Awards for the Yellow Brick Road Series

Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For language and sexual situations)
Summary: Book II of the Yellow Brick Road series. While trying to cope with mixed feelings and brewing hostility, the Slayer discovers the truth behind Faith's deception and attempts to deal with her suspicion about the other Slayer's seemingly close relationship with Angel. Conspiracies arise and explanations unfold, and when things just can't get any more confusing, a blonde vampire she was sure she would never see again decides that it's time. 

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It felt so strange, dreading an impending discussion with her best friend. Feeling her heart constrict when she caught a glimpse of red hair trailing down the hallway. Not even one word had been shared and she already felt like she was trapped in a worst-case scenario. Like she was preparing herself for a confrontation with her greatest foe.

But she had to face Willow at some point. She had to get this burden off her chest. She needed advice in the worst of ways, and there was no where else to turn.

At least, that’s what she told herself all through her trek through the hallway as she approached Willow’s locker, where the redhead and Oz were talking casually.

Buffy cleared her throat, feeling awkward and intrusive. Even if she had been rather forward last night on the phone, with every step, she felt her nerves failing her. “Hey.”

The redhead glanced up and smiled weakly. “Hey,” she said, closing her locker.

More silence. Silence in a crowded hallway. Not of the good. When things threatened to grow uncomfortable, Oz shifted lightly and placed a tender kiss on Willow’s cheek. “I’m going to go meet Devon to discuss the new chords.”

“Dingo’s learned new chords over the weekend,” the redhead explained.

Buffy smiled and offered an encouraging nod. “Wow…that’s…that’s really…”

“It was momentous,” Oz agreed. “A whole world of sharps has opened for our perusal.” He smiled lightly when Willow giggled, turning to her with that never-ending affection that drove even the happiest couples to the furthest brink of envy. “I better mosey on to somewhere that’s else. Lunch?”

“Definite lunch.”

Then they were alone, and it was talking time.

The noise around them began to dwindle as students dimly realized that first period was due to begin shortly, leaving the void of quietude even further pronounced than usual. Buffy fidgeted for a long minute; not moving but unable to look her in the eye without twitching.

“We need to talk.”

Willow smiled weakly. “I gathered that. There are some things that—”

It was quite possibly grounds for the Worst Timing Ever Award. Xander’s trademark lateness had been expanding to nearly embarrassing proportions as graduation grew nearer, as had his penchant for cheesy excuses. Teachers in the school were almost as antsy as the students. Summer needed to arrive, and fast. Before Senioritis completely took over.

“Xander!”

“You know,” he gasped in greeting, keeling over to catch his breath as the impact of five-blocks-jogged caught up with him. “Cars are a funny thing. You wait for years to actually get the little card that says you can drive one, wait even further to get one that runs and could possibly make other people jealous, and still end up running for it when the damn thing doesn’t start five minutes before you’re supposed to be somewhere.”

“Battery?” Willow asked.

“I dunno. At this point, I’m willing to concede that Xander Harris will never own anything that doesn’t die within three weeks.” He frowned. “Kinda depressing. Anyway, what’s with the selective tardiness? You two finally taking a chapter out of my book?”

The redhead’s eyes widened comically as she realized the hall was vacant. She immediately shifted her backpack and flashed Buffy an apologetic glance. “Oh God. I have a test in English…and I’m all…ahhh! See you later, guys!”

She was gone the next minute—the picture of a human cannonball without the cannon.

Xander looked helplessly to Buffy. “I’m sensing an ill-timed intrusion. You two were about to potentially stop fighting, weren’t you?”

There was a long sigh. Nothing that couldn’t wait, she supposed.

Except that if she didn’t tell someone soon, she was going to burst. And odds were progressing slowly to that option. It didn’t look like she would be getting Willow’s opinion for at least another two hours.

Well, damn.

It wasn’t until the middle of her Chemistry class that Buffy realized that there had been something off about Willow’s behavior during their brief but significant run-in that morning: an almost desperate need to talk to her as well. She had seen it in her eyes and thought nothing of it—it was usual. Just as she went to the redhead for everything, she was accustomed to being the one that dished out advice and acted as the shoulder to cry on when sob-fests were of the essence. She had something to share; something to tell, and that drove her absolutely crazy with anticipation.

By the time the redhead approached, she was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice until Willow cleared her throat.

They looked at each other for a long, lost minute.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Buffy bit her lip wearily. It was beyond odd attempting to make chitchat with the one person in the world who knew all her secrets. She felt like she needed to segue to her point even if they both already knew what it was she was going to talk about. Every opening statement crafted wittily in the back of her head vacated the premises at the threat of being used.

In the end, truth was irrevocably the most difficult thing to say.

When several minutes passed with accumulating awkwardness, Willow exhaled sharply and took the seat opposite her, lips pursed in thought.

Buffy sighed, exasperated. When had this become so difficult?

“When I overcrowded you,” Willow answered. “When you stopped talking to me.”

She blinked, then grinned. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Buffy asked with a small grin.

“Either that, or I’m getting really good.”

“Well, you are, according to Giles. More than you know.”

“Well,” Willow answered, her eyes drifting to her lap in time with her blush. “I think he’s exaggerating. I mean, floaty pencil. Not a big level. Not a big deratting-Amy level.”

“Will, you’ve only been practicing for…well, not even a year.” Buffy smiled warmly. This was good. This felt right. Talking on a level that she had missed more than she could have fathomed unaided. “And yeah, some of your spells go wonky, but wow! This is me impressed.”

The redhead laughed. “You must really be intent on this ‘making-up’ thing,” she observed. “The last time you and I talked magic, you were all worried about the potential ‘kablooey’ factor.”

A moment of respectful silence; the Slayer nodding, unable to keep her hands from shaking. There were things to be said. Big, serious things. Things that she could not avoid. And yet, the longer she waited, the more vivid the picture of Willow’s disappointment became. She didn’t think that she could stomach looking her friend in the eyes and seeing disgust.

And yet.

“Will…I’m sorry.” The words escaped her before she had time to consider. Time to back off. Once released, all would be better. She had to believe that. “God, I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry for—”

“I know. Really it’s—”

“No. Don’t.”

Willow blinked at the fierceness behind the command, though her eyes reflected a certain measure of understanding. That much served as reassurance.

Buffy sighed. “It’s not. Things have been…really sucky as of the late. And it’s my fault. I’ve been…” Her voice wandered with a sigh as she inwardly skimmed how to best approach the subject that had been robbing her nights of sleep for the past six weeks. This was really hard to say.

“It’ll get easier when you actually say it,” Willow said helpfully.

Buffy paused. “I said that last part out loud, didn’t I?”

“Kinda.”

“That’s two for two. I gotta stop doing that.”

“It happens. I know it’s overwhelming. You’ve been through so much. I—”

There was a vehement shake of the head. “It’s more than that, Will,” she said. “I’m so…I’m so afraid that you’re going to be just…disgusted with me. But God, I need to talk to someone. I can’t do this by myself anymore. I just…I can’t…”

Willow pursed her lips and leaned forward, regarding her friend carefully. “Whatever it is,” she said carefully, “I promise that I won’t judge you. You’re my friend, and…hey…we’ve all done things that we’re not proud of. I seem to remember a recent smooch-fest with Xander. It can’t be all that bad.”

Buffy arched a sardonic brow. “You wanna place a bet on that? In the land of screw-ups, I take the cake. I’m the massive cake-taker. I think I closed the entire bakery. I—”

“Stop. Just stop. You’re excusing yourself without…you’re making it worse. Just say it. You’ll feel better. I promise. But first you need to get it out.”

Buffy released a long breath and nodded. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s about Spike.” If she had bothered to look up, she might have been surprised at the complete lack of surprise reflecting in her friend’s eyes. But she didn’t look up. “Promise you won’t hate me. I’ve been so alone and I can’t do it anymore. But…please. I—”

Willow sighed. “I can’t do anything until you tell me, Buff. And I wanna help. I really, really do. But I can’t say it for you. You have to get it out. Like I said, I won’t judge you. I won’t. I’m not Xander. I’m not Giles. I’m Willow.” She frowned. “As long as you’re not running off to Los Angeles. But since that happened, I’ve had time to think about your reasoning, and while I stand by the ‘you were wrong’ verdict, I can get why you thought there were no other optio—”

“I slept with Spike.”

For a minute, she didn’t know if Willow’s reaction was aimed at the revelation itself or the unexpected bluntness behind it. And then it didn’t matter. Her eyes had widened comically and her mouth was agape. “You whated with what?”

“Me. Spike. We did the wacky. We were trapped…and there was talking…and yelling, then smoochies. Massive, toe-curling smoochies. Then…”

Willow was staring at her. “And then you slept with him,” she said softly.

Was she was supposed to be this calm? Perhaps she was in shock. Buffy blinked but didn’t think to question it. Anything was better than disgusted yelling and a call for another intervention in the library. “Yeah.”

“You slept with Spike.”

“Geez, Will. Little louder next time. I don’t think they heard you in Cambodia.”

Willow’s eyes widened again in apology. “I’m sorry…I just…it’s Spike. As in you and Spike. Together. In the…oh, bad thought! Bad, bad thought.”

She released a low moan and looked down shamefully. “Kinda got that part.”

“I knew, you know. I knew you were all jumpy ‘cause of something that happened between you two.”

Buffy snorted. “Hell, I think the whole world knew. I just…I couldn’t…”

“I just…I guess I don’t get why. I thought Spike equaled hurl-worthy wiggins. Not smoochies. Not…more than smoochies.” Willow smiled a bit when she ducked her head in shame, but the look was gone when her eyes turned up again. “A-and what about Angel? Do you suddenly not like him anymore?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.” Buffy sighed and ignored the part of her heart that screamed in protest. The part that hated the thought of letting go. “I don’t think so. Oh God, please don’t judge me for this.”

“I’m not judging you. Hello with the not-judgyness of me. I wouldn’t…I can’t without knowing what happened.”

She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone if she tried, nor could she stop the words from carelessly spilling from her mouth. “Well, there’s a shocker. When I came back from LA it was all your-fault this and your-fault that. And you guys had absolutely no idea what I had been going through.”

“That was different, Buffy,” Willow replied calmly. “That was different as in way. You bailed without even trying to let anyone in. I can understand the bail part. Really. When Oz and I…well, you know…I wanted to. I needed to just get away and stuff. Go bury my head under a rock. I can’t imagine how it was for you. But you not only bailed, you didn’t let anyone know where you ran off too. That’s where the guiltage came in. It wasn’t that you ran…it was that you ran and hoped that everything would fall magically into place with absolutely no repercussions of the negative variety.”

Buffy smiled weakly, even as her insides turned in the memory of it. Willow made good points; there were some things that she would never understand. That was the way it was. “And that differs from this, how?”

A moment’s thought at that. “You’re not really helping your case.”

“So it’s a case? This is case-worthy?”

“You tell me! You’re the one who’s getting snuggly with the undead…again! A-and not the safe…er…kind of dead. We remember that Spike is soulless, remember? And evil.” There was an odd look on her face that lent the Slayer pause. It was almost as though Willow’s spiel was more for herself than for any form of persuasion. That was more than unexpected. “And he’s tried to kill you about a bajillion times. And are we forgetting the bottle-in-face incident, ‘cause some of us are not ready to make with the forgiveness and pretend everything’s all honky dory!”

“What happened to not-judgy?”

That was all it took to melt Willow’s hostility. Her face fell a bit as though remembering herself, and she cleared her throat to dismiss any hints of impending discomfort. “I’m not judging you, Buffy,” she reiterated. “Really, I’m not with the judging. I just want to know why.”

Why? A dry chuckle reverberated through her tired body. “There’s the question of the hour.”

“Not to repeat myself, but I thought you loved Angel.”

“I did,” Buffy heard herself murmuring. “I did love him. More than…more than anything.”

“So, what? You sleep with Spike—”

“Willow!”

She plowed right through the interruption without batting an eye. “And your Angel-lovin’ is suddenly of the past?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“So it’s just a physical thing? You…” Willow managed to look sheepish for a minute as she surveyed her surroundings. “You did…that with Spike just because you and Angel are restricted from dancing to the tune of the funky monkey?”

“No! God, Will. I told you. This has nothing to do with Angel.”

“Funny. ‘Cause if Oz was boinking someone else, I’d think it has something to do with me.”

“I didn’t…” She paused. “There has been boinking? There has been Oz-induced boinking?”

Willow’s cheeks turned deep red and she looked away amidst her discomfort. “Really not what we’re here to discuss, Buff. Angel has to be a part of why you did…what you did…or else there would be no doing.”

“No. It’s more than—”

“Was it a mistake?”

“What?”

Willow arched a brow. “Did you wake up after having all the sex and go, ‘Holy figolies, what have I done?’ Did you wallow and get all defensy and bitchy out of self-disgust…or…” She glanced up expectantly at the issue of an open-ended sentence, but Buffy did not bite.

“Of course I felt bad about what happened!”

“But you would do it again.”

It was not a question. Questions implied the need for answers, and both already knew what hers would be. “Yes.”

“Are you…do you love Spike?”

“What?!” That reeled the Slayer back to herself. More effective than a cold shower. “No! God, no. Wills, I spent one night with him. One night where we had nothing better to do than—”

“The horizontal labamba?”

“Talk,” Buffy finished. “We talked. A lot. Played twenty questions. We…got to know each other. And then he started in on the reason that Dru left him. The real reason.”

Willow frowned. “Why Dru—”

“It was because of me.”

“I thought it was because she wanted to date a Chaos Demon.”

“Well, she apparently wanted the Chaos Demon ‘cause Spike wanted me.” The other girl’s eyes shot wide open, as though just then realizing something. Again, Buffy did not notice. “That was…he killed the vampire I was supposed to fight that night so he could prove to Dru that I meant nothing to him.”

“Didn’t work, huh?”

“A world of no.”

Willow nibbled on her lip as she processed the new information. “Then…okay. So Dru left him because of you. But he…is that why you…and he… Did his sudden case of feeling-having mean that you—”

“No!” That word was growing really popular. “It was more than that.”

That was it. Without warning, Willow’s patience finally ebbed beyond the breaking point, and the indifferent mask she was hiding behind fell away. “So, let me get this straight,” she barked. “It was more than a one night stand and less than a one-time thing that meant nothing to you. You feel bad for what happened, but you don’t regret it. You don’t love Angel but you’re still with him. And you slept with someone you claim to hate. That does not scream ‘happy camper’ in the relationship department. More over, you slept with someone who told you that he has feelings for you. I know Spike is…well…Spike…but you’ve seen how he can get when he’s all heartbroken and mopey. Again with the bottle-in-face!”

“I know! God!” Buffy finally crumpled, her face falling into her waiting hands as the tears finally showered down her face. It all came storming back. Every worry she had entertained. Every ill-conceived notion. The look of utter heartbreak on Spike’s face the night before. The spiteful disdain that had colored Angel’s eyes. The knowledge that she was responsible for both. “God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me! What I…I told him to come back, Will. I…he offered to leave forever, and I couldn’t stand the thought of it. I almost…and then last night…I…”

A little feigned ignorance never hurt anyone. All things considered, Willow had grown immeasurably talented at the whole ‘lying’ thing. “Spike’s in town?”

Buffy nodded pitifully. “I told him to come back because I needed time to think. I told him to go away and come back. And…God, the things I said. And I still don’t know what I…what he wants from me. And he’s a vampire! He’s the real thing! I can’t…but I can’t not. There’s definitely…every time I think about what happened, I just…I can’t believe that I didn’t make him stay here. He wasn’t Spike then. Or he was. To absolutely mutilate the cliché, he was the Spike that I guess no one else gets to see. He was…” She glanced to Willow, fully expecting disgust or disappointment at her full display of emotional trauma where a soulless thing was concerned, but all she received was calm understanding. It was times like this that made her suspect that she didn’t deserve friends. “He was sweet and loving and attentive and funny and…a vampire. He was still a vampire.”

“The bite marks.”

Buffy instinctively reached for the aforementioned marks, relishing the slight shiver of excitement that sprouted across her skin in response to the contact. “He’s a vampire, Willow. I can’t…if not Angel then definitely not another vampire. Another vampire who—”

“If he wasn’t a vampire, Buff, what would you do?”

“What?”

“Spike’s a vamp, sure. He’s a scary, evil—”

“If you make another bottle-in-face reference, I’m going to—”

Willow smiled. “Yeah, well that’s pretty much my one Spike story. I gotta tell it as often as possible. Listen, I know it’s crazy. And yeah, the scenario wigs me out. But I know that if you…you had to have had your reasons. If Spike got…if you let Spike that close…then…”

“I have feelings for him, Willow.” It was barely a whisper, as though the notion itself was enough to push her over the proverbial edge. “And it’s gross and obscene, but real. I have feelings for someone that I…I can’t have feelings for. I can’t—”

“Already defied that logic.” She smiled softly. “Buffy, based on everything you’ve told me, the best I can tell you is to talk to him. Even if I can’t see the words ‘loving and sweet’ when I think of Spike, he…I guess it’s safe to say that you know him better than I do. Don’t go to him thinking that it’s wrong or what we’ll think. You don’t even know what you want yet. Maybe you’ll decide to not be with either of them. Who knows? But if you’re the one that did the asking for him to come back, then you at least owe him a civilized conversation.”

Buffy glanced down, unwilling to admit that her skin was numb with relief. There it was. It was over. Everything was out. She had spilled the beans to her best friend and they were still best friends. She wasn’t disgusted or disappointed…a little wigged, but that was to be expected. But it was over now. The burden gone. The pain of secrecy diminishing.

Why had she waited so long before confiding? Oh yeah. Idiocy.

“Thanks, Will,” the Slayer said truthfully. “I…I really don’t know how to—”

“Then don’t. I’m just glad we’re…I’m glad you told me.”

“Me, too. So with the gladness. I needed to get that out.”

“I could kinda tell.” Buffy smirked at that and Willow flashed an unrepentant grin. “So, you gonna go Spike-hunting tonight?”

More than anything.

Buffy nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes. After I talk to Angel.”

He had been present for all of three minutes and could already tell that the art of poofter-watching hadn’t grown any more interesting than it was two months earlier. And yet, here he was. Watching through eyes half-hooded with envy as his grandsire went about the mansion, satisfying any odd quirks or time-consuming rituals to make sunset come quicker. If Spike hadn’t been utterly convinced that Angel was the dullest vampire on the planet before, he most certainly was now. The big git could lull a rock to sleep.

The very fact that his jealousy had led him to a day full of spying on the wanker had him beyond annoyed with himself. He knew it was pathetic. He knew that if the Slayer happened by and sensed him near, he would be dust in two seconds flat. But he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t draw away. The Witch had juiced him with hope the night before. Spike was convinced that such had been the furthest thing from her intention, but she’d made no move to retract it. The truth was there in all its glory, and he relished. Whatever Buffy wanted him to believe was a lie.

He just had to see it for himself.

Unfortunately, that meant watching Angel. The only vampire that could not rival the company of a lamppost. It was beyond amazing, in Spike’s expertise, that a firebird like Buffy could tolerate the dolt at all. His day was occupied with reading, brooding, doing that wankerish Tae Bo, and more brooding. He slept a bit, leaving his childe to congratulate himself in his ability not to stake the ponce during times of vulnerability. No, no. The Slayer wouldn’t like that. A century and a sodding half of hating Angel, and he schooled himself to patience based on what the Slayer would want.

Something was definitely wrong with that picture.

It wasn’t just that. Oh no. That would be too simple. Every action done since leaving this hellhole of a town had been executed with the mindset of What Would Buffy Do? On occasion he had managed to break free from that line of destructive thought, but never the easy way. He wondered briefly if Buffy would be more bothered by murder or infidelity. Not that he had anything to be faithful to, of course. She had made that perfectly clear.

And even so, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t screamed her name when trying to drown out her memory with faceless floozies, thus defeating the purpose of trying to forget her.

The day continued with all its tedium. Spike was almost certain that Angel sensed someone was near, but the elder vampire never bothered to investigate. That was annoying. True, things would get ugly if Spike was caught, but at least it would be interesting.

Nothing happened for a long, long time. Not until an unfamiliar scent lit up the walkway. He didn’t actually see her enter, but the effect could not be missed. And he knew—he knew without question, reason, need of proof that he was looking at the face of the new slayer.

At that, Spike’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny. There was something off about her. Something very off. She was a spitfire, no doubt. She carried herself with confidence that he could appreciate, even if she was trying to come off as meek and lost. No, this was a girl on a mission. He could feel power rolling off her.

And yet, there was something in her eyes that made him uneasy, and it took him two seconds to decide what it was. He knew well that vengeance-tainted visage. That passionate need to destroy beings of light. The girl was out to hurt Buffy. She was there intentionally to hurt Buffy, and that was enough to make him hate her. A low, protective growl flustered a bit in his throat, and he didn’t allow himself to stop and consider the connotations. He was too forgone down that pathway to stop now.

If this bird harmed the Slayer—his Slayer in any way…

Spike quirked a curious brow as the scene unfolded. The raven-haired bird was approaching Angel. Now, that he could approve of. Stupid chit could mess with the ponce all she liked, especially since he appeared less than enthusiastic about her arrival.

And again, he digressed. There was something there.

“By the pricking of my thumbs,” Spike murmured, reaching for his cigarettes. He had gone all day without a fag and it was beginning to take its toll. “Something wicked this way comes.”

At first, Angel appeared more thunderstruck than anything to respond to the sudden presence of his uninvited guest. With a long blink and a dutiful nod, the acknowledgement, “Faith,” rolled off his lips.

Faith. Spike all but snorted. Interesting name for a slayer.

The girl took that as all the initiative she needed. “Hey,” she greeted. “Sorry to bust in all uninvited.”

“What do you want?”

The trade grew wearisome after that, but Spike wasn’t interested in their words. Oh, no. Body language spoke for so much more than anything verbal could hope to accomplish. That didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. He picked up a mention of Buffy’s name and regarded his grandsire with a wide smirk when he flinched and turned away. The underlying implication was enough to make any regular bloke break out into a happy dance.

It was very apparent that Angel wasn’t interested in discussing Buffy, though the other girl seemed to want to chat him up a bit. Talking about how she was out of line with all the presumptions she made and that whatever problems they were going through were none of her business. When he grew antagonistic and she realized that she was losing him, she immediately switched gears and began on some long-winded spiel concerning how she was sorry for something else she had done the previous night. The display was sickeningly staged, and Spike found himself frustrated at Angel for not reading through it. Rather, the wanker’s resolution weakened on the spot and he apologized for his hostile behavior, treading down some martyrdom path of righteousness about how he understood whatever it was that she was going through, and that he wanted to trust her.

It wasn’t until Angel’s hands found Faith’s shoulders and she twisted in his embrace that things changed.

The next flash of events was so brash and unexpected that Spike briefly entertained that he had lost his wits. Whatever the Slayer had planned, he had not expected this. The word “chump” escaped her lips. There was a quick splash of pig’s blood and a snarl of accusative vampiric fury.

A snarl that did not stop the chanting.

Then yelling. Then…

Spike’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, thunderstruck. “Oh bollocks,” he muttered. “Now this is interesting.”

“You won’t believe the news I have for you.”

Buffy grinned tightly to herself and glanced up, meeting Xander’s eyes. There wasn’t much that could be said right now with the potential of surprising her, but she decided to keep that tidbit to herself.

“Does news involve food?” she asked, smiling half-heartedly. “I could go for some pasta.”

Wesley emerged from the bookshelves with interest at that, adding, “I must admit that I am starved.”

“I would have recommended doughnuts if I didn’t think someone would confiscate the jellied,” Giles offered offhandedly, closing the cage door and regarding Xander with perked brows.

“If everyone is finished making dinner arrangements, I’m going to continue.” The lighthearted mood dwindled almost immediately. “Life is just a big bucket of funny. Always mocking with jokes that—unsurprisingly—go right over my head.”

Buffy blinked. “Huh? What’s the what?”

“I have information coming out of my ears, that’s what.” He stopped suddenly, finding a focal point of interest. “First off, I found your demon. Though that’s gonna seem kinda on the iffy side of important once I’m done.”

“My demon?”

“Yeah.” He glanced to Giles, who shuffled uncomfortably. “The one with the books? Of Acieration?”

“Ascension,” the Watchers corrected on wordless command.

Buffy’s face fell. Then her eyes widened. Oh. That demon.

At that, she lent herself pause. That was most definitely a conscious thought, and that dropping feeling in her stomach was of the extreme non-relief induced. She had been hoping for news about Spike. Surprising how the root of that knowledge failed to…well, surprise her. The thought barely festered whereas it should have sent her into a worried frenzy. Willow’s words of reassurance reverberated with endless comfort, and though her friend had bailed on the study party for some last minute helping-Percy-action, Buffy drew in her source of consolation. It was needed. The Witch understood—she understood far better than she could have ever hoped.

She glanced back to Xander and sighed. “You found him?” She watched him readily as he nodded, snatching the proffered address from his grasp. All seemed plausible, not that she suspected Xander would purposefully mislead her. It simply struck her as hokey that things could go as easy as all that. Need a demon? Here’s the address.

Wesley cleared his throat. “As timely as this does appear, we cannot be sure that it is authentic. Demons have every motivation to hide—”

“Oh no, it’s real.” Xander grinned proudly. “Willy gave it to me, and even though he has been known to change alliance at random, the information he gives is good. He’ll sell you any bit of gossip once you flash the green. Or beat him up.”

“You beat him up?”

“Well…okay, I bribed him. And he must be close to hitting rock bottom, ‘cause he told me a lot for the price I quoted. Which brings me to point two. You won’t believe—”

“I can’t believe it was that simple to locate a demon. As invaluable as this one,” Wesley declared with a huff. “You’d think he’d go to great lengths to remain hidden.”

Buffy tossed the dumbfound Watcher a mild grin. “Fashion tip, Wes,” she observed. “Mouth looks better closed. And, I know you’re still trying to fit into the groove, but this is Sunnydale. Finding demons is not exactly something of the hard.”

Unless they’re Slayer-obsessed vamps who don’t want to be found.

“You’d also think,” Giles mused, studying the address in his Slayer’s grasp over her shoulder, “that he would set some higher standards for himself. This place by the bus station? It’s awful! Demons by definition should at least attempt to invest in a pit of filth or a nice crypt. No one has any bloody standards anymore.”

“I’ll have to remember to mention that.”

Xander nodded, not bothering to conceal his irritation at having been interrupted. “May I continue, please?”

Buffy’s eyes were still transfixed on the provided address. “I didn’t even know you were looking for him.”

“Well, I wasn’t. Not until Giles called me last night. And as helpful as I’m sure that is…and no, I don’t expect any reward, though I wouldn’t say no to a gratuitous lap dance…” Xander allowed a minute to pass with a shamelessly dreamy look on his face. Then he shook his head, and it was all business. “That’s not the big news.”

“There’s big news?” Buffy asked, wide-eyed. “I mean, bigger than the ‘I know where the demon is’ news?”

“In so many ways, yeah. Brace yourself.” Xander expelled a long, dramatic breath. “You know the vampire that specializes in coming up with the ideal situation in giving your girlfriend a reason for dumping you while he’s obsessed with winning his own back?”

A round of blank stares. The Slayer blinked at him, dumbfound. While clarification was not required, she did need a minute to let it sink in. There was no doubt in her mind that Xander was talking about Spike, even if he hadn’t felt the need to segue his meaning in with a round of subtle hinting. If Willy was on the up-and-up of that new gossip, then the vampire was obviously not attempting to remain discreet.

