumes—Assyrian scrolls, mind you!” Wesley huffed. “And you just throw them to the floor as though—”

The girls looked up on virtually the same note. “Shut up, Wesley,” they said together before turning their attention to more immediate concerns.

Spike sighed and attempted to sit up. Attempted and failed. Buffy’s hand at his chest was not perceptibly forceful, but it could become so with a flick of the wrist. “Don’ see what all the fuss is about,” he offered. “’m fine.”

She frowned. “What—”

“’S jus’ a scratch, really.”

“Spike—”

“A flesh wound, when you think about it.”

“Spike!”

The force behind her voice silenced him, and then he was captured in her eyes. Her lovely, pained, tear-filled eyes that tore his heart to pieces. He’d done this. Made her into this. She was bleeding for him now. Bleeding for him in ways neither had ever thought imaginable.

“My girl,” he observed with a watery smile, skimming a finger across her cheek. “Don’ cry, baby. It’s all right. Things have a way of workin’ out.”

She shook her head and nearly choked on a sob. He felt her pain as though it was his own, and it moved him more than he thought possible. “No,” she whispered. “They don’t, Spike. Not where we’re concerned.”

His smile remained. “’m sorry,” he murmured. “It wasn’ supposed to be this way. Not for us.”

Willow whimpered. He nearly chuckled at her, though the sentiment was more than appreciated. Silly chit. Whether or not she knew it, Red was a hopeless romantic, and likely one of his better friends. Neither would ever admit as much. Things merely were the way they were.

“Where’s Angel?” he asked, hoping to change directive. The library was empty; Giles and Xander were with Faith, he knew. But Angel was gone, and while a diffident module had been arranged for draining their acquisition, the extra helping hands he had demanded were nowhere to be seen.

“At the mansion,” Willow replied. “Oz and Cordy are with him. We were gonna bring him the blood after it…after we got it. Thought it best to have him comfortable.”

“I can’t do this,” Buffy announced suddenly, her eyes dropping. The defeat in her tone was more than he could bear.

“We got what we needed, right?” He waited until he had her eyes again. “Angel…got his remedy. Got—”

And just like that, she was gone. She had dropped his hand and moved back, staring at him as though he had grown another head. Though for what, he couldn’t imagine. As far as he was concerned, everything had been spelled out in big block letters. She said it herself.

While she was happy with him, it was Angel she loved. And Angel she would, by logic, save. There wasn’t room for ambiguity.

“I can’t do this,” she said again, vanishing the next minute. He didn’t watch her, but the slam of Giles’s office door left little to the imagination.

It took only a minute for her to storm back. And the weather was raging.

“How the fuck can you say that?!”

Spike attempted to sit up, aided by Willow’s sudden presence by his side. “What?”

God, she was gorgeous when she was angry. A vision. Even now, with tears scaling her cheeks, her hair sloppy, and her clothing all out of line because of their recent skirmish. Gorgeous. A fucking goddess. And for now, his. For now. For a little while longer. “How can you…” She wiped at her eyes erratically. “You really think I’m going to sit here and watch you die? You think that’s the reason I…well, fuck you!”

He blinked. Though he had heard her swear on numerous occasions, it sounded strange coming from her lovely mouth. Especially like this. “Buff—”

“You know, I should. I really, really should. You lied to me, you didn’t trust me, you stormed out of here and got yourself all wounded…and…you smoke!” He blinked again, not daring to smile though he was sorely tempted. “But…I…how can you think I’d do nothing?”

“Well—”

“And if you mention Angel one more time, I’ll rip your balls off and shove them down your throat.”

That sufficiently stunned everyone in the room.

“Buffy!” Willow berated.

Wesley looked pained. “I think I’ll just…wait outside for Rupert and Xander,” he decided before practically fleeing for the library doors.

Spike frowned, ignoring a wave of dizziness. “What?” he demanded. “Is it so bloody beyond the realm of possibility to think—maybe—you’ll wanna save your—”

“Don’t even—”

“He has a soul, pet. A…reason. A bloody mission from God or what all. He was mojo’ed back once…because it’s so important that he doesn’ kick it…right?” He cocked his head. The poison was beginning to really kick in, but he refused to allow Buffy to know. It was better if she remained angry with him. Would make things easier for what she had to do. “You…think the PTB will cry over me, luv? Think they’ll even consider steppin’ up to the plate to save William the Bloody?…A soulless wanker who killed heartily until he quit cold turkey ‘cause he fell in love? You think the order of the universe is based on romanticism?” He smiled a dry, insincere smile. “’Cause if you do, sweetheart, you’re in for one hell of a rude awakening.”