“Umm…” Giles started, not bothering to mask his confusion. “What?”

“Spike,” Buffy said softly, avoiding the foray of astonished glances she received at mention of the name. The past few weeks had known everything but the acknowledgement that the peroxided pest even existed. “He’s talking about Spike.”

“Spike?” Wesley asked, voice clouded with confusion. His hesitance would have been eye-roll worthy if the Scoobies had not faced the same dilemma of identity the year before. Digging through volumes of Watcher’s Diaries to pinpoint the demon’s history and estimate how much of a threat he presented.

Giles nodded in affirmation as he dove into his pocket for his polishing handkerchief. The glasses perched on his nose soon followed. “William the Bloody,” he replied. “A childe of Angel’s. He has gone by the moniker Spike since before the turn of the century, I believe…though it is not well documented.”

“William the Bloody,” Wesley echoed, eyes going wide. “Dear Lord, he’s in town?”

“Yeah,” Xander spat bitterly. “And can you say bad timing?”

Buffy couldn’t help the slightly sardonic smile that tugged at her lips. “You should know he’s in town better than anyone, Wes.” Save me, of course. “I think you were the first that he decided to tell.”

A lapse of misunderstanding. He stared at her blankly. “What?”

There was a moment of startling comprehension. The expected instant droned and Xander’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “And I’m playing a serious game of connect the dots. The vamp that hit Wes—the smoking, blonde, leather-wearing vamp—”

A snicker clawed at Buffy’s throat. “The same that was ten feet tall and breathed fire?”

“I hate to say it, but this all falls into the realm of the extremely obvious,” Xander said, the note of accusation not lost on anyone present. “And yes, I’m just realizing it now, too. But Giles! Giles! You’re beyond the not-seeing-the-obviousness of me. You should’ve known it was—”

The look the elder Watcher issued could silence anyone. It shone through strands of lingering doubt with blinding comprehension. His glasses were still consigned to the handkerchief in grasp. Perhaps he liked it better when he couldn’t read the expressions of others. “I did,” he confessed. “I just…I didn’t know how to…” His gaze traveled upward and blindly locked with Buffy’s. And she understood.

He hadn’t wanted to mention Spike in front her. Because he knew.

He knew.

Buffy drew in a sharp breath, realizing she was suddenly on prime display. As though the words of caution her friends had undeniably been whispering behind her back were all for not. Even Wesley looked to have his suspicions. God, was there no one in this town that didn’t know what had happened that night? Had she really gone to such lengths to shut herself off for no reason?

And, if what Giles was hinting at bordered on true, why wasn’t he angry? Or hurt? Or disappointed? If nothing else, she expected big leaps of stinking disappointment. Nothing less than what she received when she concealed the truth behind Angel’s return. There was nothing to suggest the fatherly displacement she had grown to loath. There was nothing at all.

What the hell was going on?

“Okay,” Xander said, inhaling and exhaling deeply as though to reign control over his senses. “What the hell is going on?”

It was mildly reassuring to know she wasn’t the only one fraught with disconcertion. More over, Buffy took whatever comfort she could muster in the realization that her friend seemingly remained ignorant about the Spike ordeal. Giles could feign diplomacy about such matters: Xander Harris could not.

Buffy met Giles’s eyes, surged with momentary panic. “Just tell us what you know,” he told the boy, not looking away from her. “If Spike is in town, chances are he is here for a reason. Past discretions notwithstanding…we know enough about him to know that his trips to Sunnydale in the past have been fueled by selfish motivation.”

Buffy’s head reeled as though slapped. Perhaps she’d given Giles too much credit.

“What has prompted William the Bloody’s presence here before?” Wesley asked. It was almost amusing. He had turned rather pale.

“You mean the Council didn’t let you in on it?” Xander asked, wide-eyed. He was giddily rolling on his heels with the hint of conspiracy. “Damn, and I always thought those guys were so considerate. And, for the sake of not wasting your oh-so-English breath, it’s just Spike. No point saying more than needs to be said. Which is something the both of you are highly talented at.” With a thoughtful frown, he turned to the older man, who regarded him with an arched brow. “Is that a Watcher thing, or a British thing?”

Giles snickered appreciatively but ignored the inquiry. Replacing his glasses on the bridge of his nose, he indulged a few steps forward, hands worming into the pockets of his trousers. Buffy knew the look well. It was the same he adapted before assuming the role of Mr. Lecture. They were about to have a history lesson. “When Spike came to Sunnydale originally,” he began, “it was to restore Drusilla, his paramour. She had been weakened after a mob attack in Prague, where she was thought to be dead—”

“Drusilla,” Wesley mused speculatively, uncaring for his interruption. “Ah, yes. Another childe of Angel’s correct? She was a covenant girl. Rumor has it that she was dead.”

“Oh so very not dead,” Xander quipped. “Well, in the final dead sense of the word. She’s most assuredly undead. And Spike—man—that boy is crazy about her. Which is sort of ironic, in itself, seeing as she’s the crazy one.”

A small pain shot up her arm, and she realized that her fists were clinched tight enough that her nails were etching small crescents into her skin. Still, she did nothing to alleviate the infliction. The more the merrier. At least then, she wouldn’t cry out in protest.

I’m not jealous, I’m not jealous, I’m not…

“In fact, that’s what brought the bleached wonder around the second time.” Xander nodded bitterly. “And, unless Willy’s mistaken, that’s why he’s here again.”

“What?” No. That didn’t sound right. Buffy snapped to firm attention. “Spike’s here because of Drusilla?”

“Well, he didn’t say that in so many words. In fact, it seems that Captain Peroxide has been avoiding the demon hangs. Guess he wanted to keep a low profile. Though, I gotta say, if that’s the case, he’s not exactly doing a bang-up job. Word is, he’s hit practically every bar in town except for Willy’s. Moping and drinking himself into a frenzy. Worse than last time. I can’t think of any reason other than Dru, can you? I’m thinking this time for good, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. Ass decided to come back here.” The young man clenched his teeth as though to restrain himself from lashing out, though his intended target seemed rather ambiguous. “Not only does he have the worst timing ever, but I can’t think of one person who would hesitate before…well, I’m still pissed about the entire Cordy thing, as I’m sure Willow is…even though she and Oz came to that understanding. And Buff…well, you were trapped with the guy for hours on end. A matter Angel would likely…” He trailed off when he registered that he had lost her. “Buffy?”

For her part, Buffy was lost in a world of contemplation. It ached. While she wasn’t about to sincerely believe some off-handed report from a cast-off source, her mind painted a painfully colorful picture of what might have transpired in the weeks of separation to merit his return. Their time together, however brief, had convinced her of the authenticity of his feelings—she felt she had no right to judge—but Spike had made no small noise about his intense displeasure in wanting her. It was something he didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand, and sure as hell didn’t want to obey. And yet it had brought him back, and he fell helpless to its call.

Had he returned to Drusilla after he left? Could he do that? Simply experience what they had experienced and go back?

The notion made her shudder with very unfair jealousy. She ignored the voice that reminded her that she had done nothing more than the same. It was different. Angel lived in Sunnydale—he was unavoidable. Locating Drusilla required active hunting. Would he have tried to find her? Had she rejected him again? Was that the real reason behind his return?

God, that hurt. It was deserved after what she had said, but damn, it still hurt.

“This is Commander Harris paging Spaceship Buffy. Buffy, do you copy?”

She blinked and looked at him. Then she was on her feet.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

That was a good question and she had no answer at the moment. She just had to get out of there before someone dug a hole too close to home. The paper in her hand rubbed tightly against her skin, and she invented a quick excuse. “Demon. Books. Gotta go.”

At that, Giles took a harsh step forward. “Buffy, there’s something you ought to know about—”

“Later.”

“But it’s really most important—”

“And I’m sure it’ll be just as important when I get back.”

“But—”

“We’ll talk later. No rest for the wicked.”

Wesley stepped forward then with his opposition. “But you should wait for Faith—”

The name made her insides recoil with disgust. “That’d be a no. I can handle it. Really guys. Chill.”

“Buff.” Xander again. Calm but layered with undertones of worried. “What if you run into Spike?”

There was a pause. Her back was to them. “I’ll handle it,” she answered softly.

Then she was out the door.

It was a good plan. Straight, one-track, and left little room for questioning. The only problem was the sudden and complete depreciation that had occurred the minute she reached the indicated room number. The door was open, swinging partially in the apartment building’s weak ventilation system, and presented a creepy film noir sequence of a gangster break-in. It was odd feeling her heart constrict in the momentary worry in the welfare of a demon, but it did at that.

Two details were immediately perceptible based on first-glance: the break-in was a hit, not random, and whoever did it had fun.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and crossed the threshold.

A lot of fun.

“Friend of yours?”

The voice cut through silence so thick that she immediately suspected its origin to be of her own conjuring. That lasted all of three seconds—before her vampire tinglies went ablaze. The Slayer froze in place, her insides wrenching. Good God, she hadn’t expected him to seek her out so soon. Not after the way they left things last night. And yet he was there. When she pivoted, he was there. Standing inside—inside—the dead demon’s apartment.

“Spike.” His head tilted curiously at the uncertainty in her tone, and the fire in his gaze brightened with perceptibility. “Uhm…h-how…how did you get in here?”

It took a few seconds, but his bemusement finally settled. He looked her over thoroughly from head to toe with a shine of something akin to adoration in his eyes. As though she was the cutest thing he had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Then it was gone, and the mask of disdain was back. Spike arched a brow and held up a hand, counting off his reasoning. “One, this is a demon’s flat, pet. Don’ exactly require an’ invite. An’ two, in case it escaped your notice, he’s kinda dead.”

“Yeah, noticed the dead part,” Buffy retorted, trying to maintain a neutral façade. It wasn’t going to work if he came closer…like he was doing. Albeit it was only one step, but dammit, it was still distracting. “Your handiwork?”

Spike stared at her. “Right,” he said slowly. “’Cause since I bagged a slayer in the full-out physical sense, I must be a pussy-whipped demon-killer now.”

Her head reeled at the defensiveness of his retort. An aggravated sigh tickled the air when he gauged her reaction, and the vampire consigned a hand through his slightly ruffled platinum hair.

But he wouldn’t apologize; because they both knew he meant it.

“Well, if that’s the case,” she retorted coldly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Spike snickered and shook his head, reaching for his cigarettes as he ventured another step into the belly of the beast. “Dear me, aren’t we defensive? Noticing a pattern with this, luv. Seems every time I see you, you’re in a snit about somethin’ or other. Lemme guess: you an’ Angel played out another horribly overdramatic portion of your would-be love life. It makes sense, especially after last night. I’d’ve been up for a round or two of relentless boredom, myself. Well, that or laughter. Whichever comes firs’ in his case. To me, it depends on the day. An’ how broody he is.”

“Well, I guess that’s fair,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “But if we’re going to go into comparison, I gotta say that Angel’s only broody on the days that Drusilla is insane. And yet.”

A flinch at that—his outward to correspond with her inward. Buffy lent herself pause for a long, unmoving moment. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what she had decided. Wasn’t she supposed to be apologizing? Dammit. Apologizing was not a Summers strong suit, and Spike was helping out in that department.

He was giving as good as he got. Lousy pride.

The lapse only lasted a second. Frowning one minute and complacent the next. He arched a flawless brow as his cigarette hummed to life. “That’s lovely, pet,” he said disinterestedly. “But it has rot all to do with—”

“Not how I hear it.”

Okay. That was bewilderment. All out bewilderment. “Huh’s that? What’s not how you hear it?” He paused. “Did I miss somethin’?”

“You tell me.”

If anything, he became even more aghast, searing with irritation that didn’t know why it was being irritated. Spike drew a long hit off his cigarette and shook his head, allowing himself a long, dry chuckle as if it were a rich joke. “Buffy, start from the beginnin’. What does Dru have to do with anything?”

Buffy. He used her first name as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Its sound rolled off his tongue; it had been born there. She knew nothing else.

“Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.” Confidence was building slowly. Good confidence. She needed that. Only it didn’t seem to be getting her anywhere. Spike looked more confused than ever. “Xander dropped by the library today. Said that the word is out that you’re back in town.”

“Damn. An’ I went to so much trouble to keep it quiet,” he grumbled with obvious lack of concern. “Yeh, and? I s’pose there’s a point to this highly unsurprising turn of events. Please don’ keep me hanging.”

That drew her back from the line. Buffy scowled and crossed her arms. “Apparently, everyone thinks that the new and improved mopeyness that you’ve made absolutely no point to hide is because of Dru. They think you got dumped again.”

Spike just stared at her. “Hold up,” he said, raising a hand for a moment of requested clarity. “You think that’s it, don’ you? You think I’m back here because of her. Because—”

“What? I suppose you’re going to tell me that you aren’t?” The words sounded ridiculous enough in her head; breathing life into them made her want to beat herself to death with her own shoes. That small voice harbored deep inside simply wouldn’t let up—wouldn’t allow her defenses to fall. If she stood before him unguarded, there was no way to walk away unscathed. And Buffy couldn’t hurt again. Not after the trauma that was last summer. No way. Huh uh. “Come on, Spike. Five weeks is a long time. I’m sure you—”

“Are you completely daft? God, you’re a piece of work, Summers. I come all this way an’ you have the bloody gall to…” He trailed off when he saw the look in her eyes waver. An answering call that only he could provide. The first he had been granted since his return. Softer now, he lowered his head and regarded her with growing curiosity. “What part of last night din’t you understand? I came back for you, pet. Jus’ like you asked me.”

At that, Buffy fidgeted nervously.

“Seems as I recall, you were the one who thought it right timing to rip a bloke’s heart out,” he growled. “Now you’re makin’ with this cockamamie story as though it gives you…what? Grounds? Buffy, I’ve been in town for two nights. Two buggering nights. That’s all. Don’ really think the demon populace is on the up an’ up of what revs my motor these days. Not unless you’ve done your share of broadcasting to the world since our li’l…encounter.”

“Of course not!”

“Then don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Kinda impossible when you’re around.” The words were out of her mouth before she had the opportunity to consider the double-entendre. By the widening of his eyes and the consequent grin that spread across his lips, she could tell that he knew well that her slip had been anything other than intentional. “Oh stop it. You know what I meant. God, do you really think it’s something I’d brag about?”

A flash of hurt streaked across his features, but was gone the next instant with an indifferent shrug. “Know I would.”

“What?!”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Would, pet. Other way of sayin’: haven’t. God, the way you carry on, you’d think you din’t trust me.”

“Oh, score one for Mr. Perception!”

“What have I ever done to make you not trust me?” Her eyes narrowed and he grumbled in immediate concession. There was no reason to even deign that question with a witty rejoinder. “I meant since what happened, an’ you bloody well know it. Don’ get all preciously tight-assed on me.”

“I’m not—”

“Save it, Summers.”

“Just level with me. Did you go back after Dru?”

He stared at her incredulously. “You’re off your wagon.”

“Oh, come on, Spike,” she retorted. “You’ve been gone for weeks now. And it wasn’t like you bothered to hide how much of an inconvenience you believed your completely random and likely imagined or…or…” Buffy trailed off when he started taking steps toward her once more, his glower in full affect. Anger. Heat. Desire. Everything he wasn’t supposed to exhibit—not toward her. The full ridiculousness of accusation finally slammed into her, and she knew then that he had done anything but go back to Drusilla. There was no way. Not with him looking at her like that.

“Or what?” he growled. Oh, God. Dangerously close. “You really think I’m capable of somethin’ like that? That’d I’d…I’d bloody well turn my world, my whole buggerin’ existence upside down, halfway lose my mind because of what you did to me, then go weepin’ an’ crawlin’ back to Dru?”

Whoa. Be kind, rewind.

“What are you—”

“Maybe you’re capable of that, Slayer.” He chuckled humorlessly and stepped back, eyes rejoicing when she almost automatically moved to recover the granted space. “Maybe you can do what we did, feel what we did an’ go crawlin’ back to your former full of guilt an’ anguish an’ regret. Not me. It’s not in my make-up. What happened between us was a bloody revelation. I couldn’t go back to her if I wanted to. Not after you. I’m not like you in that, pet. I don’ have that sodding luxury.” A timely growl. He was pacing again. “An’ yeh, I’m right brassed off ‘bout it. Y’think you can do that to me? Jus’ feed me up, tie me down, gimme what you gave me, and bloody well shut me out when I come back here? I did exactly what you wanted me to do, Buffy! God, an’ here I thought I was pushin’ it returning when I did. Thought it was too soon. If I’d’ve thought that you’d forget everythin’, I never woulda left town. I never…”

That was it. Her heart was breaking and she was too stubborn to do anything to prevent it.

Her silence gave him reason, and Spike looked up. The blaze within his eyes intensified, then softened. As though he could see how torn she was. How utterly ripped apart. Granted incentive measured without words. The crumb he had been searching for since returning. The look was so concentrated that she had no choice but to avert her gaze. There could be no want of feeling when he looked at her like that.

“Buffy,” he said softly. “I know you’ve…I know it’s gotta be bloody confusin’ for you. Okay? I’m not a complete jerk. I know that you’ve been givin’ Angel the cold shoulder…an’ that’s gotta be difficult. I bollocks things up, sweetling. All the time. I know that…I din’t mean when I said that you’d…that it was easy for you to…” A sigh and he broke off, unable to look at her a second longer. “Jus’…I din’t mean it, all right?”

“Yes you did.”

Spike shook his head, eyes wide and desperate. “No, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you. I didn’t mean to…” He was three seconds away from covering the space between them, and they both knew it. Their night together had proven that alone: if he was enamored with a woman, he absolutely hated being the source of her pain. “I gave up wanting to hurt you…well, it was only that night, but God it feels like a sodding lifetime has passed since then. An’ believe me, vampire here, I bloody well know what a lifetime feels like. Please, I—”

“Spike…” There was resignation in her tone. “I can’t do this now.”

“I don’t think it matters if you can or not, luv. We’ve gotta chat this out.”

“I can’t. Not…” She gestured to the dead demon. “Not now. Not like…there’s important stuff going on now. Really important stuff and you…I can’t have this weighing in on everything else that I do. Don’t you…if you’re here, if you keep doing this, I won’t be able to…you’re getting in the way.”

“Oh, is that it? You think you can jus’ put me on hold an’ expect me to be at your bloody beck an’ call whenever it’s convenient for you?” His brows furrowed in disgust. “Did it ever occur to you that we could spare each other all the achies that this is apparently causing by bein’ honest? I’m tryin’ here, luv. You can’t expect me to make all the effort by myself.”

“I don’t expect you to…” Buffy sighed dramatically and gestured to their surroundings. “Look at this! Open your eyes! I’m the Slayer—I have to be able to focus on my job!”

His cast a pointed glance to the aforementioned deceased. “What? Protecting demons?”

“Yes—no! God, you’re insufferable!” Spike couldn’t help himself at that; he grinned and waggled his eyebrows. An irritated grumble rumbled through her body and drove his mirth away without hindrance. “Someone was…he had these books. These books of…whatever. And he was going to sell them to us. To me and Faith and the other Scoobies, but now something—”

“Faith?” Spike retorted, doming a brow. “You mean the nasty bird, yay tall—” He demonstrated a near-accurate measure of her height, “—dark hair, cute, biker chick attitude? The other Slayer?”

Buffy blinked. “Did you call her both nasty and cute?”

That prompted a grin. A suggestive one, at that. “There are two kinds of nasty, pet,” he reminded her. “You oughta know that one better than anyone in town.”

“You think she’s cute?”

“Hello. I. Am. A. Guy. I’m a guy who’s neither a poofter, nor blind. The girl’s got spunk.” He favored her with a condescending wink. “I like spunk. Oh, but speakin’ of her, I have some news that you’ll—”

She wasn’t listening. She was too angry. Of all the nerve.

“I’m gone,” Buffy announced coldly, forgetting her so-called assignment without further provocation.

Unfortunately, in order to be gone, she had to bypass a certain peroxided pest. Said peroxided pest was not about to let her leave on that note.

This was a lesson she would learn the hard way. Not two steps were made toward the exit before he grabbed stealthy hold of her arm and pulled her against him. “Don’t do that.”

There wasn’t a lapse. Not a delay. She immediately began to struggle. “Let me go!”

“Dammit, Buffy. You’ve gotta—”

“I need to—”

“—listen to me. I came here to tell you somethin’. Somethin’ important.” When she looked up, painfully close in proximity—his hands still wrapped tightly around her wrists, Spike released a heady moan and lost all front to reason. Only a night had passed since he held her this way, but it seemed like a millennia. For-sodding-ever just because of buggered pride. If her increased heart rate and the rapid heaving of her chest was any rejoinder to the obvious, he had to say that she was right there with him in assumption.

The moment was lost with the next beat. He made the mistake of swooping to capture her lips, and she had twisted from his grasp before he had time to miss her warmth.

By the angered look in her eyes, he had done something wrong.

“Oh yeah,” she spat venomously. “Real important. God, Spike. Just stay the hell away from me.”

“I din’t mean to—”

“Funny how often you feel the need to do stuff and say things that you don’t mean to.”

“Buffy!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “This Faith bird, all kidding aside. She’s bad news, luv. She—”

The strain of warning broke off when he saw the look on her face.

Then she couldn’t help it; she laughed.

Spike frowned. “What?”

“Faith’s bad news? Faith? Thanks for the bulletin!” Her laugh turned bitter when she saw the confusion behind his eyes. “I know she’s bad news, Spike. She’s killed a man, and I mean a human. She killed a man not too long ago and all but killed me when I tried to keep her from jumping town, and—”

There was a blur of movement and suddenly he was on her, hands searching out all possible corners for injury, however aged. “That bitch tried to kill you?” he growled possessively. “Are you all right? Did she get you anywhere? Did—”

The insane blubbering stopped once she realized that his touches were becoming a bit too bold for his own good, even if the look he portrayed was worry. Truth be told, it was in all likelihood that Spike didn’t know what he had done wrong when she pushed him away, but she knew enough not to live on presumption.

“What?” he asked, genuinely curious.

A sigh coursed through her and her shoulders rolled with relaxation. All possible venues for anger had retired. It was unattainable when he got so damn…cute. But there was no way she was going to let him know that. “One,” she said, holding up a hand to count off as he had earlier. “I’m a slayer, I heal. It’s been long enough that even if I had any scars—which I didn’t—they’d be gone by now. Two, why do you care? Three—”

An indignant flush overwhelmed him. “Why do I—”

“And don’t give me that ‘because I worry about you’ bull—”

“Bull? Now it’s—”

“Would you please—”

“Stop. Can I—”

“Let me—”

“Finish my bloody sentence!”

That was it. The pivotal and final ‘it.’ Brought to a standstill, eyes locked in a heated moment of festering outrage. And then it was over. The wall between them finally collapsed and there was nowhere to run but to each other. It was mutual, almost simultaneous. Buffy was in his arms before she could register that any distance had been covered and all thought of protest abandoned her when his mouth covered hers. The touch matched his eyes with fire, nipping with blunt teeth until she opened up for him. As though they had been made to fuse together. As though they understood that there was no motive for winning so they might as well do this instead. A battle as always—they couldn’t stop battling each other if they tried. Through every taste there was a challenge, every nibble an answer. Soon the air was filled with sounds of aggravated irrationality when they got in one another’s way of further exploration. Buffy knew then with her hands in his hair that there would never be enough of this. Enough of what he made her feel, and how effortlessly he could make her feel it.

“Oh God,” Spike moaned, halfway in protest when he finally broke their kiss to allow her breath. His mouth immediately became distracted with the soft flesh at her throat, and he shivered when she mewled her encouragement. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

Somehow that message squirmed through Buffy’s lust-addled mind and brought her attentions to a screeching halt. Her hands froze, tightened, and finally released him altogether. Her body tensed with unseeing reaction and caused his to do the same.

She bolted from his arms the moment she felt him draw in a breath to speak. Better. This was better. Safely on her side of the room where he wasn’t touching her. Where his lips weren’t getting in the way. Oh yeah. As far as ground for coherent thought went, it didn’t get any better than this.

Coherency. Right. Just as soon as she calmed down.

Her mouth tingled from kissing him. God, she wanted to kiss him again.

“You ass!”

Spike blinked. “What now?”

“Missed me? Missed me?”

He was still staring at her as though she was loopier than Drusilla. “Well, yeah. This entire forced-distance thing’s been killin’ me. Ever since…I can’t stop…I’ve missed—”

“No. You haven’t.”

Confusion was giving way to anger, and that was never good. “What?”

“You haven’t missed me, Spike. You’ve missed this.” Off his stupefied expression, Buffy clarified by motioning erratically between them. “It’s not…you’re just…”

The peroxide vampire’s expression softened and he exerted a needless breath. It was infinitely better to go with negotiable. “I’m still not following you, pet.”

“There’s more to me than sex,” she snapped, face flushing as though saying the word incriminated her in some fashion. It was something he would have found adorable were he not so busy being furious. “Hell, I don’t have to be here for this. I could be anyone and you’d still—”

A dissatisfied growl sounded through the air and he paraded forward once more, seizing her by the shoulders and giving her a good shake. It was like grabbing ice. “Don’ be daft, you silly bint,” he hissed. “God, ‘f that was all this was, don’ you think I could’ve found someone a li’l less you to scratch my itch for me? Lord knows I tried. Tried to get you outta my system, an’ that din’t work. Tried to forget you an’ that blew up in my face. Tried to—”

Evidently, they were back to the interruption game. That was just fine by him. “You tried to…but you said…”

A bitter snicker escaped his throat. “What? I meant every word of what I said. Never once went back to Dru. Never once went to some bird’s bed thinkin’ it was anythin’ but shagging. Never once said anythin’ but your name. An’ din’t that get me nice an’ slapped too many times for comfort. God, I tried to forget you. Tried to forget you a thousand times over. I—”

Okay. Shrill. “A thousand times? You were only gone for five weeks!”

He grinned somewhat sheepishly. “It’s jus’ a sayin’, luv,” he assured her. “There was a floozy or two. I’ll admit it. Nothin’ to be ashamed of. But it din’t work. I din’t forget you. I…” Spike released a heady breath and stepped forward again, deliberate and into her personal bubble. Closing his eyes and cooing softly—enjoying being close, even if only seconds had passed since she was willingly in his embrace. He ran a hand down the length of her arm and made to claim her mouth again, lips hovering just over hers. “I can’t. I can’t forget you. You’re everywhere. I—”

Buffy blinked and broke eye contact. While she was quite certain that he didn’t possess thrall, it was easy to believe at times. She exhaled slowly and flexed her hands as though to physically restrain herself from lashing out again. “No,” she protested softly. “It’s not…you don’t…God, Spike you don’t even know me. I don’t know what you missed, but—”

His skin felt so soft against her mouth, fingers caressing with delicacy. She was fragile and would break the minute he relinquished his touch. “I know you, Buffy.”

“Stop calling me…it’s wiggy and—”

Spike plowed right through the interruption. They had danced this dance at arms length for too long. “I know you,” he repeated softly. “Better than you could ever know. An’ I missed it all. Missed the way you laugh when you’re nervous. Missed how you can light up a room with that gorgeous smile of yours. Prob’ly would dust if I’d ever got a taste of your happiness. I missed your eyes. That look you get whenever you’re tryin’ to segue your way oughta sticky situations an’ scenarios. Missed the way you fight with me. Missed that look you get whenever you’re seriously brassed. Missed the way we can play twenty questions…even while…” His hand hovered dangerously close to her breast. Just enough for her to effectively feel its presence without feeling him. “Missed the way I can chat you up all night an’ never get bored. Missed your life.” At her ear now, his voice was dangerously low. “Those others, they were jus’ warm. Not like you, luv. You’re simply bursting with life.”

Find something! her mind cautioned. Don’t…can’t…mustn’t let him win…

When she found her voice, it was a gasping example of the human condition. She fought for the first strand of irrationality she could seize, and settled indisputably with jealousy. “There were floozies!”

Spike sighed in aggravation and pulled back. “You still on that?”

“Of the human variety!”

“Well, yeh. Had to replicate you somehow.”

“You’re telling me I shouldn’t be offended?”

“Offended? Luv, I was tryin’ to forget you. Obviously din’t work out to my benefit. Besides, I’m sure you’ve done your share of snogging with Peaches since I’ve been gone.” There was a momentary pause as he remembered something. “Unless you were lyin’ last night an’ really have been givin’ him the cold shoulder.”

Buffy’s eyes widened with comprehension. The pallid understanding Willow had given her that afternoon. The surprising lack of…surprise. All made perfect sense. “Willow,” she said softly, looking up. Spike regarded her with unease, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “You saw Willow last night.”

“I did not.” A moment of intense scrutiny and he floundered. “All right, I did. She ran into me as I was runnin’ into a streetlight. Or before I ran into a streetlight.” He frowned. “’m sure there was a streetlight involved. Somethin’ got real bright, that’s for sure. She talked me right through my drunkenness. Nice girl, Red.”

A momentary flush of betrayal coursed through her system. She couldn’t help it. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

The vampire shrugged indifferently. “The chit was worried ‘bout you. Said you’d been distant. Doin’ wacky things like…give Angel the cold shoulder. Hell, the li’l twig even got it through her thick skull that the reason was you missed me. That I wasn’t bloody forgettable after all.”

“Spike—”

“Kinda shows what state you’ve been in, luv, when Teen Witch an’ Big Bad can get together an’ share a load of achies caused by the Slayer.” He glowered at her relentlessly, arm twitching in unconscious demand for another cigarette. “Red meant no harm by it. She’s jus’ worried ‘bout you, ‘s all.”

Worried. Oh yeah, Willow was worried. So worried that she had to make like everything she heard that afternoon was a surprise. Like she was wrong for doing what she had done. Even if there hadn’t been perceptible judgyness, there were definite undertones to the wrongness that is Buffy. And it was too much. Standing here after such an emotionally pressing day, talking with the source of her pain while knowing there were places she had to be. Ascensions that she had to stop.

Places other than here that she had to be.

People other than Spike that she needed to see.

This was why a Slayer was not allowed a personal life. It got in the way of the big picture.

“I’ve gotta go.”

Spike took a step to the right to obstruct her exit. “Where? You know we need to chat this out, Buffy. Willow—”

“This isn’t about Willow. This is…” A sigh heaved off her chest. “I can’t…there are things that are about to happen. Big things. I can’t add you to the mix right now. I really, really can’t.”

Spike stared at her for a long, cold minute before his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Right,” he said coolly. “I got that. Really. But I could…I could help you. There are things—”

“Help me? This from he who said just recently that bedding a slayer wasn’t enough to turn you into some pussy-whipped—”

“I din’t mean that, an’ you know it.”

“Yes you did! God, Spike, you can’t just say things like that and expect a clean ‘I didn’t mean it’ to make everything better! Especially if…” Buffy met his eyes tiredly. His antics had moved toward the department of stalling and she was beginning to wear her very last nerve. “This, whatever it is, we can’t…it won’t work.”

His jaw tightened and the fire behind his gaze turned black. “Is that right?” he growled. “Kinda hasty, don’t you think?”

“Hasty?!” That phrase alone opened the door to a thousand angry reprimands, and she knew inherently if she took the bait, there would be no resolution to any of her larger looming problems. “No. No more of this. I gotta get out of here. Gotta find Faith, gotta find out who killed this guy, gotta find out if the Mayor has—”

“Wait—”

“No, Spike. I’m through. I—”

“It was Faith who killed the bloke! I thought you…” His words prompted her to stop dead in her tracks and pivot slowly to face him. The look on his face betrayed honesty but she had seen her fill of truthful façades. There was no reason to believe him.

Other than the fact that the suggestion made perfect sense.

Spike released a huff of air when he saw he had her undivided attention. “An’ there’s more. ‘S why I came here. You got this bloody awful habit of distracting me from—”

“How?”

“What?”

“How do you know that Faith killed the demon? What? Were you here with her?”

Yeah, that was kind of ridiculous. His arched brow did nothing but verify the same. “No…” he said slowly. “Her scent’s all over the place. Reeks of it…that an’ somethin’ I’m fairly sure that died in the bugger’s fridge. God, some demons jus’ don’ know how to live it up, I’m tellin’ you.”

Faith? Her scent? For whatever reason, that thought did not rest well. “How the hell do you know what Faith smells like?”

Spike paused for a long minute, the note of rising irritation in her tone singing sweetly to his ears. He took in her sight with lingering appreciation. That heaving chest. Those widened eyes. The luscious curves. Everything that compiled her into the Slayer—into Buffy—completely and utterly wrought with discomforted jealousy. So this was where he told her, right? This was where the motive for his assistance came shining through and all was revealed. Every ugly detail. Everything from her honey going bad again to the intimate workings of his new playmate. How he had watched them snog like hormone-driven teenagers. How he had listened to them plan Buffy’s demise with utter delight. How the other slayer had sat cast astride his grandsire’s prone and willing body as secrets were shared and everything but the actual physical took place.

This was the part where all was revealed. Right?

Jealousy flared in Buffy’s eyes. Jealousy over him. Because she thought he fancied Faith.

“Forget it,” she spat over her shoulder. “I don’t want to know. I don’t have time—”

Okay, maybe he was wrong in the ‘not telling her’ bit. Talented or no, if the Slayer rushed out unprepared, it could get her killed. There was no way she could fend for herself against Angelus and one of his playmates, especially if said playmate was another slayer.

“Buffy, wait—”

“No. I’ve done enough of that.”

“But there’s somethin’ you gotta…it’s about Angel. He an’—”

“Spike!” An angry final pivot, her eyes blazing with unspoken fire. “I. Don’t. Have. Time. I don’t have time to listen to you prattle on about Angel or Willow, or telling me about your floozies, or your feelings, or any of it. Do you get me? I have way too much on my plate right now to stop and deal with you. You’re going to wind up getting me killed, do you understand? If you cared for me at all, you’d back the hell off and let me do my job. Since you’re not, I have to—”

“I’m tryin’ to help you do your sodding job!”

“Don’t even give me that.” Her eyes were stormy when they met his. There would be no listening, and the sunlight outside meant that he could not follow. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

That was it. With a huff, a toss of hair, and angry spin, she was gone.

“Fine, you stubborn bitch!” Spike called futilely. The slightest phrase, the tiniest turn of her head, and she could reel him into misery so refined that it was a wonder he did not attempt to follow. The simple burden of nonexistence was going to destroy him someday. Him or her—likely both. They always destroyed each other. “Jus’ don’ come cryin’ to me when you wind up dead!”

A beat passed and he faltered with a long-winded sigh and defeated slump of the shoulders.

Wind up dead. Because of him? No. He couldn’t allow that. Better follow her. To find her before she found out. To risk her venom and warn her before Angelus took the liberty. Before he killed her out of retribution. Wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something happened that he could have prevented.

“An’ you had the nerve to say you’re not whipped,” he muttered irately under his breath. “Bleedin’ wanker.”

She would be long gone by the time he reached the lobby. His slayer out there in the sunlight. Burdened with herself, with him, marching into territory that she was not prepared for. Readying herself to fight a battle that he could have…

The sewers for him. The sewers that he had once mocked Angel for using because he couldn’t stay away from watching his girl in the daylight. The sewers because he knew they would get him where he needed to go all the quicker. Lowered to that. Because if his selfish pride got in the way of her duty, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Because the world was more interesting with her in it. Enough to make the Slayer of Slayers shrivel with fear at the thought of her absence.

It was perverse. It was disgusting. It was unnatural.

And she drove him crazy.

Ain’t love grand.

On a good day, seeing Xander Harris sprawled on the ground outside what could be considered a Sunnydale slum would have been the cherry on top of the nummiest chocolate Sundae anyone could order. And yet, for whatever reason, the sight provided Spike with no sense of peace, or rest at all. He had spent the better part of his afternoon attempting to track Buffy down and provide all the information he had withheld from their less-than-successful meeting, though the sun had been less than accommodating in his plight. By the time he could maneuver freely, he felt too much had already been wasted.

However, it wasn’t a lost cause until he deemed it so. And William the Bloody was not one to give up so easily.

When the horizon crashed to the inevitable waves of nightfall, something akin to worry began brewing within his chest. Close but no cigar. Spike would not allow himself to worry about her. Not only was it wrong, there was no sense in wasting the energy. She was the Slayer. She could handle herself. She had faced worse. She had faced everything—more than any to proceed her, more than any likely would.

But she was the Slayer, and such came with an unwarranted expiration date.

And it was Angelus.

And there was a rogue Slayer on the loose.

And the odds of two versus one were never good to bet on. Buffy was talented and quick and he had fought her often enough to know to trust her instincts, but she wasn’t invincible. There was a time when he would have scoffed the insinuation that a girl—any girl, sacred calling or not—could render him useless in the seat of a wheelchair. The Slayer was powerful, but the code aligning her existence was weighted in death. There was no way she could overpower both opponents. Not if they struck at the same time.

But he wasn’t worried. No, of course not. He wasn’t worried. Not about her.

He was fairly certain he had overshot worried an hour ago.

Spike prowled the expanse of downtown Sunnydale three times before acknowledging that the Slayer had likely returned to that school of hers. Behind closed doors that weren’t so closed, but remained carefully shut to creatures such as he. He had all but decided to retire at Willy’s—reputation be damned—when he happened across Xander lying in a heap at the side of the road.

And oh, the possibilities. The peroxide vampire wasn’t too terribly familiar with the boy; his own experience with him notwithstanding. Beyond the face-punch and the kidnapping, not much had been learned other than he was willing to do outlandishly stupid things to protect those he loved. Otherwise, Spike had heard a story or a thousand from Angelus the previous year—all laced with seething jealousy and shots of unbridled hatred. He remembered well the tale of how Buffy had used the boy to make his grandsire antsy after returning home that initial summer. The Slayer’s antics amused him, though he couldn’t help the similar twinge of discomfort that shimmied up his spine at the thought of her…well, he preferred not to think about it.

It took all of two seconds for Spike to piece together what had happened. The alley was bathed in Angelus’s scent—followed closely and not outshone by the other Slayer. The rogue. The one he hadn’t had ample time to warn Buffy about in the midst of their recent spat. While it struck him as mildly curious that the Great Poof would leave Xander alive, seeing as the boy annoyed him so, he didn’t care enough to draw the matter out to conclusion. Had that annoying, Buffyesque voice not warned him that leaving the boy was not of the good as far as Slayer points went, he would have turned on his heel and left without a second thought.

As it was…

Bugger.

Spike dragged Xander’s unconscious being out of the road and propped him against the nearest building. The whelp had a bruise on his face the size of Texas and was dozing so peacefully that it nearly surprised him when a low groan perturbed his stillness. It occurred to him that being the first sight the boy’s notably sore eyes would take in might not be in his best interest, and with every notion for withdraw, the Buffy-voice grew louder and more insistent. Besides, if anyone was in doubt of his occupation of Sunnydale, now was no better than later to clear up any potential confusion.

There was simply no sense in hiding when all the good surprises were taken away. Buffy and Willow knew that he was here; everyone else was simply a matter of time.

“Bint better appreciate this,” he growled to the uncaring night air. “Oi, mate. You awake?”

Harris groaned and batted a hand absently.

“Mate?”

Another groan.

“Xander!”

The demanding tone was all the motivation required: the boy’s eyes popped open and he sat forward with demanding insistence. “Okay, Mom, I’m up. I’m up. I’m…” He squinted as he took in the sight before him, not bothering to mask his astonishment. “Spike?”

“No, I’m Spike,” the vampire retorted. “You’re a useless wanker on the side of the road. Now get up an’ tell me where I can find the Slayer.”

Another long, incredulous blink. It was more than obvious that he was still battling fatigue; the vampire had the grim impression that Xander’s revelation would not be as nonviolent were he more alert. “Spike?”

“And again with the observation skills. Pick those up at school?”

“What the…” Vigilance was beginning to come in waves, though the platinum blonde was still amused when Xander absently accepted his hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “What are you…what am I…” A few seconds of harmless wondering, then his eyes shot open wide. “Angel!”

“Am not!” Spike scoffed. “My hair’s actually presentable!”

“No. Angel’s all with the…being of Angelus. The Angelus being. He’s…” Xander paused and gave his companion the once over, and his gaze broadened comically. “And really with the you being Spike…oh God, I was wrong. This day did get worse.”

Spike ignored him, shaking his head generally. His hands coiled nicely in the fabric of Harris’s shirt, and he had the younger man pressed against the wall before he had time to react. “You saw Angelus?” he demanded, though it was more as additive reminder. “Remember where was ‘e headed?”

“Like I’d tell you!” Harris sputtered indignantly.

A scoff and a release. “Prob’ly don’ even know.”

“Do so!”

“Then bloody tell me! I gotta warn the Slayer, mate. Where was he headed?”

Xander arched an eyebrow. “Right. Because that’s oh so convincing. You want me to tell you so that you can warn Buffy? Not, oh say, make her even deader than Angelus aims to? First of all, I trust you about as far as I can throw you. And even though I am well built, that’s not far. That’s barely to the curb…and the only reason you get curb-trust is because I know you didn’t kill Buffy on her birthday when you could have. But that’s the only reason. I’m not about to go make things worse.”

Spike sighed his exasperation and slammed the boy against the bricks for further affect. It didn’t hurt as much as it could have, but it wasn’t the most pleasurable sensation to tickle God’s green planet, either. The vampire knew how much pressure to apply; one of those perks for having enough time for extensive experimentation. “Get off your righteous bloody horse,” he snarled. “The Slayer could be in trouble or dead or God knows what. ’F Angelus is out there, ‘s already worse.”

“Okay, true. But of the two of you, who’s killed the most Slayers?”

There was a heartwarming pause at that. He couldn’t help the fluster of pride that coincided with his nameless recognition. “Well, he couldn’t ever master the right tech…” Spike paused and eyed Xander skeptically. Likely not the best tactical move. “I mean, don’ get your knickers in a twist. I won’t hurt Buffy.”

“And to that, a universal huh?”

The vampire rolled his eyes. “You said so yourself! If I wanted her dead, she would be. Remember? The birthday-incident?”

“I remember her saying that you only kept her alive because it was that or boredom.”

Spike’s gaze narrowed. “Are you really that thick, or do I need to pound it into your skull? Come on, mate. We both know that wasn’ the reason.”

There was a brief moment of recompense before Xander’s eyes opened wide at his blatant insinuation. “Oh really?” he retorted skeptically. “Is there some big, universal reason why a vamp would go out of his way to…” He stopped, shook his head, and started over. “Forget that. I don’t even wanna go there.”

“Jus’ tell me if you’ve seen her! I’ve looked all over bloody downtown an’—”

“So you could…what? Take that shot that you purposefully left open when you—”

“God, is this how you an’ your mates live your lives? Wander around an’ wonder why I din’t drain your Slayer?” Spike shook his head incredulously and indulged a few steps back, chuckling without mirth. “It’s the same bloody thing all over. Will has all these wonky ideas about actual feelings an’ the like. Slayer thinks I used her for…” He trailed off when he realized Xander wasn’t following him around his easily confused bends.

It was just as well. Buffy wouldn’t want him sharing all of their dirty little secrets. Hell, she would likely stake him if he so much as hinted as to what truly transpired the night that had changed everything.

At that, Red’s voice from the night before came soaring back to homeplate. But if you hate her, why do you care what she wants? I wouldn’t think that’d be a priority. Lousy witch. What did she know?

A bloody lot, the vampire grumbled inwardly.

Xander was still staring at him blankly. Finally, when he tired of trying to piece the Brit’s logic into any structure that would appear coherent, he shook his head and demanded, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothin’.”

“Did you see Willow last night?”

A pause. “No.”

“’Cause I definitely heard something to the effect of Willowness in that little onslaught of nonsense.”

“Then you’re wonkier than you look. I—”

“Who all knows you’re here?” Harris demanded. “Am I the last…again? God, this is so typical. First with the crashing through sign plus beating up Wes—which, by the way, bonus—and now with the…God, no wonder everyone looked all ‘duh’ when I announced you were in town. It’s not really a mystery, is it? Can’t let Xander in on the fun, now can we? Sheesh, I might as well move to Zimbabwe. Maybe then they’d—”

Spike sighed, bored. “Are you gonna prattle on all night like a useless wanker, or am I gonna have to torture you for information?”

If the vampire wasn’t already feeling helpless, he certainly fell back a few notches at the indifferent look the notably empty threat received in return. When he couldn’t strike fear into Xander, he knew something was off. Even more so than falling topsy turvey for the sake of she who was the enemy. The world was bloody wonky, and he was serving only as its helpless pawn in the continued mission to make him as miserable as possible.

“Please,” the boy snickered, ignoring the scowl he earned. A hand came up and he started counting off rhetorically. “You didn’t kill Buffy when you had the chance. You didn’t kill Wes when you came into town. You didn’t kill Wills last night, so I’m thinking you probably won’t kill me.”

“You sure you wanna test that theory? Already your chirping has annoyed me more to death than I thought possible.”

“Wesley,” Xander pointed out. “He’s alive. And way more annoying than me.”

“You really wanna wager on that?”

“Please. You haven’t even tried to bite me. And we’ve been out here for ten minutes. Not to mention, you found me unconscious.”

Spike sulked a bit, not wanting to concede that he had a point, even if said point was fairly obvious. “No need to rub it in,” he pouted. “But you’re just wastin’ time. I need to know where the Slayer is.”

“Why would I help you?”

The vampire closed his eyes tightly as his fists clenched to keep from lashing out. The urge was becoming intolerable. “Because,” he said slowly, deliberately. “If you don’t, Buffy’s gonna end up with a severe case of dead. Her honey’s out there, ripe an’ willin’ to tear up this bloody town, like you said all of five minutes ago. I’m your best shot, what with your back-up bird bein’ right there along with him.”

It was then that he noted the conviction in the other man’s eyes begin to waver. The sort that would tumble at the cost of every value upheld in his view of acceptability. There was no doubt in Spike’s mind that Xander would crack at that, but for the first time he saw what the move would mean for him. The willful acknowledgement that while demons were the bane of his existence, it wouldn’t hurt him to trust one in order to pull for the greater good. It might hurt him to recognize, but it was essential. And the boy was willing to take that step.

“Look,” he said shortly. “I rather seriously doubt that she’s there, but I called Giles at the library and he hadn’t heard from her since I gave her the lead on the…whatever, but she was definitely planning on heading to her house afterwards for supplies. Since there has been no news, I’m guessing she got distracted or a big on the books.”

“The Books of Ascension?” the vampire echoed.

“Right.” Xander paused. “How’d you know that?”

Spike waved generally. “Ask later. When was this?”

“No, I think I’m asking now.”

“Do you want to see her dead or not?” An uncomfortable moment passed and the boy caved again. There was no good reason to other than the alleged well intent sparkling behind the enemy’s eyes. The very same that he was fool to trust, even if he knew it was for the right reasons.

“Couple hours ago,” Harris murmured in reply.

A nod. Couple hours. Right after she left him at the demon’s apartment.

“If she…” Spike trailed off and shook his head, features hardening with resolve. “You better head on back to your chums,” he said. “Maybe she’s called since. If they haven’t heard from her…God, I don’t even wanna think about it. I’ll head over to the mansion an’ see what’s going on. That’s the only safe place for him…Peaches an’ his new dish. If they have her, it’ll be there.” His eyes set coldly. “An’ he’ll be torturing her.”

There was a long beat of uncomfortable silence. Xander cleared his throat.

“Well,” he began. “If that’s the case…”

“Right. ‘m off.”

The vampire didn’t make it ten paces before facing another interruption. However, Harris’s voice was lower—almost curious—and he could fool himself for a minute that the prejudice that held him firmly grounded was taking a brief leave for the namesake of a common plight.

“Spike?”

He didn’t even bother to turn around. “Yeah?”

“Just out of curiosity, and this by no means excuses your permanent status as a thorn in my side—not to mention all sides everywhere—but why do you care?”

His lips quirked slightly at that, and he looked every-so-slightly over his shoulder. “’Cause the world’s a wonky place, mate,” he answered honestly. “I’m jus’ followin’ my blood. An’ right now, my blood’s telling me to protect her.”

“Good. But if that ‘protect’ turns into ‘eat’, you know I’m gonna have to take you out, right?”

At that, he couldn’t help it; he spared a bark of laughter. A few naughty pictures fluttered in and out of suggestion, but he knew better than to voice them. “Right,” he agreed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

To say that Giles was unaccustomed to worrying about his Slayer would have been more than misleading, but after three years, he knew enough not to let his apprehension control his already overactive nerves. Buffy was efficient; she was hardly reliable when it came to such idle concerns as reporting in and double checking to be sure that all went well in the land of demon-hunting. However, the past few weeks had known a difference in stride. She had been behaving oddly, but with more caution than he could have asked for. Nightly patrols concluded with calls and reports—usually a check-up on Faith’s behavior. He had grown accustomed to it. Now it was nearing twilight, and word had yet to come in.

He knew he should not worry. After all, it was Buffy. And yet worrying was being done.

It was rather ironic that her attentiveness had strengthened since Wesley’s arrival. As though she was compensating for his release by attempting to be the Slayer he had encouraged her to be throughout his tenure as active Watcher.

Giles occupied himself with books in the meantime, trying to block out the shrill of the younger Watcher’s complaints. He had been going on for the better part of a half hour about the negligence of either Slayer, demanding to know what this ‘Spike’ business entailed, and pouting remorselessly when answers were denied.

Not everything fell under the subheading of all for not. With research on the Ascension pending, information and speculation about Mayor Wilkins was running on leaps and bounds and into the limelight of rationality. However, when Oz revealed that the man in question had indeed been alive for approximately one hundred years, shards of new knowledge and theory burst with vibrant luminosity.

It was Wesley who decided to offer the brilliant; “He’s not human,” observation, earning a wide variety of looks that all resulted in the natural conclusion of ‘duh.’ And yet, despite the levity of the situation and the hope presented with a bevy of new information, the elder Watcher was not at rest.

Hours had passed and Buffy had not checked in. She never checked in, but it was bothering him.

“I hate to spoil the mood,” a familiar voice said as he entered the library, attracting five pairs of eyes up with a continuous ‘what now’ insistence. “But this is so much worse than you think.”

Willow’s brow furrowed in concern. “Xander, what happened to you?”

“The question is more, what didn’t happen to me?” The boy flexed his shoulders with a weary sigh. “For someone who’s constantly out of the loop, I do have a lot of things happen to me. And again with the not knowing where to begin.”

“Is this about the Mayor?” Wesley asked, maneuvering around the table with pert interest. “Did you find something?”

“Oh no. When I say worse, I mean worse.” Xander’s eyes wandered back to Willow, and he all but chuckled at the confusion written plainly across her face. “You know how some people hate to say I told you so? Not me. I told you so. Angel's back in the really bad sense, and uh, I told you so.”

A long still beat settled through the library.

The younger Watcher stepped forward with the utmost seriousness. “Angelus has turned? Xander, this is terribly serious. Are you sure?”

He rolled his eyes and gestured to the growing swell on his face, managing to withhold a snicker as everyone gasped with newfound realization. Was the mark invisible? It certainly didn’t feel like it. “Gee, let me think. Kind of hard to tell. Last thing I remember was his fist. And then Spike.”

“Spike?” Willow asked weakly. “He was there, too?”

“No. He came later. Was off spurting a bunch of nonsense about…well, I guess it’s not exactly nonsense. The guy seemed really wigged about the potential ‘impending slaughter that is Buffy’ department.” Xander paused dramatically. “Call me crazy, but I think there’s something going on between the two of them.”

Cordelia made a face. “Buffy and that peroxided moron? Oh, gross. Her lack of taste is becoming clinically serious. At least Angel knows the basic essentials of hair-care. I shudder to think of how that bleach has—”

“Okay, slightly more serious than the accessorizing part of Buffy’s new love-life,” Xander interjected sharply, tossing Willow an annoyed glance. “How about the soulless part? The evil ‘he’s tried to kill us, let’s list the ways’ part. How about the murdering half of Europe part? Or—”

“He’s different now,” the Witch murmured.

“Is that right?”

“Way! He’s so completely…” She flushed and glanced down. “I mean…I wouldn’t know.”

“Kinda blew that cover, Will,” Oz informed her with a gentle smile.

She returned the glance as best as possible, but her eyes were wide with conviction. “Okay, so I ran into the guy last night,” she confessed. “I was on my way back from…well, it doesn’t matter. And yeah—we talked. Quite a bit, actually. He was all drunk and mopey and—”

“So you naturally assumed that he’s an all right guy now?” Xander demanded irately.

Willow shook her head rapidly. “No! Oh God, no! No, I was very much on my toes. Of the really. I’ve seen drunk, irrational Spike before, remember? He said about a thousand times that he was all evil-like and didn’t care about Buffy, but…I dunno, the vibes he was giving off were really…ummm, not evil? He was in pain of the massive sort. I think it’s because Buffy gave him the brush-off. But he is different. I know that much. He even walked me home.”

“Okay, rewind,” Cordelia interjected. “You let drunken Spike walk you home?”

She shrugged. “He kinda insisted. Thought there’d be some beasties or whatnot on the way home. Said Buffy wouldn’t take it kindly if I got myself all dead.” A still beat waved through the library at this new information, and lasted until the Witch couldn’t contain herself. “He’s so smitten.”

“Spike’s smitten?”

“Very smitten. Won’t admit it, though. Had a wig attack of the large variety when I called him on his ‘I love Buffy’ Freudian slip.”

Xander looked nauseous. “Okay, so first he’s smitten, and now he loves her?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Willow decided the next second. “I think he’s confused. Hell, I’m confused about his confusion. And it’s obvious that Buffy’s confused. But at least they can be confused together. Or…there…”

“Sorry if I don’t feel like bursting into glorious song about my best friend going out with another vampire…one that doesn’t even need a happy to go all ‘kill her friends’-ish.”

Wesley stepped forward at a diminutive attempt to play his nonexistent authority. “As riveting as this all is,” he said, clearing his throat, “it is highly irrelevant. There are more important matters abound. Xander, where did Spike go after you two parted ways?”

“To the mansion. He was…” The boy stopped and blinked as though he needing to stutter over his own words. Funny how this hadn’t seemed at all peculiar fifteen minutes earlier. “He was worried about Buffy. Thinks that Angelus and Faith might—”

“Faith?” Willow echoed helplessly.

“Oh, did I leave out the best part? Guess who's Angel's new playmate?”

Cordelia snickered. “Kinda late to guess, Mr. Revelation Man.”

The Witch had effectively caught whatever epidemic had seized Xander and looked a bit woozy. “Faith and Angel? Together?”

Xander snickered. “Imagine the possibilities.”