Her small body trembled. The look on her face was virtually unreadable—somewhere between the line of tears and outrage. Sorrow and regret pairing against fury and indignation.

She could have screamed again; she didn’t. Instead, in a tone so low it was nearly frightening, she said, “There are two slayers, Spike. No one has to die.”

He stared at her. It wasn’t as though the idea hadn’t occurred to him. Hell, from anyone’s perspective, it was the only solution. Only there was no way that he would endanger her like that. No way. Not willing or unwilling. He loved her too goddamn much to chance it.

She didn’t know what she was asking. She couldn’t.

“Not…gonna happen.”

“You don’t have much choice here.”

“Oh, yes I bloody well do.”

“You wanna try and stop me?”

He stared at her for a long second before offering a humorless chuckle with a shake of his head, grasping Willow’s hand when another dizzy wave threatened to shove him over. “I won’ drink from you,” he told her flatly. “An’ if you even think of offering yourself to Angel…I’ll stake myself, here an’ now.”

She reeled as though slapped. “I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would.” Spike nodded grimly. “If it meant saving him, you would. But I won’ let you endanger yourself for that.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped in protest. “You said it didn’t have to be to the death!”

“Yeah. People live as human vegetables. I will not let that happen to you.”

She shook her head. “You can’t stop me. If you’re dying, you’ll—”

“What? Cave? Don’ think so.” His brows arched in challenge. “You think you know how much I can…withstand? You haven’t seen anything yet.”

It was likely fortunate that Giles and Xander pushed through the library doors before Buffy could spit an angry retort. They were moving and speaking too quickly and for Spike’s slowly fading senses to keep up with; his focus remained on Buffy until she broke and turned for the Watcher’s office once more.

She wouldn’t be coming back this time.

With that, he stopped fighting the disease attacking his bones and collapsed against the table. It was unlike anything he had ever before felt. A gnawing away at his insides. A foe he could neither touch nor see. He remembered fearing sickness in life. Hated it. There had been so much to fear back then.

Willow’s hand on his shoulder tightened and brought him back as much as she could. Her large, brown eyes strained with worry. “She loves you,” she told him, revving him all the more. “I don’t know if she understands that’s what it is yet, but she loves you.”

Spike blinked wearily and smiled at her for trying. “She doesn’…don’ know if she…can…or…”

“Don’t talk if it hurts.” The next minute, Red was sitting beside him on the table, casually ignoring the fuss as it happened behind her. The Witch was incredibly observant, and he tended to forget that at times. From the beginning, she had surprised him with her willful acceptance of whatever he was to her best friend. “Buffy does love you. I know you see it. You’re just trying to be the big martyr here and everything…which, freaky, yes, but if you die, it’s gonna kill her. You have to let her help you.”

The vampire sat back, eyes drifting shut. “If Angel…” he said softly, “dies…’cause…’cause I went…after Faith…lied to…betrayed…never forgive me.” He released a trembling breath. “Said…never forgive. Don’ want…loves him.”

“Spike?”

A pause. “’m here, pet…goin’ to sleep, though.”

He felt her panicked hand squeeze his shoulder. “No. No. No sleepies. You can’t. We’ll have the cure soon.” Then her scent moved away, and he heard her call for Giles, though he didn’t follow much of what was said. He was teetering closer to the edge.

“Love her…” he murmured. “Buffy. Love her. So much. Love her.”

Willow was back again, but it was only for a minute. He felt her hand on his forehead. She was cold where he was warm.

So strange.

“She knows,” came her reply. “She loves you, too.”

An empty promise. Of course Buffy would love him now. Now that he was dying. She would tell him once for good measure, shed a few tears, but move on. Inevitably, she would move on.

As she should. They had shared their heaven. They had been happy. Time simply didn’t abide them, but then, no time in the world would have ever been enough.

This was it, then. His punishment for spoiling her purity. He was a creature of the night. A thing born of evil. Presuming to touch her had been bad enough. But making her care? Making her cry? Making her bleed?

Get what I deserve.

That thought carried his consciousness away, and the world fell down around him.

Willow found Buffy with her head buried in her arms, her shoulders shaking with sobs. The temptation to turn around and leave was a strong one. Seemed like the right thing to do. She knew from experience that crying was a very personal thing—tie in love and death just made it more so.

But she couldn’t turn away. As the others worked hard to get the antidote rung from Faith’s body, she had to make sure that the blonde wanted what she thought she wanted.