Throughout the entire debate, Giles stood soundlessly in the back, attempting to absorb everything on a level of rationality. He knew he could not allow himself to dwell long, though he couldn’t find the willpower to move. A cold flush had settled through him and it lacked direction in where to resolve. There was simply too much to accept all at once. The knowledge of his Slayer’s imminent danger. The revelation of her relationship with one of the most dangerous vampires in history. The compilation of the Mayor’s unraveling plan as well as oncoming verification of Faith’s treachery. It was all too much to take.

Most importantly, she was in Angel’s clutches. And she didn’t know.

When a Watcher of his experience drew the line, it was definitive. He wasn’t sure where one thread of worry ended and another began.

She didn’t know. He hadn’t told her. She had left before he could tell her.

“Angel hasn’t transformed,” he said softly.

The entire flow of movement in the foyer came to a definitive standstill as all eyes landed on him in open-mouthed horror.

“People!” Cordelia exclaimed, exasperated. “Which is it? Soulless or soulful? Make up your minds, already!”

“And to that, the entire room said, ‘Huh’?” Xander took several furious steps forward. “How is he not evil? As I recall, claiming me as his personal punching bag was a characteristic of the evil Angel, not the we-tolerate-him-when-Buffy-makes-us Angel.”

The elder Watcher shook his head gravely. “The Mayor put a contract out on Angel’s soul,” he explained. “It was his misfortune that he chose to remove it through means of an old acquaintance of mine. Once it was revealed what the Mayor intended, my friend came to me and shared everything. Angel is only playing the part of Angelus as a farce so that he might extract as much information about the Ascension from Faith as…” He paled and trailed off. “I had hoped that Buffy would set the entire thing up with him before…but given the tension between the two of them recently, I took it upon myself. And today, she left before I could…”

Comprehension came in waves, and everyone’s gaze transformed from revolutionary to accusatory.

“You let her leave here without telling her?” Willow all but screamed.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Giles protested. “She was out the door before I could—”

“And you didn’t chase her down?!”

“Yes, yes. We’ve established that I’m a complete and utter git, all right?” The matter might have been pressed from several angles had everyone not noted how visibly the Watcher was shaking. “I really thought she would have checked in before…before…”

“Umm, Giles,” Willow said meekly. “This is Buffy. Remember?”

“There is every possibility that this can work in our advantage,” Wesley volunteered. “If Buffy truly believes that Angel has turned, her performance of reaction will be all the more convincing.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed. “And how exactly will she react to the Spike factor? He’s on his way to ‘save’ her right now.”

A foray of troubled glances was exchanged—all except from Cordelia, who looked beyond bored, and Oz, who remained forever indifferent.

“Well,” Willow said finally, color still drained from her face. “Buffy was wondering what it would take to know how she felt about him. Guess she’s about to find out.”

“Did I mention that I have a bad feeling about this?” Xander wondered feebly.

“I think it’s a given,” Oz offered in his customary monotone.

“Yeah. Figured. Just felt the need to say it.”

Willow shook her head with a sigh. “You’re not the only one.”

Buffy couldn’t believe her ears. It was right there; right before her, and she refused to accept it. Refused herself that line of plausibility. Every nerve in her body was numb with the purity of astonishment. The blood in her veins ran cold, and she was sure every demon within convenient proximity could hear the calamitous pounding of her heart.

Déjà vu in the worst sense imaginable. That familiar dread that grasped her heart. The falling of her stomach as she felt herself crumple from the inside. The downward spiral that surged through her veins as she shoved the end of a sword into her lover’s gut. Complete and utter despair. The need to die in retribution to feeling it had happened already. All over again. A measure of redundancy.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted…

A tiny irrational voice wished that Spike was with her, if only to remind her that she wasn’t who she had been a year ago.

Buffy blinked and indulged a series of rapid breaths, but the scene before her refused to change. Angel. No, not Angel. Angelus. He was Angelus. That gleam. That tone. The face that belonged to another. Angelus.

Angelus was back.

Tears welled in her eyes as she battled the scream that climbed up her throat from escaping. No, she wouldn’t allow him to see her distress. She wouldn’t give him that much power. She wouldn’t let him know that every part of her was breaking. Kill him. That’s what she had to do. She had to kill him. She had to call Willow and get her to do the spell again. She had to do something.

She had to not cry.

She had to escape.

She had to escape now.

Angelus was advancing, favoring her with a lavish leer. The neon of his eyes sparkled with ferocious intensity, and he ran his tongue along the side of his incisors. “You know, I never properly thanked you for sending me to Hell.”

That was it. Her willpower broke. Her knowledge to hold on remained steadfast, but her strength wavered as she felt every sensation in her body collapse. “No,” she protest pitifully.

If anything, her reaction encouraged him. The smirk on his face was unbearable. “Yeah, and I'm just wondering where do I start? Card? Fruit basket?” Somehow, he had gotten near enough to grab her by the shoulders and pull her flush against him. “Evisceration?”

Kick him away! the Slayer within screamed. Don’t turn into a talking doll! Do you want him to kill you? And yet she was firm in her denial, unable to stop her tears from trailing down her cheeks. “No.”

“Yeah, I know what you're thinking,” Angelus continued conversationally. “Maybe there's still some good deep down inside of me that remembers and loves you. If only you could reach me. Then again, we have reality.”

For whatever reason, that seemed to break her out of her daze. Buffy’s façade hardened and she glanced up through her tears. “Never happen,” she spat, utilizing her superior strength to wriggle away, surprised when he didn’t put up more of a fight. Then again, Angelus loved the chase. It had always been more important than any part of the outcome to him. “I will kill you before I let you touch me.” She began retreating slowly, eyes never leaving the shadow of her boyfriend, ignoring the singsong, Told you so, told you so’ that sounded internally at full volume for her negligence in seeing this from the beginning. “Faith, we need to get out of here. Now.”

She whirled just in time to see the Slayer in question reclined quite comfortably against the entryway, arms crossed and an eerie look of complacence on her face. “Speak for yourself, B. Me, I like it here.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in realization, and she felt herself shatter even further. Faith. Angel. Angelus. Oh god oh god oh god.

Once more, her mind called out for Spike. Stunning and quick, as though coming to that lasting resolve. Such surprised her but didn’t; she wouldn’t second-guess herself now. It was the last thing she would remember. The world around her collapsed as stars blocked her vision, and she fell to the ground at the force of impact. A whirlpool of blackness consumed her, and then nothing at all.

All was still.

She was having the most ridiculous dream.

Spike and Angel were racing each other to see who could get to the edge of the cliff the fastest, giggling like children. It was Spike who reached the edge, turning to his grandsire with a cocked head. “You think she’s up for a round yet?” he asked.

“Timing’s not nearly right,” Angel retorted, casting a glance over his shoulder where the scenery melted from the sunny outdoors to the cold of his mansion. She saw herself chained to a wall, and where Angelus was preoccupied with the bonds. “She needs softening before we have our fun.”

“Fun’s not to be had.” Spike again. He sounded more and more distant with every word. “She doesn’ like me to have my fun. It’s all tease the vamp around the mulberry bush. Not you, though, mate. She’s having a gay ole time tryin’ to wager which one of us gets the trophy at the end of the tunnel. Fancy makin’ another round before she names the winner?”

“Sorry,” Angel replied. “I can’t. Terribly busy.” He nodded discreetly to the wall, eyes blazing. “Slayer’s all tied up. Gotta play.”

Spike pouted at that, fidgeting his displeasure. “But don’ you care about the trophy?” he demanded. “Needs tending to. Won’t know who wins unless we race. I promise I won’ cheat. I’ll wager my smokes against it. But I want that soddin’ trophy.”

“Take the trophy,” Angelus conceded, not even sparing a glance in their direction as he admired one of the finer swords from Angel’s private collection. “The race doesn’t matter to us, boy. You should have learned that a long time ago.”

“It’s no fun if I just take it,” Spike complained. “An’ you’ll jus’ steal it from me.”

Angel shrugged, walking toward his counterpart. “You’re right.”

“We probably will,” Angelus agreed, shrugging apologetically. “But you can have fun with it until we’re ready to put it on our mantle.”

“So you jus’ plan to keep her there?” Spike wondered incredulously. “Slayer doesn’ like to be kept. She’s gonna fight you for the title.”

“That’s fine,” Angel replied. “We like it when she squirms.”

Something hard shoved at her brain, and the three chatting vamps faded into a blur of nothingness. Someone was tugging at her, pulling at her arms. Her arms were tied. Tied behind her. Tied but…

Someone was kneeling before her. Her memory returned in shards. Someone. Angelus. Faith. They were at the mansion. Because Angel was now Angelus, and he was with Faith. Because she liked it here.

Oh God.

And no one knew where she was. Her mother did, of course, but by the time that she spoke to Giles or any of the Scoobies, the worst would have already been done.

There’s Spike.

Buffy shook her head inwardly. He won’t come. He doesn’t care.

Someone breathed a cold breath into her stomach, chilling her skin even through layers of clothing. “Now, now,” a familiar, overdrawn voice spat. The same that had starred in too many nightmares to count. “No need to play possum, Buf. Fun can’t be had until you’re awake.”

A sigh tore through her lips, her jaw clenching as her eyes reluctantly obeyed. He was right before her, staring up at her with the same gaze that had the ability to penetrate every nerve in her body. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted conversationally, grinning. “You know what I just can't believe? All of our time together and we never tried chains. Well, can't dwell on the past, especially with the future we have ahead.”

Buffy was quite certain that she had never hated anyone in her entire life like she hated Angelus right now.

“Bondage looks good on you, B. The outfit's all wrong, but, hey.”

Well, maybe not. It was a close tie.

She shot her raven-haired mutinous ally a look that could freeze hell. “Don’t talk to me,” she snapped.

“Oh, the girl’s all feisty!”

There was no way Faith had any measurable idea what she was getting herself into. A partnership with Angelus? He could barely maintain his deals with demon cronies, and unlike his grandchilde, forming alliances with slayers was not his modus operandi. Turning on Faith would be Angelus’s first move after he was done with Buffy. Two slayers in one day. Talk about bragging rights.

And Faith couldn’t see it.

That was just too…priceless.

Evidently, the other Slayer didn’t agree, for when Buffy crumbled into high-pitched, near-mad giggles, the other girl’s confidence slowly melted into confusion.

“What’s so funny?” Faith demanded.

“You.”

“Big talk for a girl who’s all chained up.”

Buffy shook her head, laughing still. “You don't know what you're doing.”

Faith climbed eagerly to her feet. “Really?” she replied. “Weird, because something about all this just feels so right. Maybe it's one of those unhappy childhood things.” Oh God. Was she going to go into some melodramatic explanation that somehow justified for handing her associate over to a deranged psychopath? That was so 1960s James Bond. “See, when I was a kid I used to beg my mom for a dog. Didn't matter what kind. I just wanted, you know, something to love.”

At that point, Faith found it absolutely essential to pull Angelus down for a round of tonsil cleansing. If the sight was to prompt a jealous reaction, then her captors were far behind the times. The reservations she had earlier that afternoon remained as pertinent as ever, though for whatever reason, watching her would-be boyfriend mack on the one chick that was making life particularly difficult failed to register as anything but…boring. And sort of gross.

Besides, she and Spike had been doing that very thing only a few hours ago. Only a lot better, from the looks of it. Of course, she couldn’t actually see herself when she was engaged in kissage, but she knew how Angel tasted, and while it wasn’t fair to play favorites…

They were still kissing. Buffy decided not to worry about what was and wasn’t fair. She was being forced to witness the other girl get her freak on with her mortal enemy. Wiggins of the massive variety.

Oh, thank God. Faith came up for air. She turned back to her, and somehow, Buffy managed to look irritated and hurt. “A dog's all I wanted,” the raven-haired loony continued. “Well, that and toys.” In manner of Vana White, Faith lifted a blanket off a small table at her feet to reveal an array of various torture instruments. Though subtle, the act alone was enough to draw Buffy back to a state of realization. This was of the very bad. Torture time with a slayer and Angelus? Not exactly her idea of fun.

“But Mom was so busy, you know, enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life that I never really got what I wanted. Until now.”

Buffy inhaled sharply, deciding to go for rational. If there was any hope of getting out of there alive, she had to reach Faith on some level where they understood each other. “Faith, listen to me very closely,” she said slowly. “Angel's a killer. When he's done with me, he'll turn on you.”

Angelus glanced up with a slow, frightening grin. “She's right. I probably will.”

Faith paused in thought, and while she would never admit it, Buffy knew a flash of fear when she saw one. “Yeah? Hmmm. Guess we'll just have to keep you around for a while then.”

That was better than nothing. A while meant that her friends had a greater chance of finding her before the ‘being dead’ part sank in.

“Before we get started,” Faith continued. “I just want you to know, if you're a screamer, feel free.”

In spite of herself, Buffy snickered. “Yeah. That’s happening.”

“Just thought I’d make the offer.”

“I scream for no one.”

Angelus cocked his head curiously. “Not how Spike tells it.”

She blinked at him numbly, then relaxed. There was no reason to keep it a secret anymore. No reason to keep anyone in the dark. Not with Angel gone—not with Angelus in his place. The thing she had tried to forget.

Her British vampire, even at his worst, he was never that blatantly…demony. Of course, he would likely resent the notion; that didn’t make it any less true. Spike could be damn scary when he put his mind to it, but he very rarely made the conscious effort. She had held a stake to Drusilla’s heart and won the day. She had made a deal with him and saved the world. She had been locked with him for hours on end and revealed more about herself than she ever cared to admit. Shared more than she thought she would with someone who wasn’t Angel. A vampire who wasn’t Angel.

Looking at Angelus now, Buffy couldn’t be gladder that Spike wasn’t Angel. She just wished he were with her.

What to say to the demon that already knows everything?

“Well,” Buffy began conversationally. “There are just some men who bring out the screamer in me. So sorry if you don’t measure up.”

She could have sworn a fleeting glance of hurt flashed across his eyes, and a pang struck her heart. However, before she could dwell, Faith had cackled in amusement and clapped her hands together. “So I was right!” she squealed delightedly. “You and the platinum sex-pot were doing the horizontal tango all along. Wow, B. Getting your funky on with yet another vampire. ‘Course, that one being of the soulless variety, I can see where the attraction is. William the Fabulously Fucking Bloody. Kudos. You have to be the kinkiest slayer in history.”

Buffy shrugged. “At least mine’s guaranteed to not kill me directly afterwards.”

“Oh no?” Angelus retorted stingingly. “Is that what you think? Silly girl. You really don’t know him at all, do you? Granted, poor William never really knew where to stick it with any form of success, but let me guarantee you, sweetheart…if he’s fucking with you, it’s because he thinks he can get something out of it. Something beyond slayer pussy. He’ll wear away his penchant for taking what’s mine because I did the same to him, but when the novelty’s gone, he’ll snap your neck just like the rest of them. He always has had an unhealthy obsession with slayers. Likely just wanted to know what I saw in you.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Spike just loves to taste what I’ve grown out of. Why do you think he took to Drusilla so…easily?”

Another barb that was designated to hurt more than it did. Buffy had learned long ago to take everything Angelus said with a grain of salt.

You’ve got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. But I guess you proved that last night.

The churning in her stomach was familiar.

As was the near-instantaneous detour to another night, more vibrant in her memory. Spike caressing her temples with the feather light touch of his fingertips. Whispering into her hair, caressing her skin with his lips. Holding her as she’d never been held.

The sincerity in Spike’s touch outmatched anything that Angelus tried to make her believe.

“Not the way he tells it,” Buffy retorted. “And let’s just say, for the record, that he did not pursue me at all. What happened between us is and will always remain our business. You might have grown out of me, Angelus, but I think it’s safe to say that Spike grew into me quite…nicely.”

There it was again; that telling flicker behind the demon’s eyes that made her insides flush cold. The very same that took the fun out of returning his snide with a bit of her own. Again, Buffy was forced to draw herself back from the line. Despite appearances, there was no way that Angelus would reveal so much through a simple look. It was difficult enough to get his soulful counterpart to acknowledge when something was on the outs. To see him react so negatively to an arbitrary mention of Spike…

Oh. My. God.

Buffy’s eyes went wide with realization, and when she met his once more, she understood.

It wasn’t Angelus. It was Angel. It was still Angel.

There was no sense in looking apologetic. While she was horrified, there was nothing to apologize for. It was finally out in the open. She was scorned and tired of hiding it. Watching him play the part of her greater nemesis served as one of the more potent wake-up calls in her short duration of existence.

This was the face of everything Angel kept at bay all the time.

This was Angelus.

The other vampire—her vampire—the vampire that had held her, caressed her, murmured appraising notes of cindered nostalgia against her lips…he was soulless. Spike was soulless. And yet he managed to express more feeling than her so-called boyfriend ever had. Angel or Angelus…neither could hope to match him.

Buffy had known it for a long time now. A very long time. She’d just wanted to hold on. A part of her had been unwilling to let go. Angel was her past, and letting go of her past meant growing up. Meant becoming a woman.

Meant embracing something that terrified her.

Spike.

“You vapid little vampire whore,” Faith sneered appraisingly. “Again with the not thinking you had the stones to strut your stuff. ‘Course, we really can’t be surprised, can we, Angel? After all, she was trapped with him for…how long was it? Not even an entire day? Yeah, she really needed your soulful half bad if that was all the persuasion it took to—”

“That’s enough,” Buffy snapped.

“Oh, don’t get testy on me now, B. You’re the one gettin’ all the practice being a vampire cum-bucket.”

“So, what? You turned Angel because you were jealous? Wanted to know what it was like, and didn’t take my ‘leave it be’ speech to heart?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about you. It never was.”

“And yet, here I am all chained up. Huh.”

“Where you see prospect, I see bonus.”

Buffy’s head titled inquisitively, allowing her tone to drop as her eyes widened in a desperate need to understand. “Why, Faith?” she asked softly. “The sudden one-eighty? Was the first taste of blood not enough for you? You killed a guy and can’t stay on the ‘humans equal good’ wagon? I really want to know what the big is. What’s in it for you?”

Faith just laughed and shook her head as though disappointed. “What’s in it for me?” she repeated incredulously. “The real question, B, is what isn’t. You know, I came to Sunnydale. I'm the Slayer. I do my job—kicking ass better than anyone. What do I hear about everywhere I go? Buffy. So I slay, I behave, I do the good little girl routine. And who does everybody thank? Buffy.”

Buffy began struggling futilely against her restraints, eyes widening when she noted they weren’t tied as tightly as she was originally led to believe. Her gaze briefly averted to Angel, who was still not looking at her. “It’s not my fault,” she said desperately.

“Everybody always asks, why can't you be more like Buffy?” Faith continued. “‘Yeah, Faith. Be more like Buffy. Screw as many vamps as you can. Get a feel for the big long cold between your thighs.’ Oh yeah, be like Buffy. Seems like a sound plan. But did anyone ever ask if you could be more like me?”

A flicker of anger flashed across Angel’s face and he glanced up meaningfully. “I know I didn't.” He cocked his head. “Though perhaps in retrospect, I should have.”

Faith snickered appreciatively before turning her attention back to their captive. “You get the Watcher. You get the mom. You get the little Scooby gang. Hell, you get the vamp gangbangs, for Chrissake! I do exactly what I’m supposed to, and what do I get? Jack squat. This is supposed to be my town!”

Buffy jerked again. “Faith, listen to me!”

“Why? So you can impart some special Buffy wisdom, that it? Do you think you're better than me? Fuck B, you’re more screwed up than I am, and you can still come off as all holier-than-thou. Psh. Better than me.” Faith shook her head and turned around, raising a challenging hand. “Do you think it? Do you? Say it, you think you're better than me.”

At that, Buffy paused. So that’s how we’re going to play this, huh?

There was only one way to answer that inquiry and get any sort of response. And she knew it.

Helped even more that it was true.

Thus, deliberately, the elder Buffy concluded, “I am.” She had to bite back a victorious grin when Faith, stunned, slowly turned to face her, pinning her with a dubious glare. Buffy didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. She just continued. “Always have been.”

“Um, maybe you didn't notice…or maybe you did, but didn’t recognize a good thing when you had one.” Faith slipped her arm through Angel’s, curling into his side. “Angel's with me.”

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, something insipid and overly dramatic, but her words were stolen directly off her lips with the sudden disruption of the most welcome voice she’d ever heard in her life.

“Oh, she noticed,” the British vampire drawled, removing the cigarette that was wedged between his lips and blowing a deliberate stream of smoke in his grandsire’s direction. “Prob’ly jus’ too busy rejoicing on the inside to even pretend to care a lick. An’ honestly, Peaches. Despite our differences, I always figured your standards for goin’ up, not down. Gotta say, I’m disappointed.”

The air froze with uncertainty. Buffy’s insides flooded with warmth. Spike was here. Angel wasn’t Angelus, and she wasn’t in trouble. Not really. And things were about to get really hairy, but none of that mattered, because Spike was here.

Spike had come for her. He had come for her.

At the moment, that was all that mattered.

It was the sort of silence that lasted forever—stretching and spanning the sand of time. As though the three pairs of eyes in the room had fleetingly forgotten an outside world existed at all, and suddenly an intruder walked among them. An intruder. William the Bloody: standing only yards away in snarky defiance for all to see.

Buffy would have liked to assume that Angel was simply stunned speechless, but she knew the truth. Her kinda-boyfriend wasn’t a man of too many words, unlike his unruly childe, thus stunned silence was the only reaction he could offer.

“’Course,” Spike continued, strolling forward leisurely. “You did go all bug-shagging crazy about this time last year an’ started fucking Dru. Gotta tell yeh, mate…as much as I bless her wicked li’l heart, it’d take somethin’ mighty powerful to drag me away from such…oh, how to put it…warmth.” He refused to look at her; instead cocking his head and searched his elder for a reaction. “An’ to believe,” he concluded, “they always said you were the thinker in the family. Spoutin’ this an’ that an’ the like about philosophy, the apocalypse, an’ all that other rot. Don’t rightly see how you could leave such a delicacy all untended an’—”

The entranced look on the raven-haired slayer’s face rapidly melted into boredom. With a roll of the eyes, she nudged Angel and quirked a brow. “Does he always talk this much?”

At that, Buffy couldn’t help it; she spared her surrogate evil-stepsister a grin and shook her head. “Trust me,” she drawled. “You’re getting the Cliff’s Notes version.”

Spike smiled devilishly and finally allowed his eyes to meet hers. “Don’t remember you complainin’ much, luv,” he observed. “’Course after a while, we weren’t so occupied with the talking.”

“Either that or I tuned you out,” she replied, though she couldn’t do anything to banish her smile. “I don’t seem to remember you ever shutting your yap.”

“Again, you’re not one to throw stones.” The grin tickling his lips broadened and he tossed a tantalizing glance in Angel’s direction. “Whatever you said to her, mate, the day after, I gotta thank you for it. She an’ I had a hell of a time proving you wrong.”

A flurry of objection swarmed instinctively in Buffy’s stomach. Her mind was stuck on constant replay, unwilling to fully accept what her eyes were telling her. He was here. Spike was here. Despite everything that had happened in the past few days, everything she had told him to thoroughly eradicate his affection for her, he was here. He had come for her.

That didn’t mean she was dumb enough to believe they wouldn’t return to their biting trades and snappy insults once free from scrutiny, but for the moment, Spike had seemingly forgotten the nastiness between them. Whatever had happened—whatever she’d said—was not enough to erase his feeling or sense of aptly-timed chivalry. And true, the sense of danger was not as potent as she’d originally believed it to be, but the feeling was there all the same.

She was worth enough to him to follow, to rescue even after the way she had left him. The things she had said. He had come for her anyway.

“Right,” Faith said, snapping her out of her reverie. “With as fun as it is watching you two reminisce, your timing’s a little off, Spikey. Angel and me, we were just about to torture the hell out of B for kicks. You’re welcome to join, of course—givers and receivers are both encouraged.”

“Not gonna happen, pet, in any regard.”

Angel snickered. “You’ve resolved yourself to white armor then?” he demanded. “All for the sake of your prey? Honestly, William. To think you once had the gall to call me whipped.”

“Point being?” Spike retorted, his brows perking. “If you’re not gonna say anything interestin’, I’d appreciate it if you stepped aside. Got me a lady to rescue.”

“And she’ll…what?” Angel demanded skeptically. “Fall into your arms? Gotta tell you, Spike, all that close, personal time we’ve spent together since you skipped town? Not exactly reading that she wants you that badly.”

Buffy was tempted to call him on that but forced herself to remain silent. If Angel kept up this charade, Faith would know the truth and everything would be over. They needed to maintain the façade of Angelus until they had the needed information retracted from her—then they could run off, for all she cared. The longstanding vindictiveness pouring from her boyfriend’s mouth, while more than justified, wasn’t scoring any last-minute warm fuzzies.

“Obviously, your sense of smell has been fried by the constant subjection to that bloody awful rot you put in your hair,” Spike returned coolly. “With as much as I’ve been following the both of you these past couple days, I gotta say you’re not the one getting her worked up…” He leaned forward on his heels, unable to bat away the cocky grin spurned on his lips with sweet retribution. “Mate.”

“Has everyone forgotten the torture part of torture sessions?” Faith demanded irately. “Getting kinda bored, people!”

“Occupational hazard when you work with him,” Spike replied, nodding at his grandsire. “An’—think I was clear a second ago—you go near her an’ you’re gonna lose something.”

“You’re threatening me?” she replied, brows arching. “You? Oh, please. You’re about as scary as Angel was with a soul, and likely twice as whipped. I’m thinkin’ that when all’s said and done and you put your money where your mouth is, that you know deep down that Little Miss Buff won’t touch you if you soil one of her dainty humans.”

Spike paused at that, allowing his gaze to travel to Buffy once more, this time taking in her appearance. “You think?” he returned speculatively, eyes not leaving hers. “The Slayer doesn’ seem too happy. Something tells me she wouldn’t spend much time crying over the likes of you.”

“Better watch your pronoun agreement there,” Faith snapped, prowling forward with a stake that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. “B’s not the first, last, and only anymore, or didn’t you get the memo? And seeing as I’m not the one who’s all tied up, I’d wipe that dumbass smirk off your face and realize that you’re in way over your head. Your girl’s not going anywhere for a while, and unless you’re jonesing to join her, I’d skedaddle. Things around here are looking to get messy.” She then paused and shrugged. “But hey—if you’re looking to join in on the fun, be my guest. We’re in for a wild ride.”

Spike snickered and shook his head, the look of incredulity never faltering. “Tying up your intended? Not my idea of fun, pet. Besides, I’ve ample other things I have a right mind to do with her that’s plenty more enjoyable than the good ole fashioned bloodbath.” He spared a quick glance to Angel, who remained stoic, before stepping forward to fully consider the younger Slayer. Faith wasn’t one to scoff at. She was quick and strong and packed a mean punch—colored in the fragrance of her massive overconfidence. The passiveness on part of his grandsire only supported the illusion that the Great Poof enjoyed watching where the true loyalties lay.

“Gotta say, Liam,” Spike began, moving forward casually as he appraised Faith with a leering eye. “You rightly know how to pick them, don’t you? If it’s not one extreme, it’s the other. This one you’ve snagged’s as impure as the yellow-driven snow. She’s got spine, she has. But you’ve never fancied your birds to have much goin’ on upstairs. ‘S prob’ly why you couldn’t keep my slayer happy.”

That provoked a long chuckle from his elder, and Spike frowned, favoring him with a skeptical once-over. “Somethin’ funny?”

“Spike—” Buffy tried to interject, at last finding her voice. She was defeated the next minute when he held up a hand in motion for her to wait.

“You,” Angel replied, shaking his head. “You all over. Lecturing me on how to keep your women straight. Tell me, how is Miss Edith doing?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Spike retorted. “An’ for the record, I think the bloody doll was somethin’ of your invention.”

“I’m not the one who spent the better part of a hundred years pampering a misfit loony.”

At that, he couldn’t help the protective dark surge that billowed forward when anyone made mention of his once-black goddess. A century’s worth of love was nothing that could be vanquished easily, especially when he wasn’t entirely prepared to let go. Spike had admitted to himself after leaving Sunnydale that it was over between him and Drusilla—that didn’t mean he was ready to allow his heart’s plunder reap the toll of bad decisions. “No,” he agreed through gritted teeth. “You’re jus’ the one who made her that way.” He pivoted back to Faith speculatively. “That’s what you have to look forward to if you decide to spread your legs for dear ole daddy. ‘Course, I wasn’t around for the first couple decades. Waking up to that every mornin’ without an anecdote would prob’ly make me go bum-shagging crazy, too.”

Spike quickly turned back to Angel before Faith could get a word in. “An’ while we’re on the subject of how one spends his century,” he snapped, “why don’t we discuss yours. Hmmm? Feeding on rats, stalking high school chits. Oh, crawlin’ back to Darla on bended knee back in China?” He flashed a grin and gave him the thumbs-up. “Nice move, mate. Too bad you couldn’t off the brat. She might’ve given you the happy you were beggin’ for an spared you a good ninety years of torture.”

Angelus took the bait and stepped forward, glowering darkly. “Suppose you can tell me you’d be able to handle it, William?” he drawled. “A nasty, squirming soul filling your insides with the stench of purity? Screaming out in the voices of everyone you’ve killed. Telling you where you belong. Doing their damndest to put you in your place. Trying to make you feel…human? You’d be fortunate to last a week, much less a century. And you know what they say…what doesn’t kill you—”

“—softens the skin for the next batter who steps up to plate.” The dry smack of flesh hitting flesh sounded through the otherwise motionless room with the same impact of dry wood hitting a hollow wall. It was odd watching the larger mass of brooding muscle react with anything that could be conventionally labeled as surprise, especially where his childe was concerned. Spike smiled at that, ducking quickly as Faith reached for her stake instead of falling to the side of her so-called comrade. The girl was quick like that—but not enough to amount to anything more than a one-stand amusing sideshow. Spike twisted her stake-arm behind her back and threw her to the ground with near harmonious synchronicity.

“What I think you can’t handle, Liam,” Spike continued, prowling intently for a dry-mouthed Buffy. All was worth it simply to see her stunned into speechlessness. “Is knowing that your girl chooses one over the other, no matter which face you’re wearin’. Baby likes to play—an’ the good ole toss an’ tumble’s not rightly enough for her.” He stopped when he was inches away from his slayer, unable to help himself from caressing her astonished face with a bit of the old candor. “Innit so, sweetheart?”

Buffy’s eyes brightened at that as though only then fully registering his presence. Here. Against her. Angel and Faith were still on the floor—recovered but watching the exchange intently, positively stunned. She could relate. Her own inner monologue was slowly betraying her for something of a different tune. It was almost as easy as forgetting that the man in the audience wasn’t really who he was pretending to be. It wasn’t Angelus. It was Angel. He was…

Angel had touched her before. Caressed her face just like this and made her feel a thousand wonderful things, but it simply could not compare. Not with the concern blooming in Spike’s blue, violent eyes. Not with anything that symbolized what it was that he was doing here. Just how far he was willing to push it. How much he was willing to concede.

Because he hadn’t forgotten her. And despite all her vain attempts, all her self-loathing and hostility, she couldn’t forget him, either.

“Are you hurt?” Spike murmured, brushing his lips against her ear. How had he gotten so close? Wasn’t he across the room just seconds ago?

Time must have passed—not much, but enough to make him worried. Buffy wagered she was too forgone in her own musings to pay him much mind. “Kitten,” he said, a bit sharper. “Did they hurt you? Can you move at all?”

She blinked dazedly. “Spike…”

“I’m here, luv.”

“Spike.” There was a bit of the old bite in her tongue, and she cast a quick eye to Angel and Faith, the latter of which looked about ready to go in for some serious damage. “Hands.”

“What?”

“Mine.” Simple one-word replies. Surely he would catch on.

He did. Immediately, he sought out her wrists, intent on freeing her. When his fingers began to pry at the manacles that held her, his eyes widened and he jerked back as though bitten.

Jerked back and tossed a curious glance to Angelus.

And understood.

And smiled.

Another glance to Buffy only verified the same. The resolution he found there stopped his nonbeating heart. He fought the urge to kiss her breathless. Served the Poof bloody right.

But he had to make sure. He had to be sure that she knew what she was doing. What this meant. What it would change for them. For everyone. “Ball’s in your court, Slayer,” he told her softly. “Whas’sit gonna be?”

And again with the surprise. Buffy looked at him curiously, then realized that he was right. The ball was in her court. It came down to a choice. Her choice.

The prospect was not nearly as frightening as it had seemed an hour ago.

“Again with the bored,” Faith said, forcing her to spiral out of her thoughts. “Sorry. Something I ate didn’t go down right, and I’m making with the queasy. I think I might hurl if you two get any more lovey dovey.” She turned to Angel with a quirked brow. “And to think, you said that vampires don’t establish meaningful dialogue with slayers.”

“He wouldn’t know anything about meaningful dialogue,” Spike supplied. “Just can’t wait to sink his fangs into his next-to-latest conquest. Watch yourself, pet. Peaches might look like a pushover, but he’ll turn on you sure enough…once he’s had his fill.”

“I tried to tell her the same before you got here,” Buffy agreed, oddly conversational. “Faith’s not much on the listening front.”

“Did I miss something here?” the other Slayer demanded.

“Just several key steps falling into place,” Buffy retorted, earning a quick grin from her vampire. Regardless of endings, they needed to find some route to escape on. “When all’s said and done, look at you. Using magic to steal Angel’s soul. Must sting to know he wouldn’t touch you in the real world. And then, of course, there’s me. You had to tie me up to beat me. There’s a word for people like you, Faith: loser.”

“You don’t look beaten to me,” Spike observed, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “S’pose I could fix that later, ‘course.”

“What, because your blonde boy toy is here now, you think it’s gonna swing in your favor?” Faith chuckled incredulously. “Even if you do manage to crawl outta here, there are things in motion that are so far beyond your control, it’s not even worth mentioning.”

“What?” Buffy snapped. “Your boss’s lame Ascension? Like I couldn’t stop it.”

“You can’t.”

“I will.”

“Dream on.” Faith huffed a sigh and shook her head. “This is bullshit. All of this is complete bullshit, and it’s gone too far.” She turned to Angel. “And to think, we were gonna have all sorts of fun. Too much wastin’ on the fly for my comfort. I’ll take him if you take her. Or the other way around—whatever revs your motor. We’ve got better things to be doing than chattin’ up a couple of has-been’s who don’t know when their number’s been called.”

Spike’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Jus’ try it,” he challenged. “I’ve done in my fair share of slayers, luv.”

Angel quirked his head. “That’s not going to happen,” he said softly.

“You’re damn straight it’s not,” Faith agreed. She’d found her stake and was ready for the kill. Time was up on all accounts, and Angel had a firm grasp on her wrist before she realized what his words had meant.

“You were right about one thing,” he murmured, all façade of Angelus dropping at a whim. The brown, warm eyes of the other were back, no longer clouded with indifference. “This has gone too far.”

It took a minute before realization flooded her eyes, and another before she shot a glance to the two blondes—both freed now, the disused shackles swinging in abandonment against the wall.

“You played me,” Faith growled. “You all played me!”

“I din’t,” Spike obligatorily pointed out. “I jus’ got here. Nothin’ personal, luv.”

“And in fairness,” Buffy concluded with a shrug, “I didn’t know what he was up to until I woke up. Seemed rather obvious to me. What’s the matter, Faith? Not as perceptive as you thought?”

The other Slayer’s eyes went wide. “Oh yeah?” she spat. “Just see how long he remains on your side. What, with the boning of blondie here, I don’t really foresee the start of a beautiful—”

Before the words even had the chance to become an afterthought, Buffy projected herself across the room. It took all of two seconds to kick the stake out of Faith’s grasp, and then all was left to instinct.

The overly-dramatic Scooby entrance was all but missed in the heart of excitement. Spike glanced upward in the midst of the sudden yelling and caught Willow’s eyes. The redhead stood alongside the whelp and the colorfully-haired bloke he remembered vaguely from the previous year. The entire gang was torn between watching the battling slayers and staring dumbfound at him, as though his presence hadn’t been wholly expected.

From the stoic look on Giles’s face, however, he knew it was anything but true.

It took very little to detour Spike’s attention. As quickly as it started, the battle in the middle of the room came to a swift finale. The Slayers froze in virtually identical positions, each holding a blade to the other’s throat. Faith was winded and slightly worried—the look on Buffy’s face reflected nothing but fierce determination. It was as though she was returning home after a long leave of absence. It was the closest to herself that he had seen her since he arrived in Sunnydale, and the expression made him swell with pride, adoration and…

That warm fuzzy feeling. Love?

What an appalling notion. Made him sick to think how easily one word got stuck in his head. Ever since Willow’s more than absurd suggestion, the thought…the notion had been floating around his conscious and imposing his personal space. Moving into the darker corners of his psyche and making itself more at home. Regardless of what happened from here on out, he had a feeling the proposal was there to stay. It was too comfortable to pack everything up and move out on the same note.

Not a good time to digress.

Faith regarded the blade at her throat with a bit of the old humor when the panic abbreviated, snickering for what it was worth. “What are you gonna do, B?” she demanded. “Kill me? You become me. You’re not ready for that.” She leaned inward and planted a sisterly kiss on Buffy’s brow. “Yet.”

Then she was gone. Up and on her feet, somehow pushing beyond all restraints. Spike wagered it might be wise to go after her, but he was too concerned about Buffy to give it much thought.

Still, he wasn’t quick enough to get there before Willow fell to Buffy’s side. “Are you all right?” she demanded.

It took a minute, but Buffy nodded. “Yeah. I…we didn’t get everything we needed to. Things got a little…out of hand…” She glanced to Spike, her gaze boring through him. There was no malice there—simply a cry for understanding. He was beyond touched that she selected him as her target before glancing to Angel.

“That’s fine,” Xander said, still standing at the sidelines. The general Scooby consensus for the moment seemed to be voting in the direction of ignoring Spike entirely, which was all right by him. He half-expected to receive an earful from at least seven different parties before the night was out, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to decipher that more important things were in circulation than berating him and the Slayer for their indiscretions. “That’s fine, Buff. We’ll get to it tomorrow.”

“No.” Buffy shook her head and slowly climbing to her feet with Willow’s help. “It has to be tonight. The Mayor…he and Faith won’t expect us to…I have to know what the Ascension…what we need to gear up for. If they have the books—”

“They do,” Spike volunteered. “Thought I told you that earlier.”

A beat at that.

“Earlier?” Xander echoed.

“Earlier?” Wesley all but screeched. Spike had to refrain from chuckling with pride at the purple patch underlining his left eye. “This really is unacceptable. As your Watcher, I—”

“Yes, earlier!” Buffy shook her head furiously. “Look, this isn’t the time to scold me for my personal decisions. I saw Spike earlier…at the demon’s apartment… and…well, he knew that Faith had the books. He tried to tell me but I didn’t listen.” A sigh coursed through her at that, and she met Spike’s eyes again. “You tried to tell me about this, too, didn’t you?”

There was no need to clarify which this she referred to.

“’Bout your boy going bad? Yeh. Caught that act.” Spike’s head tilted curiously, daring to meet Angel’s eyes. “Guess that’s what it was, then, wasn’ it? An act. Shoulda caught a whiff of that the firs’ time around. You din’t fool me the last time you tried to play the bad boy…guess it jus’ took reminding you what the prat acts like to pull the part off with any measure of success. Isn’t that right?”

Angel’s gaze was trained steadfast on the ground, resolutely refusing to meet Buffy’s eyes—which was fine, because she wasn’t looking at him, either. “Giles…he…” he began, fighting for control. “We talked earlier. Said a mage had come to him…hired by the Mayor to retract my soul. I agreed to play the double-agent and get as much information as I could.” He trailed off with a sigh, tension dropping from his shoulders. “That went well.”

Giles took that as his cue to excuse himself. “I tried to tell you before you left, Buffy—”

Buffy held up a hand, collecting her thoughts. Again, Spike had to school himself to restraint. While all these sprouting dramatics had a penchant for the funny, he wasn’t about to let his mirth control the situation, especially when he knew how important it was to her. There were times and places for all the other, and this was definitely not one of them. “It’s all right,” she assured him. “Yeah, it would’ve been nice to be on the ‘in,’ but you did try to tell me before I left. I know that.” A sigh coursed through her tired body. “If I had known…we could’ve…”

“That was the plan,” Angel grumbled.

Her eyes flashed. “So sorry if my ignorance spoiled your James Bond scenario.”

Spike all but cackled with glee. He’d been handed a starring role in that three-act show in front of the wanker and now he was getting a front-row seat to a fight? Who knew that God blessed demons? “Ohhh,” he drawled tauntingly. “Lover’s quarrel.”

At that, Angel and Buffy pivoted to glare at him. “Shut up, Spike!” they snapped.

His hands came up. “Hey. Innocent bystander, here.”

“Right,” Angel barked. “Innocent.”

“Don’ get mouthy with me, Peaches. After all, it wasn’ me who—”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed and she silenced him without having to say a word. Spike merely met her gaze, watched, and nodded. They had come too far tonight to be set back because of his big yap.

“They won’t expect us to try anything again so soon,” she continued. “That’s why, if we want any information at all, we have to go now.”

“What do you have in mind?” Willow asked softly.

Buffy sighed. “I’m going to the Mayor’s office. He’s bound to have something there—even if it is a small something. Anything right now would be a good. I’m not going to let this set us back.”

“You really think he’d leave his important ‘I’m about to Ascend, ask me how’ papers out for anyone to see?” Xander asked skeptically.

“No. I’m anticipating getting my hands dirty. There’ll be some digging involved.” She stepped forward intently. “You guys have a bad habit of not listening to me when I tell you to not follow me, but don’t follow me. I can’t do this and worry about you, too. I need you to go back to the library and wait for me. Trust me…you’ll know if something of the bad happens.”

“I don’t like this, Buffy…” Giles began.

“Tough. Deal.” Her eyes fell to the floor for endless seconds before finally traveling back to Spike’s. Her vampire.

His slayer.

Spike took an unnecessary breath. With all his experience, he had never really seen a slayer in the midst of her duty. And yeah, while she was technically pulling for the side he should dispute, the sight of her was enough to steal his heart all over again.

“Besides,” she said, speaking to no one in particular. “I won’t be alone.”

No specifics were made, but Spike knew that he was going with her. There was no getting around that. Angel was welcome to tag along. It didn’t matter. She had him at first glance.

Something in her eyes told him that she had already consigned herself to this fact, and that was the reason she didn’t protest when he stepped forward at her unspoken cue. “Right then,” he drawled, extending his hand. “To the belly of the bloody beast an’ back. You ready, luv?”

There it was. The challenge lain out on the table: waiting for her to claim or rebuke. Waiting for her acceptance or refusal. Waiting for finality—knowing that no matter her choice, it would change everything.

Knowing it would break him if she denied him her touch.

Buffy paused for a long minute. She glanced at Angel, whose pained expression remained glued steadfast to the ground. And while Spike felt her heart churn for him, it did not stop her from locking eyes with his and stepping forward intently.

Then their fingers entwined, their palms pressed together, and they were joined by warmth.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Let’s go.”

The final stepping-stone. No turning back from this. Everything changed with three simple words.

No turning back.

Unsurprisingly, he found the notion rather warming.

The pace they set across town was quick and silent, and while there was nothing Spike would have liked more discuss what had happened at the mansion, he knew instinctively running his mouth was not an option. Their hands were no longer linked, and the unspoken message was more than clear. Buffy was still engaged in an inward civil war. No matter what she’d said or what she promised, her mind and heart were in two different places. There was no accounting for what she wanted. What she said she wanted. What she’d truly meant when she took him by the hand. If she regretted it at all.

Spike had looked hard for regret. Her eyes betrayed nothing and her face was a blank slate. If she was having second thoughts, she didn’t betray it. She didn’t betray anything.

A quick jaunt through the cemetery—Sunnydale’s most reliable shortcut. However, as they neared the outer border, something climactic fell within his companion, everything froze. He must have sensed it before she did; he was prepared when Buffy lurched with a whimper, burying her head in her arms as the first sobs started wracking through her body. As realization hit full force.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God…”

Spike immediately fell to her side and ignored the pang in his heart—the same which wanted nothing more than to hold her as she cried. Instead, he caressed her back and murmured soothingly, though the rumbles in the back of his throat never quite breached the barrier separating coherency and dialect. He knew why she wept.

Angel.

Knowledge made his insides coil, but he forced himself to shove his reaction aside. Regardless of her grief, the fact remained she had chosen. She had chosen him. She had chosen him over Angel. She had chosen him in front of everyone. Spike reckoned some grief was expected. After all, the girl had gone through more than her fair share with his ponce of a grandsire. He had been the great first love—the very same to which she would undoubtedly measure all others for years to come.

All others. Another distasteful notion.

The choice had been made, yes, but there was more to it than that. So much more. More, even, than Buffy understood. Spike was not fool enough to hope, despite the saga with Angel at last ending, for more than what he was owed. The thrill of being allowed this glimpse into her life was all he needed right now. More acceptance than he figured to earn given the way things had been going up until two hours ago.

Yes. The Slayer had chosen.

She just hadn’t specified what her choice meant. And he could live with that.

For now.

In the meantime, these schoolgirl crying jags were of the expected. It was a big deal for her. A huge fucking deal. Spike knew enough from watching soaps and the constant melodrama of human interaction that a girl’s first love was not one so readily disregarded. Whatever she mourned now was expected.

What was not expected was the sudden lunge into his arms. It took all of two seconds for his surprise to wan and his arms to gleefully curl around her. His murmurs of comfort intensified, his hands becoming more boisterous as they explored her hair, her back, every curve he could touch without crossing the boundaries she’d established.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against him, tickling the hairs at his throat.

Spike rested his head against hers. “What’s that, kitten?”

“For everything I said…ever since you got back into town.” She shuddered and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “You…you came for me.”

Astonishment blew him clear out of the water.

Huh?

“What—”

“After the way I…” Another muffled sob. “After the way I treated you…you still…” Her grip on him tightened instinctively. “You still…you came for me anyway. I gave you no reason to…and you still…”

Spike froze, heart in his throat. That was why she was crying?

Silly chit.

“Buffy…” He pulled back and smiled warmly. God, she was beautiful even with tears pouring down her face. “’S that really why you’re crying? You thought I’d leave you to the likes of Angelus? I’m not heartless, pet.”

Buffy shook her head in protest. “I’m so sorry,” she cried, clutching him tight enough to warm the deadest of hearts. “I lied to you. I…you did everything I asked, and I…”

“Hey now. None of that.” With every fiber that composed his strength, Spike drew back to look at her face. A breathtaking visage of strength and sorrow. She was undoubtedly the best he had ever met. He couldn’t fathom the weight of the world resting comfortably on any other Slayer’s shoulders. Not with everything she had been through. And so young…she was still so young. Her eyes told the story of a thousand lifetimes, and she had not yet seen the span of two decades.

Absolutely amazing.

Bloody spectacular.

“I don’t get it,” she murmured, calming a bit at last. “Why? I gave you every reason to say ‘the hell with it!’ and get the heck out of Dodge. Hell, I would’ve killed me by now.” She crooned against him, almost kittenishly, and he shivered in turn. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

Why can't you kill her?

Bloody good question. The very same he had been toying with ever since he left this shithole town, and very definitely since he returned. Why hadn’t he killed her? Why did the thought of her death make him want to drink a lot and beat up random inanimate objects for fun? Why had he furrowed in protective rage when he pieced together the inevitability of her whereabouts when he saw Xander earlier in the evening? Why? Why? Why?

I can still see her floating all around you…

Big Bads did not call truces with Slayers. Big Bads did not talk with Slayers. Big Bads did not befriend Slayers. Big Bads did not rescue Slayers. Big Bads did not hold Slayers as they wept.

Big Bads weren’t supposed to want to take Slayers to bed out of tenderness and feeling, if at all. Big Bads were supposed to survive on one motive: kill Slayer.

He did not want to kill this girl.

You taste like ashes.

The same, unbidden thought that had been floating forebodingly around his subconscious for the past few days surfaced again—glaring and shining with vibrant you-can’t-ignore-me colors.

Ain’t love grand?

Love. Was that what this was? It was different. It was warm. It was completely separate from the love he had known with Drusilla. It was…

You're all covered with her.

Different didn’t mean rot. Different was…exactly that. Different. Different love was still love. Was it possible? Did he actually love the Slayer? The fucking Slayer? The bane of his existence? The same girl whose promised death inspired most demons to roll out of their slime-puddles and face this god-awful world? The very same he had campaigned against with such intense fervor? The same he had wanted to—to something from the instant he saw her?

I look at you…all I see is the Slayer.

The quivering being in his arms…composed in strength…born of light…so bright she could dust him simply by giving him a look. A single look.

Spike emitted a trembling breath and knew.

Yes.

This was love.

And it scared the piss out of him.

There was no way he was going to betray that much. Not when this newfound closeness between them was still so fresh. Not when he didn’t know where they were headed; if they were headed anywhere at all. Not when she wielded the power to break him with the softest glance, the gentlest whisper, the…

Yeah. Definitely love. William the Bloody Awful Poet didn’t emerge for just anyone.

“Couldn’t,” he rasped at last. “Could never kill you…hurt you…never…”

At that, she managed to crack a slight smile. A small, breathtaking smile in the midst of her sorrow. “So says he whose previous ambition was in the cause of my death,” she observed.

“Never again, pet.” Unable to help himself, his lips brushed against the tender skin at her throat, and he felt her shiver against him. Then he was speaking, revealing far too much, bugger the consequences. “I made my choice, Buffy. I had bloody well made it when I left the firs’ time around. This is where I wanna be. Here.”

She sighed. “It’s not that easy, Spike.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

He shook his head dismissively. “Explain it to me.”

“Well, you’re a vampire, for one.”

“Well, that would explain the aversion to crosses an’ the drastically serious sun-allergy.”

She didn’t crack a smile. Instead, she continued with an old favorite. “You…you don’t have a soul.”

Dammit. He knew she was bound to notice that.

“Well, aren’t you Miss Perception t’night?”

Buffy shook her head. “It’s wrong. This is seriously wrong. And you know it.”

“Not exactly my firs’ choice in lovers, either.” He kissed her temple. “’Course, that stupid rot about freewill an’ the like gets in the way. I’ve already played this round with myself, Slayer. You can’t change what you are anymore than I can change what I am.” He neared her again. “Doesn’ mean a bloody thing, though, as to who we are.”

“That’s just it. I am what I am. I’m the Slayer…all the time. I don’t get to just be Buffy.” She sighed again. “I can’t…Spike, I know that…there are things about vampires that I know. You need violence…and you need blood. And you don’t have a soul to know why that’s wrong.”

“’S wrong because it hurts you, sweetness. I don’ need a soul to see that.”

“But you need a soul to stop yourself.”

At that, Spike arched a brow and scoffed at her. “You really think so?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she berated. “I know it’s very Blue Velvet and all, but you are what you are…just like you are who you are. And yeah, one of the Great Romantic Gestures of the times might be to give up something you love as much as you love the hunt for the one person you shouldn’t want, but then, we have reality. I couldn’t live with myself if my…being with you endangered innocents, Spike. That’s a part of who I am.”

A long pause settled between them. Stifling and uncomfortable.

Then he surprised her by lunging through her throat.

“Hey!” She likely would have shoved him back with a piece of pointy wood had he not slowed his assault at last minute to favor her skin with a reassuring lick.

Then he asked, “What is this to you?”

“What?”

“This. What we…whatever we are. What is it to you?”

A beat. “True. We’re true, Spike.”

They both ignored his answering shiver as well as the instinctive tightening of his arms around her. “An’ this…” He sank his blunt teeth into her skin and moaned aloud. The thrill of her pulse vibrated dangerously against his lips, whispering delicacies of everything he could have if he just bit a little…harder…

“You know what I wanna do now?” he demanded. “You know what my demon’s jus’ aching to do to you? Sink my fangs into your throat. Drink your blood until there’s nothing left. The essence of the Slayer. The crème de la crème. ‘S there, luv. Whispering li’l nasties about how good you would taste. ‘Bout how right it would feel. ‘Cause that’s what I am. That’s what I do. Always. Always want blood. Always want the best blood. Always want what I can’t bloody well have. You know that well enough, don’ you, Buffy? Know what I am. What I’ll always want. What I could take so easily. An’ you know why I don’t?”

Buffy panted heavily for a few seconds before her voice died in an articulate whimper. He took that as ‘no.’

“Because it’d bloody well kill me if anything happened to you. Had to learn that the hard way. An’ no…’m not particularly thrilled with it.” Spike pulled back, running a hand through her blonde locks, grinning lightly when her eyes feathered shut. “But I apparently don’ have a say. Can’t change it. Can’t forget you. Can’t do anything anymore but be right here. An’ I know that if I wanted to go after a tasty towner, it’d hurt you. It’d hurt everything we…we could have. An’ I can’t stand for that.” He bent his head once more to nibble at her flesh, eliciting a sharp moan that went right to his southern parts. She had the most delicious moans. “So as long as you care, Buffy, it’ll be who I am. This will be who I am. You can never stop caring, pet. It’d end us both.” A pause. “But never kid yourself—it’s only for you. Not for them. You get me? I’ll bloody bag it if that’s what it takes, but it wouldn’t be because I want to. Don’t have the wiring for that…don’ reckon I ever will. If I could have you an’ munch away at this sodding town’s populace, I’d take it. But I know I can’t. Is that good for you? ‘S that somethin’ that would be…”

He stopped and held his breath. The world seemed to unravel at her stillness. At her silence. He wanted to see her eyes but feared what he would find. Those depths had more power over him than he ever cared to admit.

“I’ll be someone who doesn’ hurt you,” he promised softly. “Buffy, you have my word.”

Something warm pressed against his lips, and Spike all but collapsed with the breath of verve. It was poncy and it killed the sodding cliché, but having her near him—having her like this—made him feel alive. Here in his arms. Here willfully pressed against him. Nibbling at his lips as she sought entrance, filling his mouth with a sweet moan of surrender when he granted it. He felt her fists coil in the leather of his duster, felt his entire body into the most inviting embrace he had never known. The way she kissed him—as though she was forming words against his mouth. A taste of innocence along with the danger of intrigue. And he knew he was lost. If not before now, then definitely with the life coursing through him. He tasted her and she tasted him. Their tongues mated and explored then mated some more. As though the kisses they had shared in the past had not existed. As though this was the first.

And he suspected, in many ways, it was.

“What’s this bint got against you, anyway?” A pause. “’Sides the obvious.”

Buffy shrugged with a humorless chuckle. “I guess she thinks that I took her glory away from her or something. The sad thing is, we were getting to being bestest friends before she killed that guy. I mean, yeah, in many ways Faith’s like my evil twin. She’d do things that’d make me feel slightly on the side of wiggy, but we were…working together really well before she went all patchety-murdery.”