One could never make good judgment calls in these situations. It was one or the other. One of them would die tonight. And the Slayer, the unlikely lover of both, had to decide which.

All things considered, her selected icebreaker likely wasn’t the best choice.

“He’s out.”

Buffy looked up in a panic, wiping furiously at her eyes. “What?”

“Spike. He…kinda passed out.” Willow pursed her lips apologetically and stepped forward. “Said he loves you, though. But he thinks you’ll hate him if he drinks Faith’s blood and lives.”

“That’s ridiculous! Why would he…” Her face fell mid-tangent. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“I said I’d never forgive him if he got himself hurt…but…” Buffy shook her head and heaved out a breath. “I can’t lose him, Will. I lost Angel last year, and it broke me. It broke me for a long time, but I got fixed.” Her gaze traveled in the direction of the sick vampire’s table. There was quiet for a long minute, then her face crumpled and emotion swamped her voice. “If I lose Spike, there will be no ‘me’ to break.”

“You rely on him that much?”

The Slayer glanced down miserably. “More than I should. And I don’t mean that all…he dies, he thinks it’s because…I…” She shook her head again, wiping her cheeks. “Angel knew that…and he believed me.”

“He doesn’t believe you love him,” Willow said, wincing when her friend glanced up sharply. “He told me that you love Angel and that’s why you would never forgive him if he drank Faith’s antidote and left Angel for dead. I told him that you love him…because you do, whether you wanna admit it or not, but he doesn’t believe it.”

“Will—”

“And don’t even try to deny it, missy. I’ve seen you. These few weeks…you’ve been reverso-Buffy. I didn’t think it was possible or anything, but…” She sighed heavily and assumed the seat beside her. “And now you’re looking more like you. All teary and stuff. You can’t tell me you love this and not what—”

“I’m not…I…” Buffy shook her head. “If I tell him now, he won’t believe me.”

“That you love him?”

She nodded.

“You know, there’s this concept called ‘trying.’ I heard it’s successful in many civilized cultures.”

Buffy favored her with a particularly dry glance. “You don’t know Spike.”

“Actually, kinda do. And yeah, he won’t believe you. But what have you got to lose?”

“Everything.” She exhaled deeply. “My love kills, Will. It killed Angel. Drove my father away. The last time I…let myself…I’ve been waiting so long to know if what I feel for him is real that I didn’t stop to consider that knowing that I felt it was real enough.”

There was a brief pause. Willow wondered if strangling her friend would make her see reason.

“He’ll know, though. I’ll tell him. When he’s better.” She stopped fleetingly. “When he’ll have reason to believe me.”

Blink.

“What? Buffy, you heard him. He’s not gonna—”

“I’ll shove it down his throat if I have to. He’s gonna be okay. He’s really gonna. I’m not losing him.” Buffy jumped to her feet. “In the meantime, we better move him, too. Back to his place. Get him some blood or something to hold him over.”

Willow nodded slowly. “And Angel?”

The color faded a bit from the Slayer’s eyes, but she nodded diplomatically and moved right along. “I’ll be there…with him,” she replied. “I…but Spike…what he said. It…he’s right. Angel is a champion. And the Powers don’t want him dead. They brought him back once…they stopped him from killing himself. They made it snow in southern California during a massive heat wave. That’s saying something. I just…I don’t think this is the end of it for him. He has a purpose. He…” She trailed off, gaze blurring over again. “And if it isn’t…I can’t stand to see either one of them die, Will. This is so fucking unfair. I’m the Powers’ puppet, and they’ve locked me in a room where the walls are closing in and the doors are sealed shut. Made me…how can they ask me to…and I can’t do anything! Spike won’t drink from me, and if I…I know it’s selfish and I know it’s wrong, and it’s eating me up inside, but I can’t! I can’t—”

“Buffy—”

“If the Powers are so determined to keep Angel in the game, they will. But Spike has nothing. If I lose him, it’s forever.” Buffy shook her head resolutely. “He has nothing…but me. And I’m not gonna let him die.”

Willow smiled gently and nodded. “Then let’s get started.”

Buffy released a long breath and met her friend’s gaze, smiling in turn. Anything was worth the relief pouring through her psyche. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by telling him.”

“I will. Oh God, I will.”

Willow nodded once more, satisfied but apprehensive. A wordless void of new fears to breech the unspoken certainty of old. Even as Buffy brushed past her, one thing remained resolute.

Nothing ever came by that simply.

Not in this town.


TBC