Spike frowned and tightened his grip on her hand. They had left the cemetery ten minutes ago, consigned that wallowing while things of the utmost importance were in circulation could not satisfy all issues. And true, while the prospect of playing Superhero and saving the day did not rest entirely well with his demon, Spike knew that being a part of the Slayer’s life meant actively…well, being a part of it. He could do this. He could pretend to care.

The determination on Buffy’s face made him wonder how long it would truly be pretend. And that thought was one he never wanted to revisit.

“Sounds like you’ve been through a right lot since I split town.”

“Oh yeah.” She shivered slightly. “Aside from the usual woes of being of the Chosen Two, I’ve had to deal with a brooding-even-more-than-usual boyfriend, a tell-me-what’s-bothering-you Watcher, friends who try to help and I shut out for the fun of it, and an evil clone who decided to help the demons in town rather than fight them. It’s safe to say that life has sucked beyond telling of it.”

He grinned at her cheekily. “Poor baby.”

Buffy turned to him sharply, fully prepared to reprimand until she noted his sparkling eyes. It was then the subtle caresses to the small of her back finally tingled to life, and she shivered again. There was something to be said about this casual…casualness. It made her feel warm. Even when they were at their happiest, she and Angel always remained gallingly formal with each other. Thus with a poorly acted whimper, she nodded pathetically. “Uh huh. It’s just been awful.”

“Anything I can…do for you?” His question was punctuated with a pinch of her ass. She squealed and scowled and tried to wallop him, but he ducked in time to escape her onslaught, grinning like a madman and challenging her with his eyes.

Oh yeah. This was fun.

They ended up on the ground again: Buffy straddling his thighs and holding him with her hands on his chest. The vampire didn’t exactly look disappointed to be her prisoner. In fact, she had never seen him so…

The word happy didn’t feel right, but it fit all the same.

“That was rude,” she informed him pristinely.

“My specialty, sweetheart.”

“Yeah? Well my specialty is staking rude demons.”

“With all due respect, eat me.” Spike grinned and thrust his hips upward. “Please.”

“Dream on.” Buffy scowled though her eyes were twinkling. The next minute, she was on her feet, offering him a hand. “As much as I’d like to sneak away somewhere right now, I wasn’t kidding back at the mansion. I really need to get the inside on what the Mayor has planned. So come on.”

Spike pouted but accepted her hand all the same. “Did my ears deceive me, or did you jus’ admit to wanting to sneak away somewhere with yours truly?”

“Get over it.”

“Yeah. That’s likely.”

“Spike, if we’re going to try to do this, you’re going to have to accept that stopping the bad guys comes before playtime.”

He fidgeted uncomfortably and proclaimed in his best whiny voice: “But I am a bad guy!” Before she could protest, he had her against him again, his tongue tracing a wet pathway from her collarbone to her ear. “Don’ you wanna stop me?”

Buffy trembled. “Guess that means I’ll need to take you down.”

He favored with another lavish leer. “Oh baby,” he cooed. “Please do.”

She tried to look irritated; she really did. There were important things happening right now—things that couldn’t be put on hold for smoochies. She was getting that familiar feeling in the swell of her breast that suggested it was not a good idea to bring her boyfriend to work.

Then her heart stopped. Boyfriend? Is that what he is? Talk about jumping the gun.

Not that she reckoned Spike would have any problem with the title. The notion warmed her more than it likely should, but she was too tired to worry with particulars. She just didn’t know if she was ready for such a large, solidifying step. So many others had been taken tonight.

After all, only a few hours had passed since she told him to get out of her life for good. Now here they were. With the coupley-giggles and the straddlyness and the let’s-make-out-athon that had no sign of ending before the next three apocalypses.

“Come on,” she said, continuing toward city hall. “If all goes well, this won’t take long.”

“Well, now you’ve done it,” Spike grumbled, reluctantly following suit. “Nice knowing yeah, Slayer.”

She turned and offered him an arched brow. “You’re coming, right?”

“Not rightly soon enough.”

“SPIKE!”

“Right, right. Here. Tug my leash a li’l harder. Might get free otherwise.”

Buffy managed a soft smile, waiting for his hand before continuing up the walk. In turn, the vampire presented her with a look that melted whatever residual ice had encompassed her heart. Like the gesture meant the world and more to him.

Little things like that were making her realize more and more how lost in this man she really was. And these were only the mannerisms she chose to witness; it pained her with almost forlorn nostalgia to think of everything she had missed since their reunion. More so, it amazed her how quickly the time and tide could change, and how her whim was leading her fast to the once-dreaded Point Of No Return.

She hadn’t wanted this. She had fought against it with everything she had left. Spike’s abandonment of Sunnydale, while wise, had taken whatever there was of her along with him. Her feeling, her trust. Unwittingly, he had become the second vampire—man—to leave her the morning after, and despite his fevered promises and very enthusiastic reassurances, she suspected a hidden part of her had shrouded in that uncertainty. There was fault on both sides for her fallout. Spike had done everything in his power to secure her faith in him, despite his own admitted accounts to various flings in a desperate effort to forget her. And even so, that wasn’t entirely his fault. Listening to Buffy Summers was one thing. Believing Buffy Summers was an entirely different subject, especially when it concerned matters of the heart. She had a very bad habit of saying one thing while inwardly cursing those who didn’t read her mind and opt for the second, unspoken option.

And through it all, through the best of times and the worst of times, he had been there.

Buffy refused to name the emotion that warmed her insides, but squeezed his hand in soundless assurance. The gesture earned a confused glance that she did not bother repaying. They had known too much raw brute and unanswered questions to beat around any proverbial bush.

“Penny for your thoughts, luv?”

“My thoughts aren’t worth a penny.”

He grinned disarmingly. “Ohhh…so we’re in the gutter, again?”

“Spike…” Her tone softened along with her eyes in that sort of innate understanding that she should do anything but egg him on. “I really can’t…we have to get this done.”

“An’ I’m not arguing.” He gestured with unspoken emphasis to the Mayor’s offices. “Lead the way. Whas’sit we’re lookin’ for? These Books of Whatchamacallit?”

“Ascension,” she replied, unthinkingly tightening her grip again. This time, he returned the favor. They were walking with purpose, now. Heading toward the offices with synchronized steps even as their conversation suffered no hindrance. The building was eerily abandoned—dark in all respects save the middle hallway.

It took a few seconds of silent scanning for either being to become satisfied that they were alone. Buffy appraised her vampiric companion with arched brows, adhering his senses, and was both confused and relieved when he shrugged and shook his head. “Nope,” he said, just above a whisper. “This hall’s all clear.” His fingers clasped hers possessively and tugged her after him.

“It’s way too quiet around here to be…quiet,” she decided. “I doubt we’ll find the books before getting the official boot. I just need to dig up enough to know what it is the Mayor has planned…in all its wonderful vagueness.”

He tossed her a skeptical glance. “Buffy, the bloke went through a hell of a lot of trouble getting the sodding text,” he observed. “’m thinkin’ his being in possession of them isn’t something a white hat would encourage.”

“Of course. It’s not like I’m going to poo-poo them if I see them lying around, but I’ve gotta be logical about this.” The Slayer shook her head determinately. “And while I don’t think Faith’ll be expecting a full-out crashing this soon to…what happened back there…security will definitely be on the up. Oh, I’m very much set on getting the books. I just think that’s a meeting that’ll be saved for another breaking-in extravaganza.”

A tired sigh rumbled from her partner. “Can I jus’ kill the bloke?” he asked, mimicking a petulant child. “Please? I’m sure his being dead will somewhat hamper whatever it is he has planned.”

“If you come across him, be my guest to try. This guy packs it with the full out armed guard thing. You’d think he was the President or something. Oh, and it gets better. His secret service is something of the undead persuasion.”

“Vamps?” Spike rolled his eyes. “Better’n better.”

“And assorted demons he tries to keep happy by paying timely tributes. There was this one snake thing in the sewers that ate babies.” Buffy made a face. “This was during a random time warp-age by the adults, too. He poisoned all grownups with chocolate and had them acting like hormone addled teenagers while he stole all these babies from the hospital.”

Spike’s brows perked; impressed. “Now, there’s a man with all his pieces on the board.”

The Slayer scowled at the admiration in his tone and slapped his shoulder for good measure. “Hey!”

There were no apologies; not that she expected any. Rather, Spike just shrugged as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, yeah, pet, I am evil. Doesn’ matter how much I love you; that’s never gonna change.”

They stopped simultaneously, eyes going wide with comical harmony as his words sank in. The vampire immediately dropped her hand and stepped back to catch her gaze: imploring, astonished, horrified at his own misgiving, but needing to see her reaction all the same. Buffy was just staring at him. The soft light in her eyes warmed under his stare, but it wasn’t enough to counteract the full-out bewildered look on her face.

Then her lips parted and she was speaking.

“Spike—”

Something moved up the hallway and voices drifted through the corridor. There was no time to think. Spike instantly covered her body with his, shoving her unceremoniously through the first door that he saw.

Which happened to lead directly into a broom-closet.

Through a flurry of emotions and a mixture of halfhearted grunts, Buffy found herself pressed tightly against her unlikely companion, clutching to his shoulders as his own hands found purchase at her hips. She ignored the instinctive tinglies that immediately shimmied up her spine his touch, fighting the desire to lean entirely on his willing body. Instead, she drew in a tight breath and shot him a panicked look as the sounds mingling in the hallway dwindled from muffled incoherency to two very distinct voices.

Her heart was racing, and she didn’t know if it was because of the danger of being caught or the thrill of being in his arms. Her mind leaned toward the latter. She thought it best to shove her thoughts aside lest her active imagination run far away from her and was somewhat relieved to note that Spike didn’t appear to be suffering the same. Their breaths intermingled dangerously, and they stared at the blank door, as though serendipity would cause it to open.

It didn’t take long, however, for the initial surprise to wan. After her adrenalin rush past, Buffy felt very much on even ground. Even if she was hiding in the enemies’ headquarters’ in Spike’s arms. It felt right, even expected. As though this was where she had been destined to come all along.

“Seems no matter what he do,” Spike mused, “we always end up in a closet.”

“Shut up!” Buffy hissed. “They’ll hear!”

“Not ‘f we’re quiet. Quit shuffling, Slayer. Or things will get real noisy here in real quick.” He nudged his hips forward, rubbing his erection against her. Bolts of lust shot to her core but she couldn’t betray them. Instead, she slapped his arm again pinned him with a scowl.

“Pig.”

He grinned. “Oink oink, baby.”

“I swear that’s all you think about.”

“Well, an’ I must reiterate: I am a guy. An’ you can’t feel too rightly horrible ‘bout it. Knowing what you do to me. How wrapped around your li’l finger I am, you fantastic bitch.” He leaned in and nibbled lightly on her throat, eliciting a sharp moan that shoved him closer to the proverbial edge.

“Did…” She crooned into his mouth and gasped when he bit down. “Did you just call me a fantastic bitch?”

“Call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“Asshole.”

“You love it.” Spike stilled for a minute, head buried in her shoulder. For all his talk, this alone was nice. Near perfection. Simply being with her was enough to have him singing badly in the streets. Nestled in her embrace. There was never a time he remembered being so lax around Drusilla. Not in a hundred years, not with everything they had shared.

His noted distantly that she hadn’t continued her earlier reaction to his confession, and was relieved. The last thing he had intended to do was blurt he loved her while in the middle of some co-op assignment. Hell, he had only just realized the depth of his feelings. He was still taking baby steps into the larger picture, and understood any notion of love right now would only distract her. Confuse things more. Might make her withdraw. Thus while he knew that she had heard him, that she knew, he was perfectly content to let her feign ignorance.

For now.

Similarly, Spike knew that wouldn’t always be the case. With as fast as they were moving, he might be singing a whole different tune come morning. He only hoped what he had to offer would be enough.

“Spike…” She said softly, breaking him out of his stupor. “We better…get going…”

Immediately, his mouth latched onto her neck again, inwardly scoffing at the idea that something as trivial as an Ascension could rob him of his newfound happiness. It wasn’t often he was happy, and if he knew Buffy, it wouldn’t last. He wanted to treasure what he could while he could; leave the imminent unpleasantness for another day. “People are in the hallway,” he reminded her, voice muffled and words forced between kisses. Her pulse throbbed in his mouth, beckoning him a little taste, but he knew she wouldn’t like it. She hadn’t contested the first mark he gave her, but things were different now. It wasn’t—despite what she wanted to believe—a fling. Not to him, and not to her. They were far beyond ‘fling’ territory. “We’re stuck here, baby. Might as well make the best of it.”

“I…” Buffy crooned and gasped, rubbing herself against him. He growled in turn and thrust his hips sharply against hers, hard cock begging for attention. “Spike…it might be…need to…God…”

“No one’s here, luv. ‘S jus’ you an’ me.”

The voices in the hallway seemed to disagree with that. They stopped rather inconveniently near the small room harboring the two intruders, projecting intonation loud and clear. Immediately, Buffy’s hand tightened on his shoulder as she forced him to stop.

She knew that voice.

“I’m just saying, if blondie hadn’t shown up, they might’ve gotten everything from me.” There was a long-winded sigh. “Y’don’t get it, Boss. He had everyone duped. Even his own fucking girlfriend. And I bought it.”

A thoughtful muse was her response, the voice tagged along with it casual and hardly sounding concerned. That has to be the Mayor. Buffy had heard him speak at one or two public events—admittedly while passing by. Her mother had forced her to watch some city development thing that he announced on the local evening news some time ago. Recent events had caused her attention to gain respective detail, but she only identified him now by the casualness with which he addressed his protégé. While Faith regarded everyone in the same light, she suspected there were only a few people that maintained such a personal relationship with his Mayorness.

“You know, it just goes to show that you can’t trust even your right hand man to do an adequate job anymore,” he mused thoughtfully. “Back in the day, if you sent an employee out on assignment, he didn’t come home until the product was acceptable. If Mr. Trick had made a sturdier effort to dispatch that Spike fellow the first time he whirled into town—”

“Then they would have the skinny on what you have planned! I don’t think you’re seeing the big picture here, Boss. He. Had. Me. Fooled.”

“Oh no,” the Mayor replied. “I’m not worried about that, and you shouldn’t be, either. Even if they had managed to squeeze a drop of information out of you, it wouldn’t amount to anything. After all, my girl got me the books, didn’t she? And furthermore, my dissatisfaction with Mr. Trick’s performance has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that tonight was nearly a blunder. It’s the principal of the thing. You hire a man, you expect him to do his job.”

“Yeah, I hear you. But why are you going to do about it?” Faith reasoned. “He’s still some kid’s asthma attack, so problem solved.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she glanced to Spike. “Those guys!” she whispered furiously. “The ones that you said used to work for you when you came back…the first time…he sent them after you!”

She conveniently left out the part where he’d come back for a love-spell. At the moment, the thought inspired too much jealousy.

“Caught that, pet,” he murmured. Then, reading her mind, his lips neared her ear and licked her tender lobe before whispering, “Dru’s got nothing on you. Don’ fret a pretty li’l hair on your head. I’m too lost in you to even wanna think about findin’ my way back.”

“Who’s fretting?” she retorted, but her heart wasn’t in it. Before he could reply, she had turned her attention back to the door, straining to hear what was being said.

He merely smiled at her.

There wasn’t much more of consequence. Inane chatter, this, that, yadda yadda yadda. It wasn’t until Faith mentioned Graduation Day that Buffy’s ears perked up. The reference was fleeting and lost within seconds in a sea of dialogue, but she had something now. True, it wasn’t much. It was barely a crumb. But it was something to pursue, and that was all that mattered.

The pair outside parted ways—the Mayor insisting Faith get a full eight hours of sleep and that they would arrange a miniature golf date for the next day—then they were gone.

It grew silent for long seconds; Buffy was at a loss for what to do. The Mayor could still be in the building somewhere, and granted while she wasn’t too worried about being caught, encountering Wilkins after everything that had already happened tonight was not on her list of things to do. Within the time span of two hours, she had managed to devastate Angel, disappoint her Watcher, shock the hell out of her friends, and confuse herself so thoroughly down the longwinded pathway that she didn’t think she could take much more.

So foregone in her thoughts, Buffy nearly forgot she was in Spike’s arms. In a broom-closet. That he was with her at all. That was, until, she felt his lips descend upon her throat.

“Mmmm,” the vampire mewled. “Alone at last.”

Buffy gasped breathily and leaned back, eyes fluttering closed as his mouth worked up her neck, her hands caressing his shoulders of their own volition. “Spike,” she sighed, “we…God…we…we can’t. Not…not here.”

“Gotta kill time somehow,” he replied simply.

“By fucking?” she spat. The word sounded dirty on her lips, even though she was no stranger to its usage. Nevertheless, it had the desired effect; he pulled back and frowned at her. “I swear, that’s all I am to—”

“No fucking,” Spike promised softly. “Wanna make love to you. So much. I know you deserve more than this. In a closet, of all things. Kinda like our relationship, right? Before tonight? In the bloody closet.” He leaned in again. “I’d love to take you out, luv, but it’s still soon. I get it, you know. ‘Sides…you’ve got your do-gooder work to do. Haven’t found the books, have we? So in the meantime…let me…” The hand at her right hip moved suddenly, shifting to part her legs for him. “Please?”

“But—”

“’m not gonna take you in here,” he continued, lips dancing over her chin. “But…jus’ for a li’l while…can we…”

“We shouldn’t—”

“’Course we shouldn’t…” Spike grinned. “That’s what makes it so much fun.”

“What if…mmm…” Buffy’s argument was abandoning her. A little hearty gasp rumbled through her lips when his mouth found that delicious pressure point on her throat and began to nibble more intensely. “What…if…someone hears…uhhhh…us?”

He shrugged. “They’ll die of envy, how ‘bout it?” The hand still at her hip delved under the hem of her shirt and began caressing the skin it discovered. “Mmm, please, baby? Jus’ for a li’l while?”

Sure. That’ll go over well.

Nevertheless, she nodded before she could think to protest, and instantly found herself swept inside a desperate kiss. His lips were cool against her. The lingering taste of cigarettes and alcohol consumed her completely. The kisses in her past, while nice, could not compare to his. There had been a boyfriend or two in Los Angeles before The Divorce—back when she was just emerging from her ‘all boys have cooties’ phase, thus the kisses of then were either brief or entirely too sloppy from trying to imitate Dylan and Brenda off 90201. Angel’s touch was always passion-filled, but he held back. She would have liked to believe it was because of the curse, but even in the pre-Angelus days, he was cautionary. Hesitant. As though he was going to break her.

Spike was nothing like anyone she had ever dated before. In all fairness, he did not entirely deserve to be compared to the men and—more accurately—boys of the past. He was passionate and demanding, loving and lustful, considerate and greedy: every synonym and opposite she could muster to describe the horribly clichéd sensation of his lips against hers. When his hand climbed up her side to caress the underside of her breast, she gasped into him, and he seized the opportunity to plunder her mouth with his tongue. Boisterous. Daring.

She loved it.

Had he not pulled back to allow her air, Buffy figured she would have suffocated rather than deprive herself of his mouth. As it was, her head tipped back and she gasped loudly. Then his voice was in her ear. Rasping. Demanding. Driving her around-the-bin-loony-toons-insane.

“Tell me how much you missed me. Wanted me. Tell me I’m not forgettable,” he demanded, tone dropping beseechingly the next instant. “Please?” Before she could reply, he snatched her right hand and guided it to his cock. Guh. “Can you feel how much I missed you? Oh Buffy, doesn’ even do a justice.” His mouth returned to her throat, nipping lightly at his mark. His mark. She had allowed him to mark her. When he spoke again, all signs of resistance had melted full way to plea. The Big Bad on his knees, begging her with words. Remarkable. “Tell me you missed me, pet. Tell me you touched yourself every night and screamed my name when you came. Tell me you buried your fingers in that hot, tight li’l quim of yours an’—”

Buffy had no words. No actions. Her fingers danced across his denim-clad erection of their own will, eliciting a delicious growl that she felt more than heard. “Oh God…”

“You feel what you do to me?” His hips thrust desperately against her hand, seeking friction. And she gave. Her touch gained confidence, as though only remembering herself. She traced. She rubbed. She teased. She got her own back only to have it stolen within seconds. A continuous race back and forth, up and down. No one else was as well matched to play for her, nor knew the rules half as well as she did.

“Yes,” she gasped in turn. “Oh…so nice…so…”

His grip on her wrist lessened with an attentive whimper and Spike’s eyes rolled up inside his head. The resounding growl shot whispered promises to her sex, and Buffy shivered in turn. He waited a minute, fingers dancing over her skin, before running his own hand up her arm and down her side so that he could cup her clothed pussy. “Can I feel…” he whispered fervently, massaging her, “what I do to you? Please, Buffy?”

She nodded erratically. “Yes, yes! Oh, God, please.”

He flashed her an unrepentant grin in turn and slipped his hand below the waistline, paused for a moment to savor the breathy, desperate look on her face, and dipped his hand inside. Instantly, he felt his entire body was aflame. Her warmth. Her heat. God, she had the power to rip flesh from bone. The heady little breaths she took. The tiny, indiscernible nods she gave him as she gnawed her lip in a vain attempt to hide her reaction. He was going to drown in her: no questions asked.

There were worse fates.

Spike pushed one finger inside her, his moan nearly swallowing hers. “Christ, your scent is burnin’ me from the inside,” he gasped, pumping slightly, stretching her before fitting another finger in. “You’re so…God, so wet.”

“Mmmm,” she agreed, moving gently against his hand.

“So tight.”

“More…more, please.”

“An’ you smell…” The thought wandered off—he couldn’t think but to touch her. Couldn’t do anything but do whatever it took to make those delicious sounds rumble from her mouth. He watched her like a man starved, pumping his fingers inside her molten, tight pussy, stroking that perfect spot within her rhythmically before it became too much for him. More, more, more. He always needed more. And thankfully, so did she. Without breaking pace, his eyes rolled back and he whimpered, “I have to taste you.”

“Have…what?”

Spike flashed a rueful smirk. “Don’ tell me you forgot, pet. You’ll ruin a bloke’s ego.”

The grin she gave him in turn was bold and shameless, and for whatever reason, caused an untimely frog to leap into his throat. Despite all they had done, all they had shared, he didn’t reckon she had ever looked at him like that. “Well,” she replied saucily, “I guess you need to remind me.”

“My bloody pleasure,” he growled when he found his voice, dropping to his knees unceremoniously. He spared little time tugging her right leg free. And that was all he needed. Her panties were a thing of the past with a quick rip, and immediately found themselves stuffed into his back pocket.

“For your collection?” Buffy asked breathily as he lifted her freed leg over his shoulder.

The reply was long coming; Spike nuzzled her sex and inhaled appreciatively, planting feather light kisses along her inner thigh. “Don’ have a collection,” he growled in turn. “An’ ‘f I have any say, you’re going to remain knickerless for the rest of your days.”

A small blurb of laughter erupted from her lips, and he arched a brow at her quizzically. “Then you’re not going to have any say.”

He pouted but gave her little time to dwell—lowering his lips to her pussy once more and nibbling a light path to her burning center. Buffy’s head arched back and she gasped, waiting for his touch to quench her, but it never came. It took her only a second to register the absence of his mouth. And when she glanced down, he was favoring her with a particularly evil grin.

“Why not?” he prompted.

Buffy stared down at him.

One thing was for certain: they would never stop competing for control. No matter how far they went, that remained the same. She saw it in him, and knew herself well enough to vouch for the truth. Oh, he would fight her for it. And she would fight back. And it would be wonderful.

“Wha…why?” she demanded. “Why what?”

“Why won’ I have a say?”

“You know why!”

“Explain it to me,” Spike said simply, mouth returning to her pussy. He scattered light mock-bites all along her inner thigh, sparkling eyes never leaving hers. “I go commando all the time.”

“I remember.”

“Knickers jus’ get in the way.”

“Of what?”

The peroxide vampire grinned. “Of this.” His tongue licked a wet pathway up her slit, eliciting an estranged cry from her lips. Buffy’s breathing was becoming more and more labored, and her eyes closed in heavy concentration. When he refused to continue, she forced herself to focus on him with a frown.

“You wouldn’t want to get in the way of this, would you?”

“Bah! Get in the way of this? If you hadn’t stopped to have a conversation, I would’ve…” The word, though similarly not foreign to her lips, sounded weird in her mind, and she couldn’t bring herself to voice it aloud. “…already.”

Spike chuckled at her sudden coyness, and the motion echoed against her skin—seemingly stretching to every nerve in her body. “Well,” he replied, mouth continuing its mission to tease her without mercy. He blew a stream of cool air at her mischievously, biting back another chuckle when she convulsed. “If you would jus’ tell me why knickers are important, I could get to it.”

“You…pig!”

“How stunningly original, Slayer.” He licked her outer lips again, tongue penetrating her ever-so slightly before rushing back for another tantalizing sweep. Another chuckle rumbled through his throat at the moan that pushed through hers. “Come on…you can say it.”

“Other…than…my personal…” Buffy’s hand found his shoulder and squeezed. “Just…personal…some days…out of month…that…”

Spike’s brows perked at the prospect. He hadn’t thought of that. Of course, the girl was mortal. She was due to her monthly cycle. And that meant…

Oh God. The very thought was nearly enough to…

Make him buckle in concession. The taunt abandoned his eyes as he looked at her with the utmost clarity. A beat of hopeless surrender. He teased her lightly at first, running his tongue in sensual, concentrated sweeps across her moist folds. Buffy gasped headily and the sound drove him absolutely insane. Nothing to compare—the sweetest symphony in the world, and it was his. All his. Even at the slightest touch, her juices flooded him. It was undoubtedly the warmest, most sinfully delicious flavor to ever permeate his tastebuds. He lapped her up in earnest, eyes trained on her face all the while. The low moans rumbling through her throat fueled his passion—every noise she made, every twitch, shudder, tremble that seized her body—everything that drove him nearly out of his mind. His attentions honed and explored, searching out what he could do to make her…react…just…like…that.

A mindless whimper sounded through the dark. “Spiiiike,” she gasped. “Please…more…”

That was it. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Spike conceded, catching her clit between his lips, sucking and pulling without ceremony. His fingers sought and stroked her labia, greedily trying to consume everything at once. She was so sweet. So terribly warm and sweet. Her clit pulsing against his tongue, long moans twisting off her perfect mouth every time he stroked her. He loved her clit. Could play with it until the end of days and wouldn’t have enough. Loved how tight she became when his fingers slipped into her pussy, drenching his skin with her honey, gasping the deeper he pressed. And still it wasn’t enough. She was thrusting her hips slightly against him, likely of her own volition, moaning loud moans of encouragement that only served to work him up more. This act was nothing she was terribly familiar with—which she had begrudgingly confessed after being hounded with an impromptu game of twenty questions that initial night. So long ago. It seemed so long ago.

Mindful of her opening, he kept his mouth’s attention on her clit, tongue encircling her once, twice, again and again while his lips suckled the sensitive skin surrounding the precious bundle. Above him, Buffy panted and mewled and tried to articulate, failing miserably. She sobbed softly when she couldn’t form words, and the sound was music to his ears. The taste of her arousal along with the salt that flavored her skin was enough to send him properly over the edge. His cock strained painfully against his zipper, and he ignored it. He ignored every nerve in his own body that screamed for release, concentrating fully on giving his Slayer the best orgasm in her life.

His Slayer.

Buffy’s hands fisted his hair, and he growled slightly against her. “God,” he whispered reverentially, “you taste good.”

“Gooood,” she agreed with bated breath.

It could have gone on if his own need had not been great; over his own marketing of their time together, he had discovered irrefutably that making her squirm was a delight he would never retire. It did more than indulge any lingering whim—it pleased him so wholly that whatever else was nearly unessential. He had never been with anyone that affected him like she did. And here she was: moaning and writhing under his touch.

At last, he left her clit to the tender attention of his thumb as his tongue probed her opening. And he drown in her taste. Never enough. It was never enough. Too long had passed, and this was only the beginning. Only. He would never let her go again. He delved. He tasted. He stroked her to perfection, pulled back, and stroked some more. Softer when he knew she wanted it. Quicker, then slower. Adding the tender caress of his fingertips in the manner he instinctually knew drove her crazy. He stroked her clit as his mouth made love to her, rumbling his own pleasure at her taste against the heat of her skin. He could stay here forever. Needing her. Worshipping her. Loving her. He found that perfect spot within her and stroked with fervor until he felt her muscles clamp and her tremors reach their apex. His hands immediately grasped her thighs to hold her steady, and he lapped her up with enthusiasm as she finally cried out her euphoric release.

For long minutes, there was nothing but the sounds of Buffy’s recovery. Droned gasps that rang as small harmoniously against the silence surrounding them. Spike licked her twice more before turning to caress her inner thighs with more of the same. He drew back only when satisfied, hands caressing her thighs soothingly as his eyes drank her in. She was a vision. Labored breathing, heavy gaze glossed over, face flushed and sweat glistening her golden skin. Fucking beautiful. His own Aphrodite.

His.

God, he loved her.

*~*~*

*~*~*

“So that’s all we’re looking for, then?” Spike asked as they edged into the Mayor’s darkened office. “The Books of…”

“Ascension,” Buffy agreed with a nod.

“An’ then we can get the bloody hell outta here?”

“That’s the general plan.”

“An’ where to after that, pet?” He probably couldn’t help the suggestive way he worded the question, but the teasing look he delivered was definitely intentional. Buffy flushed and glanced away. The sooner they got out of here, the better. She wanted to be alone with him again. Wanted it more than anything. Alone in a place that wasn’t Evil Incorporated.

It had taken several persuading promises to convince her to move things outside the broom-closet. Spike had estimated the building had been empty for a half hour. More than likely, the Mayor and Faith had moved along just seconds after Spike had ushered them into their hiding place. Therefore they had wasted a good chunk of the evening by fooling around, though Buffy wasn’t about to complain. She was too damn giddy to complain.

And her mood was shared. While he didn’t let himself declare his love again, Spike’s behavior spoke volumes. He didn’t let her stray too far out of arm’s reach, his hands caressing her skin at every opportunity. However, his tone and mannerisms, despite bodily suggestion, remained professional. It was an act, she knew. Spike had not made small game about that. Despite how things changed, he would remain what he was. A vampire. A soulless, inherently evil vampire. If she decided to throw her hands up and declare people on the menu, he would comply with a song in his heart. That was his prerogative. He was a being of destruction; he was made to make the darkness scream. He was a monster.

But he was a monster who loved her. A monster who would do good by her as long as she asked it of him. What made him different? What made him…this? What made him Spike? What made him an ode to an unlikely hero in times when such things were not made to exist?

Now was not the time to mull it over.

Spike was studying her when she met his eyes again, his head cocked and his expression worried. He waited as long as he could, but the silence drove him without much persuasion. He was a creature of many words, and when he found himself encompassed with quietude, his foremost reaction was to disturb it. “Buffy? Pet? Somethin’ wrong?”

Buffy shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

“Look, if you’re…if you’re having second thoughts about—”

“No. I’m not.” She smiled disarmingly, leaving him with nothing but to understand that sometimes silence had no ulterior sanction. Sometimes silence was simply that: silence. “I’m really, really not, Spike. I was…I was just thinking.”

That would have to be good enough.

He nodded. “Right.” Clearing his throat, he returned his attention back to the creepy neatness on Wilkins’s desk with a frown. Anything that orderly deserved to be messed up. Messed up proper. Of course, a natural-born troublemaker, he assumed this position with a hearty grin and started rummaging through every nook and cranny he could locate. “Don’ know exactly what you’re looking for, other than the books,” he said, glancing up. Buffy had busied herself with the cabinets against the other wall and was, by the look of things, not having any more success. “Mind filling a bloke in, here?”

“Just anything, really,” she replied airily. “Anything that mentions the Mayor, his dealings, a pamphlet on becoming…whatever it is he’s looking to become. Or do. I’m not sure. Ascension, I’d think, would mean—”

“Don’ use the word ‘become’, please.” Spike made a face. “When Angelus was all keen on waking up Acathla, he made a big fuss about he was about to ‘become’ something great. Just another reason why I hate that wanker. With him, it’s always about Angel.”

Buffy distanced at that, arms falling impassively to her sides. “That’s what he said about me,” she all but murmured. “That night. That night you came to me and we called truce. He told me that I thought it was always about me.”

The vampire snorted, glancing back to the desk. “Coming from the prime principle sod himself? We all got a bit of egotism, luv. ‘S human nature.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He rolled his in turn.

“Right, fine. ‘S nature, pure an’ simple. Vamps are all about the self-glamour. I guess it jus’ out with more emphasis when you’re sired. We live, generally, by following the essential sins of the flesh. That’s where the lack of a conscience comes in handy.” Spike glanced up to catch her reaction, but she had none to offer. “I know you pretty well, Slayer, if I don’ say so myself. I knew you well before calling truce that night. Before coming back the first time around, which was why I could tell you what you din’t particularly wanna hear. An’ definitely after we…after we were trapped together.” He cocked his head at her. “Why do you think I spent half the night playing a round of twenty questions with you?”

A line cast and drawn. “Why?”

“’Cause I wanted know you. I wanted to know you better then than I already did, even if I din’t know it then.” He flashed a grin. “An’ yeah, you can make it about yourself. So can all your sodding Scoobies. Hell, even ole Rupert. But no one, in all my years, has ever been more self-centered than Angelus. That includes yours truly, an’ I’m not modest. I’m an egotist. Everyone knows it.”

She couldn’t help the grin that tickled her lips. “Oh yeah.”

He smirked in turn. “Not that I don’ have a lot of encouragement, or anything.” A sigh depressed his shoulders. “There was jus’ a difference. Angelus had fame…more than me, much as I hate to admit it. An’ he let it go to his head. Thought his bloody existence was the reason the earth rotated.”

Another thoughtful pause as Buffy distanced. The memory came from nowhere, and its impression sent shivers down her spine. A sodden Angelus grinning at her cockily when she raised her stake. The eve of her birthday after the Judge had been blown to bitty pieces. She had gone to kill him, she really had. But it was too soon and she couldn’t. And he knew it. He knew it and he played on her insecurity. Knowing that she loved him. Knowing that she couldn’t kill him because she loved him. Pity case for the Slayer. Boohoo. Cry me a fucking river.

The vampire that was currently reading through the Mayor’s papers was equally soulless as Angel had been that night. The vampire that was perusing passages of intricate daytime planning and meeting arrangements was allegedly as evil as the one who had snapped Jenny Calendar’s neck. The vampire she desired had killed more people than she could even begin to fathom. The vampire she desired had held her when she needed it, had pleasured her with no thought for himself, had opened doors and aligned windows within the spans of just a few hours.

“Hmmm, this is interesting,” Spike was saying, holding up a weekly planner. “Entry from a couple months ago. Your Mayor’s contracted to the Powers through a law firm in L.A. Ever heard of Wolfram an’ Hart?”

She frowned. “No.”

“Bloody powerful lot, pet. ‘S been around about as long as the Powers an’ alters form every couple centuries or so to keep up with the times. Deals with black magic an’ the like. Powerful evil. If Wilkins is one of their clients, he has more than jus’ two-bit vamps an’ a wacko Slayer guarding his goods.” The platinum vampire tossed the planner aside in favor of an older one he found buried in the last drawer of the Mayor’s desk. A few seconds later, he reached conclusion. “Yeah. He had to have…representation in selling his soul. I’m also willing to bet that an association with Wolfram an’ Hart helped him in more ways than one to get in office.”

Buffy’s mind was racing. She nodded, feeling very much like a bloodhound that had just picked up the scent. “How old was that entry?”

A pause. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Spike?”

The vampire glanced at the date again, a wry grin tickling his lips. “Well, for a bloke who used be human an’ hasn’t been introduced to the world’s only known age-defyin’ solution, I gotta say he’s in good condition, all things considered.” He met her eyes. “You din’t know he was over a century old, did you?”

“A century?”

“Gotta say, this Ascension’s sounding more an’ more interesting.” He placed the book where he’d found it. “Though I don’ rightly know a bloke with that kind of attention span. Even Angelus at his most diabolical would get bored after a hundred years or so.”

“Why do you keep doing that?”

He frowned. “Doin’ what?”

“Bringing up Angelus? Or Angel? I…”

The frown deepened and Spike’s head tilted curiously to the side. He didn’t try to deny it, but similarly, he didn’t rush around to provide an answer. It wasn’t improbable that he would act on behalf of his more guarded insecurities; it had certainly happened before, and despite everything that had popped up in the past few hours, he wasn’t entirely convinced that she knew what she was doing. Or that this was the big it for her. With every turn, he half expected her to pivot at her heels and go running back into the Grand Poof’s arms.

That concern was minimal, granted. Buffy hadn’t been the one to bring up Angel in conversation. He was the prat that kept reminding her of his existence. But the line was cast and she had accepted the bait. Either way, despite what happened between them, they were going to have the inevitable ‘Angel’ discussion sooner or later.

He’d really thought it would be later…

Spike sighed. How was he supposed to explain this when he lost himself in the details? Sodding pillock. “Dunno, pet. I guess I…I jus’ wanna make sure that you know who’s here with you. I’m no sodding Peaches substitute, Buffy. I’m me. William the Fucking Bloody. I’m jus’ as soulless as he was, like you were so eager to observe not a bloody hour ago. Only—”

“—only you’re not him. I get it, Spike. I do.”

“Do you? Do you really? You think this is some game? Bloody hell, you were bouncing me back an’ forth not—”

“I know. I know.” It was hard. How could he go from making her feel like a goddess to tearing down that pedestal in a matter of seconds? The feeling was still there, she knew. Potent and tangible as ever. It was simply a matter of staking claim. He needed to know—of course he needed to know. Despite his promise to her, even despite the quick fix in the broom closet, he had nothing concrete. He had told her that he loved her, and she had not said it back. She hadn’t even acknowledged it.

But he wasn’t looking for that. For some reason, there was no doubt in her mind bringing up the Three Little Words was of the major bad. If he hadn’t meant to say them, there was no way she was going to use them as her argument. He could always play dumb, and the confession had meant too much to her to have it taken away in the heat of the moment.

“It wasn’t fair to you,” Buffy began. “And I’ve tried…God, Spike, I’ve tried so hard…even in this past…I know it couldn’t…what…I’m still having to make up for it. For how I acted. Treated you. Like some…and not just you, either. I was a monster to Will and…and Giles. I didn’t speak to Giles for weeks because he…and now I’m going to have to clean everything up from scratch and…”

The distress in her voice had his eyes softening instantly. “I din’t mean to go off on that,” he said. “Luv, you’ve given me more than my fair share tonight. More than I thought you’d ever give.”

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?”

“I din’t—”

“You wouldn’t. You’re here. You’re really here.” A small smile tickled her lips as her own words came back to slam her. “You came back.”

He grinned as well. Couldn’t help it. “’Course I came back. Said I would.”

“But I—”

“I pushed you, Buffy. It wasn’t fair to—”

“Don’t go off with the noble bullshit,” she snapped without anger. “I haven’t been…I haven’t told you what you need to hear yet.”

At that, his eyes widened. If she said anything in relation of love now it would ruin everything. His own words still haunted the air between them, and he didn’t think he could stomach a reprise of earlier disappointment. He had been loved before out of obligation and it didn’t work. Rather, it smart like a bitch. If she said she loved him now, they were ruined. There was no sense in masking gratitude in the package of love. It only made for more broken hearts in the end. “Don’t—”

“You’re not forgettable.”

Spike froze, argument lost.

“You’re not,” she continued breathily. “Hell, you’re so unforgettable that trying to forget you distanced me from everyone. They all saw it. They all knew it was you, in one way or another. You who was driving me crazy. I couldn’t focus on anything. I was…I was so pissed that you’d left me to clean up the mess, but I knew it was…you said it yourself. You did exactly what I asked you to do, and I blamed you for not reading my mind, even if I didn’t know what my mind was saying at the time.”

His eyes were cobalt and his skin tingled, feeling her heat even from across the room. Words. Words gave him life. He thrived on them. Drank, digested, and produced them. Her words were burning him alive with more fire than anything she could have given him before. His arms ached to hold her. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and hold her until time ended.

He was. God, he really was in love with the Slayer.

If desire were substantial, they would both be drowning in it.

Before he could stop himself, he had thundered across the office, closing the needless space between them. One arm snaked around her waist and the other pressed against the back of her head to steady her for his kiss. Fortunate; she buckled in impact, whether for the spontaneity of attack or the feel of his mouth moving against hers. His teeth nipping at her lips. His tongue begging for entrance and the resounding moan which coursed through him when she granted it. Then they were mating with their mouths, clutching at each other as though losing hold meant falling off the edge of the earth. And it wasn’t enough. His hips bucked furiously against hers and she returned the favor; they shared a whimper in frenzied union and set up pace before it became too much, and they were forced to pull away again.

Spike’s mouth made play up and down her throat. “Tell me more.”

“Wha…”

“Tell me more.” He nudged his erection against her pussy and she crooned again. God, if they weren’t careful, he would fuck her here. Right here. In the Mayor’s office. On top of the old sod’s desk. Papers flying, pens falling to the floor, her legs astride his shoulders as he slammed into her over and over and…

If possible, his cock hardened even further. They needed to get out of here.

“Not,” she managed to gasp before he assaulted her mouth again. “Forgettable.”

Another sharp thrust forward.

“Oh God. Not forgettable.”

“We done here?”

Buffy’s breathing was labored and her eyes glossy, and she nearly mewled in protest when he pulled away from her just enough to catch her gaze. “What?”

“Are we done? Books not here, that the general verdict?”

Oh right. The job. “Books not here,” she agreed with a hasty nod. “Ascension on Graduation Day. Big stoppage for later date.”

“Right then. Let’s off.”

Move? He expected her to move?

“Slayer?”

Eyes. Oh, eyes. He was still panting, too. Hair tussled from her greedy hands, his lips swollen from kissage. Probably as swollen as hers. And his jeans looked about ruined. That zipper was showing some major restraint, but Spike had the entire super-strength thing going for him. And size? Did anyone mention—

Moving. Right. Feet were a good thing.

“Where we…” Her mind was still buzzed. What she really wanted him to do was something out of a perverse porno flick, but that was a big eww. Especially in the Mayor’s office. Thank God for logical thought—she figured if she didn’t have it in spades, he would take her up on any offer. They hadn’t been big on the discreet thus far tonight, but going at in the Big Bad’s lair was sort of a not.

“Well, we got three options, way I look at it,” he said, trying very hard to pretend he didn’t want to shove her against the wall and have his wicked way with her. Future note good: get rid of sexual tension before partaking important assignments with subject of said sexual tension. “You do your do-gooder work an’ run off to the Watcher. Tell him what the rogue bird said to her boss an’ that the books weren’ found, but you’ll come back when you think there’s a better chance of them being here.”

“You really think they’re not here?”

“Likely not, pet. If I were running this show, I’d have some lackey working round the clock on cracking the language barrier.”

“How do you know it’s not in English?”

He grinned at her innocence. “Because, despite your self-involved world view, older texts rely on languages that aren’t Westernized. You expectin’ the Cliff’s Notes version?”

She scowled, and he continued.

“There’s option number one. Number two is I see you home an’ leave it at that. We don’ go any further than we’ve gone tonight.” Spike smiled at the fleetingly perplexed look that overwhelmed her features. “Don’ get me wrong, luv. I don’ wager there’s anything I wanna do more than lock you up an’ ravish you till you can’t walk, but I can be patient about this.”

She arched a brow.

“Yeah, I can. I know it’s worth the wait.”

“You’re really offering to…” No point in beating around the bush. In for the kill. “Were you even here a few minutes ago? We practically had sex against the wall!”

At that, the platinum vampire’s eyes traveled the length of her and his tongue caressed his teeth in the way he knew she liked. But he wouldn’t cave. Despite his own body’s hunger, despite the room that was perfumed in her arousal, despite the persistent bulge in his trousers, he wouldn’t cave. This was worth patience. Worth anything and everything. She had given him more than enough tonight. “Don’ make this some sodding rot about me not wanting you,” he scolded softly. “You know that’s rot. Buffy, I want this to be real. For us. Not somethin’ we do jus’ because we want each other.”

“I’ve said—”

“I know you’ve said. An’ I know it’s true. I know.” He betrayed himself and stepped forward, cupping her cheek. “An’ it’ll be true tomorrow. An’ the day after. An’ the day after. We have all the time in the world.”

Buffy blinked at him blearily. For some reason, words seemed hard to come by.

He was right. They did.

All the time in the world.

“What…” she gasped heavily. “What’s the third option?”

“Third option…” He leaned inward, lips caressing hers without fully touching. “We go back to my hotel—”

“You have a…” Gasp. “Hotel? Not the factory?”

“Not the factory. Bloody hate redundancy, an’ I was found out too quickly there the last time.” Spike’s mouth descended on her throat and he placed a feather light kiss over her throbbing pulse. “Got a room. A nice comfy room, with lovely bed, a mini-fridge, an’ a telly to top things off.” He moved away suddenly and grinned when her eyes fluttered open. “There. That’s the third option.”

Buffy nearly stumbled with the unexpected absence of his body against hers. Okay. Standing. Also a good.

“That’s the third option?” she demanded. “After that little speech about how waiting is a good thing?”

He shrugged. “Well, jus’ wanna be sure you got your cards in line. If you fancy a shagathon, I’m your man.” A shade darkened his eyes. “I bloody well hope so, anyway. Rip the spleen out of any other wanker who touches you.”

“Okay, gross.”

Another shrug. “All in a day’s work. This is me, Buffy. Take it or leave it.”

“Oh, I’m definitely taking. Taking is me. And hotel’s sounding good right now.”

A beat.

“But,” he finished for her, “option number two’s likely the smartest, right?”

Buffy nodded. Reluctantly. Half of her was still blazing with the surprise that was Spike plus maturity. The other half was swooning for the romantic notion behind it. Not a lusty thing after all. Well, not a thing based completely on the lust. Her more concrete worries pushed asunder for something real. He would wait. He would wait for her. “Yeah, the smartest,” she agreed with a small smile. “I’m all for the smartest.”

“Right.” He extended a hand for the taking. “Let’s get you home, luv. Before your mum worries an’ all that rot. Besides, it’s prob’ly better that you tell your precious Scoobies about what you found here…an’ that the Big Bad din’t make you his supper.” He stopped to smirk. “Well, in any way you din’t beg for, anyway.”

She flushed. “Okay. Scooby meeting. Also a good. About the conversation we heard and the books…well, sort of the books. Seeing as we didn’t look all that much, not about what actually went down here, right?”

Spike’s grin broadened. “That being the both of us, I’d hope not.”

“Spike!”

“What? It’s what you meant, too, an’ you bloody well know it.”

Her cheeks flamed. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to rub it in.”

“Mmmm, sounds delicious.”

More blushing. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Bloody right you will.” Spike edged behind her and nudged his still-persistent erection into her ass, just barely. It was enough. The gasp that flooded the air echoed through every vacant corridor. “As it is, I’m turning in with a nice long wank.”

It was embarrassing how easily the words rolled off her tongue. “And what will you be thinking about?”

He chuckled. “After tonight? Lemme count the ways. Namely…that magic mouth ‘f yours.”

Hello. Pleased to meet you. I am Rudolf the Red-Faced Buffy.

A few seconds of silence, and then something else. Turn of the tide, a complete change in tone. Something she could not let go of if she tried. Something she needed to hear, even if she already knew the answer.

“You really will be here tomorrow?”

She didn’t mean to sound that needy, but for his part, Spike hardly noticed. Instead, he stopped and looked at her, wonderment sprawled across his face.

Then he smiled. A soft, gentle smile.

“I’ll be here,” he assured. “Count on it.”

There it was. His word. His promise.

And she believed him.

In an ideal world, walking her home wouldn’t turn into a massive thing. It was taking her from Point A to Point B, preferably with a kiss good night, and promises about the days to come. After all, they had decided to wait. Waiting was a good thing. It made all kinds of sense and tickled the hopeless romantic within. All go for waiting. Waiting had been taken to committee, voted upon, and passed. It deserved its own foam finger.

That didn’t explain why she was pressed between Spike and a mausoleum in the cemetery, doing everything but waiting. It didn’t explain why his arms were wound around her waist, why she was thrusting her hips against his hard cock, or why she was nearly crying into his mouth with the need of furthered friction.

Rational thought eventually managed to break through her lust-addled mind, though she had no vote on whether or not it was welcome. Buffy pulled back, panting, attempting to piece together Spike’s face through a blur of color. “I.” Gasp. “Thought.” Pant. “You were…walking…me home.”

“Oh, we’ll get there, pet,” the vampire promised heatedly, running his tongue along the roof of her mouth and reveling in the groan he earned. “’S your fault you smell so bloody good.”

That argument lacked logic. “Right.”

“It is!”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Spike smiled and pulled back, his fingers playing across her collarbone. “What are you gonna tell them?” he whispered, trusting the question was not so ambiguous it required elaboration.

He was right. A sigh rolled off her shoulders. There was thinking to be done. Thinking in mass amounts. There was also a conversation with Angel hovering in the dreaded future. She would eventually have to talk to him. To settle whatever was left between them in a manner that could be considered civil. She hoped he would be civil, even if she did not expect him to understand.

The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, but with as far as things had gone, it seemed inevitable.

“I don’t know,” Buffy replied, eyes falling shut in wordless ode to her confusion. “Willow, I’m guessing, is all ‘All aboard’ on the Spike-loving, train, isn’t she?”

They both wisely ignored the mention of the l-word. In such context, it didn’t mean anything. He couldn’t, however, help the snicker that tickled his lips at the description of Red’s favorable disposition. “Is she now? Seem to remember chattin’ her up, though last night’s kinda blurry. I was sloshed for a good part of our conversation.”

Buffy pursed her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “About whatever I said. Truthfully, so much has happened that I don’t really remember it…but it wasn’t of the good, I know. I was trying to be vindictive and—”

“It worked, let’s jus’ leave it at that. An’ you better bloody quit apologizing. Think we agreed that you’ve done more than make it up to me.” He waggled his eyebrows and thrust his cock against her, which earned him a desired blush. “You were confused is all.”

“To put it very mildly.”

“Hell, I half din’t know what I wanted when I came back, either.” Spike leaned forward, burying his face in her neck. Her pulse thrummed against him; he planted a tender kiss over its flesh-encased sweetness. Wanted to drink. So badly wanted to drink. But wouldn’t. Not without her say-so. And he wouldn’t ask. “Jus’ that I was tired of looking for you an’ ending up with disappointment.”

Buffy half-flared in jealousy, but forced her thoughts away. Whatever was done was done. He had left on an empty promise and returned to her when she asked it of him. There would be no more of that.

“Damn right there won’t.”

“What? Did I talk out loud again?” There was no need to ask the question; his eyes said it all. “I’ve been doing that all day.”

“They weren’ anything to me, Buffy. Know why?” He waited but she didn’t reply. He hadn’t truthfully expected it. “They weren’ you. I don’t dally around on my women, all right? Was bloody faithful to Dru for over a century. I’m here now, an’ as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

“As long as I’ll have you?”

“Well—”

“Spike, this is serious.” She sighed harshly, her eyes falling shut to collect her thoughts. “I know I’m young—but I’m also the Slayer. I’m the Slayer with a very permanent expiration date stamped on my forehead. I had to grow up fast. And yeah, maybe I was a little hasty, but there was a time when I was sure whatever I had to offer this earth other than the occasional saveage would be dedicated to Angel.” Her vampire stiffened against her but didn’t object. There was a definite past-tense in her voice that he knew better than to second-guess. “I’m not with Angel…well, I guess since we haven’t had The Talk yet, I technically still am, but I’m…I’m here with you. And that’s pretty much the it. The big it for me. I wouldn’t have done what I did and made the choices that I made for anyone. You get me?”

A very still, very poignant silence settled between them. The intensity of her lover’s stare was overwhelming at times. Too much to handle or accept. As though she awed him. Too much and not enough. Never, ever enough. “I get you,” he murmured hoarsely. “An’ luv, I…if we’re in this, then you gotta understand I’m gonna cover your back like there’s no end.”

“Promises, promises.”

He flashed her a devious smirk but it melted away quick enough. The conversation was too staid to allow such digression. “I mean it. You might be the Slayer an’ what all but you’re going nowhere without a good fight from yours truly.”

“Considering your vocation, that’s pretty ironic.”

“’m not makin’ a vow to protect a slayer, you silly bint.” Spike ran a hand through her hair, and they were both surprised when he trembled. “I’m makin’ a vow to protect you. Your being the Slayer is jus’ a side note. I’m in…” Deep breath. Might as well say it. They both knew it, they both had heard it. It was time to get it out there for good, consequences be damned. “Buffy…I’m in love with who you are, not what you are. We jus’ likely wouldn’t have been acquainted if you weren’t in the field of demon-slaying.”

A long, tremulous beat. There it was. Spike loved her. He’d said it twice now. Twice. No room for error. Out in the open. Said again with intention.

“I know,” she replied. “I just…how do you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you…that you’re—”

“That I love you?” She still couldn’t say the words herself, thus merely opted with a safe nod. “’Cause I do. I’ve been around forever, an’ despite whatever your books tell you, I know how to love. An’ what I feel…God, don’ ask me how this happened. Part of me is still reeling. What I felt for Dru I thought no one could come between. You did. An’ maybe it was infatuation at first, but I’ve seen you, Buffy. I’ve seen you fight an’ try. I’ve seen you do things I can’t imagine. You sent your boy to Hell ‘cause you knew it was right. You fought against the person you loved an’ knew that there was no good way for it to end. You were determined an’…God, jus’ so…”

She didn’t realize she was crying until he caressed her cheek, thumb rolling lazy tears.

“I wasn’t prepared for you,” he continued softly. “You bloody well blew me away. You’re more than me, sweetheart. So much more than this pissant world you’ve been assigned to guard. You got stuff in you that people only hope to touch. An’ the fact that it’s good…the notion that it’s everything I’m s’posed to…’s crazy, luv. ‘S bug-shaggin’ insane. Wonkier than Dru ever was. But I see who you are an’ I can’t help myself. God save the man who can’t help but love you, Buffy, an’ damn the man who doesn’.”

The breath suspended between them drew to an agonizing halt. There had been no words of greater beauty spoken to her. She feared his pedestal—was suddenly terrified of the duty she had to uphold. The goodness. The wealth. Her mouth drew his home and she poured everything she could not say into the union of their lips. She kissed him thoroughly, praying that he could decipher her silent message. That he would understand her for all the wonderful vagueness she had to offer.

Everything she had shared with Angel notwithstanding; she had not known that it could be like this. And she feared that it was false. A phony representation of what he was and wanted. He said it was real, and she needed it to be. She needed it to be real so badly. She needed to trust that it was.

Spike sensed her plateau, of course, and resumed his ambition to draw her down. The night had already known too many revelations to impound her with more. Perhaps he had spoken out of context, but he had spoken. He had spoken words that would have eventually bubbled to the surface, and even with the moment passed, it still seemed ideal.

But he had to get her elsewhere. He had to get her focused on something that wasn’t so horribly serious.

“What about your other pal?” he murmured.

Buffy blinked dazedly. “What?”

“Your chum. How’ll he take to me? The poncy one that—”

“Xander?” she offered with a wry grin.

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Din’t take much to out the contestants, did it?”

She smirked. “Don’t read too much into it. Seeing as Xander’s the only other guy I hang around, it was more a process of elimination. And what’s it going to take to get you to remember his name?”

“It comes an’ goes,” Spike retorted airily. “I remembered it earlier tonight, thanks ever so.”

“Is that right?”

“As the proverbial rain. You would’ve been proud.”

Her grin spread. “I don’t doubt it.”

There was a short, albeit comfortable silence, a concept that did not lose her on irony. Never had Buffy known a comfortable silence with anyone, least of all Angel, just as she had never known sincere ease. In that regard, it wasn’t fair to continuously compare Spike to her former, but comparisons were inevitable.

“What’s going to happen next?” she heard herself ask.

He frowned. “Next?”

“Is this…is this going to be…” Buffy heaved a deep breath. “You really think the non-evil thing is something that you can do?”

To her relief, he didn’t assure her automatically. His brow furrowed and he fell silent, eyes drawn far away. He was considering the question for her sake, and she appreciated it more than words could express. After all, it was a grim concern that deserved true thought rather than a hasty promise.

“I would never do anything with the intention of hurting you,” he decided after a few minutes. “An’ that includes hurting others. But we’re not meant for absolutes, Buffy. It could happen. I won’ presume to fancy up what I am, an’ I’ll never pretend. I’ve told you as much.”

“You have,” she agreed.

“But I’ll do my best by you. If anything happens, I’ll go to you right away. Let you know what I did…or din’t do. You have my word.” Spike sighed heavily. “I don’ ever wanna hurt you, luv, but I know it doesn’ always work out like that. I’ll do my best to be someone that…I told you this earlier. I’ll do my best to be your someone. That’s all I can offer.”

“It’s enough.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard and cupped his cheek with her hand, drawing that endless ocean back home. “I trust you.”

A blink.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” Buffy smiled. “I do. And I don’t trust easily, Spike.”

“I know.”

“It took me forever to trust Angel.” A sigh heaved off her chest. “And when I did, it took his soul away.”

“You din’t trust Angel?” Spike repeated, notably stunned. “You two had the sodding ‘star-crossed’ melodrama goin’ on for what felt like—”

“I loved him, don’t get me wrong. But it wasn’t enough. Love without trust wasn’t enough for me, and I don’t think it ever can be again.”

A thoughtful silence. “But you trust me.”

Buffy smiled again, a warm smile. “Yeah. I trust you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just do.” She shook her head and placed a hand on his chest. “I do. But I’m afraid.”

“Of what, baby?”

“Of you…of this.” She shuddered and he went along with her. “God, it’s all so…”

“Overwhelming?”

Buffy nodded sheepishly. “Yeah.”

“You have no idea.”

It was. It had to be overbearingly crushing for him. Turning around an entire pace of life. Going against his value system. All for…what? What she had to offer?

He was sure, though. There was no doubt or hesitation behind his eyes, and she knew he wasn’t acting on impulse. No. Spike knew what he wanted. He had weighed the ins and outs. He had been granted the opportunity to wander and taste the sinful pleasures his demon craved, but he was denying it. He was denying himself so much.

He rejected his nature for her. That meant more than anything. And she wanted to tell him so.

The words, however, never touched the air. Other words beat her to it.

Odd. She hadn’t even felt him approach.

“Well,” Angel said, voice neutral and eyes equally distant. “I suppose we can call off the search party.”

Buffy froze awkwardly—her body compact between Spike and the mausoleum, her hands resting on his forearms. She felt her companion go rigid against her, his hold on her tightening by instinct rather than possessiveness. Had she wanted to wiggle free, she could have without struggle. He was not keeping her against her will, and his attentions weren’t exactly focused.

But she didn’t move for all the world.

To his credit, Angel didn’t bat an eye. His hands were buried in the pockets of his trench coat, his expression void of emotion. “Buffy,” he began shortly, “Giles and the others are looking for you. We were worried.”

Breathe. In and out. Calmly…God, how long has he been watching us?

A smaller voice interrupted at that. One to which she was still growing accustomed, but depended on with more than just an ounce of reliability.

Does it really matter?

Yes, it mattered. Despite choices made, despite everything else that had happened, Angel deserved her honesty in the very least. He deserved more than to be casually brushed aside. He deserved more than to watch them flaunt their newfound relationship in front of him. Spike would have no qualm in gloating, of course. She could nearly feel his revulsion for his grandsire stretching through his muscles and set in the tightness of his jaw. Yet he managed to keep his mouth closed. Managed by a hair. It was painfully obvious that he wanted to break into a mocking song and dance number. But he didn’t.

“Well,” she said softly when she remembered she had a voice. “I’m fine. As you can see.”

“So you are.” Impartiality vanished without suggestion. “But you can’t blame them for worrying, bearing in mind the company that you decided to keep tonight.” He was glaring at Spike. “Buffy, I think we need to talk.”

Spike’s hold on her tightened. It was the only thing that could have brought her back to him at that minute. Her heart thundered so hard even she could hear it, and her temples throbbed with soundless effect. Spike’s eyes softened when he noticed her distress and he stepped back, hands going to her wrists so he could caress the skin there in means of neutral comfort. “You’ll be all right?” he asked.

Buffy smiled her appreciation. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’ have to—”

“You heard the lady,” Angel growled, prowling forward.

At that, Spike’s eyes flashed yellow and he snarled with equal fervor. “Back off, you overgrown boy scout. I was addressing the Slayer, not you. An’ in case you din’t notice, you’re not exactly walking in on me ripping her throat out.”

“Spike…”

“’ll leave when she—”

“Spike.” Buffy placed a hand on his cheek and directed his gaze back to hers, and his anger instantly dissolved. “Spike, Angel and I need to talk. Alone.”

It was infeasible, but somehow every word of that sentence struck a different barb in his chest. Even if he knew it was the truth.

Nevertheless, he would comply.

“Right,” he agreed with a huff. Then his voice dropped. “Sunnydale Inn. Room nine. If you need…’f you…I’ll be there if you need me.”

“Room nine,” she repeated.

“I love you.”

She smiled, and his world lit up on command. “I know.”

He found it within himself to return her cordiality, pulling away and finally releasing her completely. “See you ‘round, Slayer,” he said. “An’ good luck.” He began to walk off, stopped, and turned back. “One more thing.”

Spike would have bet money that Buffy didn’t know what hit her until it was over. His hand shot out with rapidity even a Slayer could not anticipate and grasped her wrist, tugging her into his embrace as his mouth sought hers. In all likelihood, their kiss only last seconds, but it was enough. Enough to recount everything shared, everything the future promised, everything he felt. Funny how the simplest thing meant more connection than practically any other art. He tasted her, savaged her, loved her, and pulled back when he knew he was at heightened risk for decapitation if the scorned lover took another step forward. A flush of pride over washed him at the vision she portrayed. Reddened cheeks, glassy eyes, swollen lips, and breathlessness that tempted him to give Angel a real show.

Boundaries had already been overstepped. He knew better than that.

“Don’ forget, Buffy,” he murmured.

The Slayer’s eyes widened as she fought to return to herself. “Spike…you better go before someone gets seriously hurt.”

He didn’t know if she meant him or her aching honey. He didn’t know if he applied for both positions or not. Judging by the pain in Angel’s eyes, he reckoned she was referring to the other vampire.

“It’ll be okay,” she told him, and he couldn’t tell if she was angry with him or not. There was nothing to suggest either. “But it needs to be done.” Before he knew what had happened, Buffy’s grip about his wrist remembered itself and pulled him forward with more authority than he could muster. She did not ravage his lips as he forbiddingly hoped, but rather nuzzled his skin with growing familiarity and tickled his ear with the warmth of her breath. “Please trust me.”

Trust. The same that she had given him.

“Please.”

“Right.” One syllable that could not begin to measure the amount of faith born on its back. The same that whispered, Please don’t make me bleed. He had bled too much on promises of conviction. But there was something in her eyes that told him not to worry. That all would be well somehow.

“Don’t forget.”

Buffy turned back to him once more, and he saw what he needed. It was there. Burning. Etching. Whatever could convince him to leave her be in the cemetery. Alone with the man that had so long been the only glimmer in her eye. And himself—alone with the promise of what he was to her, and how she thought him as unforgettable. Intention he reckoned she didn’t recognize herself. Intention that meant more to him than anything that had happened thus in his favor. She had taken his hand earlier and meant it. Now she was initiating the first step toward tomorrow. And she wouldn’t disappoint.

Buffy’s eyes leveled with his; he knew no other truth. “I could never forget.”

She had believed him. She had placed all her eggs in one basket, and she trusted him not to let her shatter.

He had to return the favor.

And walk away.

There were times Spike annoyed himself with his own impatience. This certainly qualified. All the distraction in the world couldn’t draw his mind away from the night’s events, or the twist at the end that had separated him from Buffy’s side before he was ready. She had said nothing to make him worry, but he could not rest when he knew he had left her with her first love. The man whose death had wedged a rift between her and her friends, and whose return had nearly torn them all apart.

Spike’s relationship with Buffy was too fresh to fuck with, and Angel would do his best to rip apart their union. He would tear her to pieces and offer to patch her up. That was what he did—gleefully ripped the hearts of others but gave the wounded puppy routine if anyone decided to return the favor.

Of course, were Buffy here, she would remind him it wasn’t Angel who made her life miserable. It wasn’t Angel who drove Drusilla away. None of it was Angel. Angel remained eternally blameless. It was Angelus. His darker side. His demon side.

If only she knew how truly Angel mirrored Angelus, it would tear her apart.

He was going mad.

Not that Spike had a say or anything. Too much had happened already—far more than he could have dreamed. They already had come so far.

There was nothing on the telly and he was running out of bagged blood. Bagged blood. Christ, what was she doing to him?

His own promise haunted his ears. And he knew exactly what he was.

He was in love with the Slayer.

He was in love with the Slayer, and he missed her. Now. Now more than ever. They had been apart less than an hour and he mourned her absence as though years had passed. Was he so completely unraveled by what had happened?

The answer wasn’t ambiguous.

He was worried. He was terrified. Twice in recent memory, he had come within a hair’s taste of perfection, and twice it had been ripped away, and it had broken him. He hated that Angel had that much power over her. He hated his own misgivings. He hated the knowledge all could be snatched from under him without so much as a blink. It had happened before. No matter the circumstances, despite the consequences, it was always Angel they chose. Angel to whom they ran. Angel they really wanted.

But Buffy had chosen Spike. Buffy had chosen him over Angel. Buffy had taken his hand and led him outside. When she broke down in the cemetery, it was not Angel for whom she wept. When she kissed him, it was not Angel she imagined. When he pleasured her, it was not Angel for whom she cried. When her mouth enveloped him, it was not Angel she tasted. When all was said and done, it was not Angel she trusted.

But Angel had been there first.

This was so fucking maddening.

There was nothing he could do tonight, not when he’d already set the rules. He wanted to mark Buffy all over, but knew his earlier estimation had been right, even and especially with the new developments. If what he and Buffy shared was real, she would feel the same way tomorrow. She would come to him tomorrow. She would be tomorrow exactly who she was today.

She wouldn’t forget. She had promised. She had promised him to never forget.

And she would be hurt if he didn’t trust her.

Pacing around the hotel room wasn’t doing anyone any good. Spike sighed hard and jerked a hand through his hair. Nothing on the telly, nothing to do but wait. Better head to Willy’s. Or that pub from the night before. He reckoned he had charged a walloping load to the Watcher’s credit, but still couldn’t find reason enough to care.

Spike shook his head heavily and marched toward the door. There was no problem a trip to Willy’s couldn’t fix.

Except a notably brassed Angel waiting outside his hotel room.

He hadn’t truly seen the man since beating him senseless with a crowbar last spring. Sure, he had caught glimpses here or there—had broken into the Magic Box and stolen rats eyes along with a few other goodies. Had been nearly pummeled to a pulp by the ponce the morning after Buffy’s birthday. Had watched his non-soul-losing show with Faith and all the wackiness that had ensued. Had seen the devastated look on the git’s face when Buffy grasped Spike’s hand.

But there had been no quality time with Angel alone. Not last year’s Ode to Angelus. And he reckoned that such was a situation that the elder vampire meant to rectify.

In all fairness, Spike had more than enough time to prepare a good defense. While Angel wasted no time with pleasantries, there wasn’t a person alive or undead that could mistake his intentions. There wasn’t any pretense; the elder stomped inward, hand closing around Spike’s throat and shoving him unceremoniously against the wall. Eyes and fangs descended, and Angel’s grip tightening rigidly with a horrible roar. He would have crushed a lesser man.

“I don’t know what you did to her, Spike,” he snarled, “or what you’re planning to do. But know that I’m going to—”

Spike’s eyes widened. It didn’t take him long to recuperate. True, he had anticipated this visit—he just hadn’t figured it would be so soon. Though of late, he could say that about a lot of things. “What? Gonna what? Watch her enjoy herself for a bleeding change? Honestly, if you can’t tell when your own girl’s unhappy, you don’ sodding deserve her.”

A flash of yellow. “Like you do?”

“Maybe.”

Angel rolled his eyes, grip tightening. “Please, Spike.”

“I was there for her, wasn’t I? When you couldn’t be? When you were off planning the end of the world an’ shagging Dru to your merry delight, I was there for her.” The bones in the younger vampire’s face shifted, demon raging forward. He tore free with a roar, landing a punch from last Tuesday that sent Angel crashing into the television set, which promptly shattered.

Sparks flew and wires fried. Spike winced and released a weary sigh. Good move, mate. “Fantastic. There goes my entertainment for the night. Somethin’ tells me the bloke at the front’s not gonna be happy.”

Angel pushed himself up with a face of disgust, brushing away bits of broken glass. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull,” he growled. “But rest assured, once I find out, you’re going to find yourself blowing away in the wind, one particle at a time.”

“You know, you were much better at making threats when you were soulless.”

“I’m not kidding, Spike. You hurt her, you’ll wake up on fire.”

“Now, why in God’s name would I hurt the girl when there are much more…pleasurable pursuits?”

Okay, not the smartest thing in the world to say, but bugger it. Who did this sod think he was, charging in here in his less-than-white armor to defend the Slayer, of all people? The Slayer didn’t need defense—certainly not from him. Not that he and Angel saw eye-to-eye on the matter. In a blink, Spike found himself on the floor with an enraged Angel pummeling him into next week, but it didn’t last long. His own strength came surging back and before either could fully react, the elder vampire had made an indention in the far wall.

The crash was followed by irate pounding from the neighboring room. “Would you knock it off? There are people trying to sleep here!”

Neither vampire replied. Eyes never wavering, they rose to their feet simultaneously, drawn to an irrevocable standstill. Watching each other. Daring each other. Waiting for the other to speak.

“This is about what I told you, isn’t it?” Angel finally spat.

Spike blinked. “What?”

“To kill the girl, you have to love her. Is that what you think you’re doing?”

Of all the egocentric…

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” the younger vampire spat. “Or how many times do I gotta spell it out for you? I. Don’t. Want. To. Kill. Her. An’ if I did, I certainly wouldn’t go about it your way, you ninny. Think I’d take a slayer down without a proper fight? You’re off your rocker.”

“So I’m supposed to believe that you really…” He broke off, eyes darting to a corner. “She says that you’re in love with her.”

“She’s a clever bird. Try listening to her.”

“I’m not buying that.”

“Surprise, surprise. Ask me if I care.”

“She also says you promised to change…” Angel stepped forward. “To give up what you love best. I think…she doesn’t know you that well. She’s only had a glance of what you are. What you’ve done. What you can do. And that’s why she believes you.”

“So, what? We’re gonna to rassle it out?” Spike spread his arms. “You’re forgetting, mate, that I know you pretty bloody well, too. You think the Slayer’d be interested in how closely akin you an’ your personable half really are?”

There was a menacing growl. “I am nothing like Angelus.”

And a scoff to answer it. “Oh, cry me a sodding river. You’ve never been anyone but Angelus, you overgrown ponce, but at least he had personality an’ din’t try to hide the fact that he was a universal prick. It’s the same sob story with the both of you. Losing your marbles over some hot li’l blonde. One had a hankering for carnage, the other protects the world. You were a pup with Darla an’ you were a pup with Buffy. Bent over backwards to give ‘em everything they wanted.”

“You’re talking to me about bending over backwards?” Angel replied skeptically. “Are we forgetting Drusilla?”

Spike waved dismissively. “Remember me? Love’s bitch? Man enough to admit it? Still do. You think I asked for this gig? You think I wanted to fall head over for a Slayer? God, it ripped my innards out an’ stuffed them back in. It’s more than wrong, an’ I know it. I bloody well know it. There’s a part of me that’s always gonna be asking what the bleeding fuck I got myself in to. But it doesn’ change anything, mate. I love the girl. I love her more than you an’ me are worth. Only knew it tonight but I’ve felt it forever. Since before I knew where to look when it came to her. That’s why I came back at all, you stupid sod.”

“Funny,” Angel replied, stepping forward. “Seems as I recall, you came back whining and moaning about Dru, and how she had dumped you for…what was it? A Chaos Demon?”

“She left me because of Buffy. Because she knew how I felt.” Spike shook his head in awe. “She knew how I felt before I did. Before, even, that pleasurable li’l night caught in the house those Watcher wankers set up for her to die in.” He stopped with a sigh and moved to the bed, taking a seat. “If it’s any consolation, I din’t come here originally to shag her an’ make your life miserable…though, I gotta admit, that was a bloody fantastic perk. An’ it’s not like she fell into my lap. I fought for her. I’ll fight for her until I’m dust.”

“You’re in over your head,” Angel decided softly, anger receding. “Far more than I originally thought. You think this is going to be easy? That you can fight for her? She’s mortal. You’re not. She’s a hero. You’re not. She—”

“Sounds like someone’s had time to think up this tune up before he started singing it,” Spike observed, brows perking. “You weren’t having second thoughts about the girl you went so wonky over jus’ last year, were you? Find another tarty blonde to chase around by the tail?”

Angel’s eyes darkened. “Buffy is not like Darla,” he snarled. “In more than the obvious ways. With Darla, I knew it was forever. Or it was for me at the time. It was forever to me because she was forever. She was a vampire, so was I. She liked the chaos, so did I. She was of my mold. Buffy is light in itself. You can’t expect to touch that for too long without crumpling to dust. She is everything your nature is against.” He offered a resigned sigh and took a seat. “Everything our nature is against.”

A few ticks of silence settled between them. Spike threw a glance over his shoulder. “’S that defeat I hear?”

“She’s young. She’s only eighteen, and at times, that really shows.” He sighed again. “And at other times, she…”

“Blows your bloody mind away.”

“Right.”

Things fell quiet again. Then Angel asked, “You really think you’re in love with her?”

“No think about it.”

“How can you know?”

“Because it’s stronger than whatever I had with Dru.” Spike’s eyes distanced. “When I’m with her, there’s no one else…anywhere. She looks at me an’ I know I’m about to burn from the inside. Her touch…her scent…surrounding…all around…” His breath trembled when it hissed through his teeth. Never had he imagined sitting in his hotel room with Angel and having this conversation. Just went to prove how nothing came of planning things out anymore. However, for the minute, there was nothing to suggest hostility. That could change at any given moment, but for now it was safer to simply go with it. “She’s so pure.”

“And you want to spoil her.”

“Bloody no!” Spike grumbled and jerked to his feet. “It’s her purity I love, you stupid git! I can’t get enough of it. She makes me wanna…makes me wanna…”

“You might wanna be careful on how you finish that sentence.”

“She makes me wanna be a better man.”

“You’re not a man at all.”

“An’ you are?”

“I’m closer than you.” Angel clamored to his feet. “I have a soul. You don’t. I know the difference between right and wrong. You don’t. I can be a—”

“An’ here we are again.” Spike rolled his eyes. “You wanna know how you’re like Angelus? You’re bloody well screamin’ it from the rooftops. So fucking full of yourself. An’ for the record, I do know the difference between right an’ wrong. It was jus’ recently that I decided to give a fuck.”

“So you care now.”

“I care because she cares.”

“And what happens when you stop caring about her?”

“I won’ do that, Angelus. I’m not you. What’s she gonna do? Shag a bloody soul into me?” Spike scoffed and shook his head. “Right now I’m as bad as I’m hankerin’ to get. I was faithful to Dru for longer than any sodding married you’ve come across, demon or otherwise. I was ready to spend eternity with her.”

Angel quirked his head. “But you fell in love with the Slayer.”

“Din’t leave Dru, though. Wouldn’t have. Din’t know I was in love with the Slayer until after she’d left me.”

“What happens if Buffy leaves you?”

“I piss myself into a blubbering fool, make half a dozen follied attempts to get her back, an’ end my torment by kissing sunlight.” The thought alone made Spike’s insides freeze, but he remembered what she’d told him and it gave him peace. Buffy had chosen Spike, which meant he was the one she wanted. “An’ I won’ delude myself into believin’ it’s not possible. But she trusts me, an’ I don’ aim to take that lightly.”

“She trusts you?”

“Yeah.” Spike replied slowly. “Trusts me not to hurt her…not intentionally. I gave her my word, an’ if you knew me half as well as you claim, you’d know my word’s not somethin’ I take lightly.”

Something twisted and dark fell over Angel’s face. “You really think you can do this? Love her? Be good for her? You don’t know what love is, Spike. You don’t have the networking for it.”

Instantly, the younger vampire’s insides wrenched in protest. “What the bloody hell do you call Dru?!” he shouted, eyes blazing yellow. “What I had with her was—”

“Not real. It was infatuation. Like what I had with Darla. It was—”

“Oh, so if it’s true for you, it has to be true for the rest of us.” Spike caved and started pacing. It was inevitable. The floor simply looked too calm to sit there unwalked. “Again with you an’ your ego. What do you know, you lousy sod? How do you know that it wasn’t true with Darla? Or does the fact that it might’ve been the real thing scare the piss outta you, ‘cause that means that there’s a bit more monster in you than you wagered?” He glowered. “Or does it jus’ eat you away that I can be what you’re not? Somethin’ good for her?”

Angel’s eyes narrowed. “Good for her? She’s the Slayer!”

“Din’t stop you, did it?”

“I’m—”

“—different. Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

“If you keep this up, it’s going to end up hurting her,” the elder warned. “And I will kill you if you hurt her.”

“’m not gonna hurt her. ‘F I did, I wouldn’t be around for you to kill me.” He paused. “An’ how exactly do you define ‘hurt,’ Angelus? Like you hurt her? Telling her that rot that she wasn’t worth a second—”

The dry smack of flesh hitting flesh was not a foreign sensation, but it did manage to take Spike by surprise. He found himself braced against the dresser, panting useless gobs of oxygen.

“That. Was. Not. Me.”

Spike didn’t bother to glance up. “Looked like you. Talked like you.” He shook his head. “An’ lemme tell you…Buffy an’ me? We had a helluva time proving you wrong about her. Second, third, fourth…I lost count, she felt so good.” He twisted his lips in a particularly vile smirk, ducking another flying fist, which allowed him an opening to pop Angel good in the nose. “You’ve gotten to thinking you’re so preciously high an’ mighty. You’ve forgotten your place, mate. I’m no worse for her than you were, only she’s guaranteed that ‘m not gonna rip her throat out at night.”

“She—”

“You think I’d let a Slayer this close to me if I wasn’t serious? I love her. I love the girl. I’d no sooner hurt her than I would’ve Dru.”

“You did hurt Dru, though. Toward the end.”

“Oh, gettin’ petty are we? Jus’ so happens I hurt Dru because I was helping Buffy take your pitiful arse down.” Spike shrugged easily. “An’ as far as anything else goes, I don’ really see what any of this has to do with you. If she’s spoken her piece to you about how…” He trailed off. “What’d she say that got you so riled up, mate? Couldn’t be jus’ that I love her. I wagered you’d break down my door either way, but your knickers are in even more of a twist than I’d figured.”

Angel glanced away self-consciously. “Like I’d give you the satisfaction.”

“Oh, ‘ve had my satisfaction.” Spike grinned. “An’ I look to get more where it came from.”

“I ought to rip your head off.”

“An’ I oughta yours, from the way you treated the girl.” He took a bold step forward. “You know why she trusts me? Because you gave her reason.”

There was nothing to say to that. Regardless of intent or motivation, it was the truth.

And with that, Spike’s thoughts returned to Buffy entirely. He had to see her soon. The sooner the better. He had to know how she felt in the aftermath. And before he could stop himself, he heard his voice tickling the air again. “How is she?”

Angel fidgeted. “She’s…I didn’t really pay attention…”

“Good going, mate.”

“She’s not happy, that’s for sure. I…” The git at least had the decency to look guilty. “I said some things that weren’t altogether nice.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “Did you hurt her?”

“What? Of course not! I—”

“There’s more than one way to hurt a girl, mate, an’ we both know it.” He prowled forward darkly. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

A very Buffy voice invaded his thoughts. Redundant, much? Hadn’t Angel just promised the same thing?

Sod it. He didn’t care.

Angel arched a brow and chuckled. “Is that right?”

Spike, however, had lost his humor. He shoved the elder vampire against the door, not batting an eye at their rather telling height difference. If they wanted a genuine fight, it was Angel on whom many would place bets. In all the years they had competed, Spike had not bested his Yoda.

Not in any category save one.

Someday, he was going to break all the records.

“You think this is a game?” Spike demanded hotly. “What did you tell her?”

“What you are.”

“She knows what I am.”

“Not like I do.”

“You arrogant wanker.”

“Her friends, her Watcher, her calling…everything she stands for is against you. If she actually goes through with this, she’s betraying her nature. Betraying every noble thing she’s ever done…for a creature that can’t appreciate her. What she is. What she’s sacrificed. What she goes through every day.”

Spike fisted Angel by the hair and smashed his head against the door again. “You think I don’ appreciate it?” he demanded. “You don’ think the concept bloody well boggles my mind? She’s so much more than me.”

“No need to tell me twice. And the word I used is can’t.”

“An’ you told her this?”

“Of course.” Angel shoved him back and prodded forward again. “I love her, Spike. I love her very much. So much that I know when it’s time to let go. I know she can never be mine, because I’m not meant to have her. But hell if I’m going to sit back and watch her bend over backwards for a creature like you. Watch her destroy everything she’s supposed to represent. Every good thing in her life because you decided to take a walk on the wild side.”

“What she’s supposed to represent? Is that all she is to you? A bloody icon? Do you even know her at all?”

“I know her,” Angel replied, voice low and angry. “Far better than you ever will. She’s something beyond you. Beyond your comprehension. Beyond your will to grasp anything outside your selfishness. You don’t deserve her.” He stopped glaringly. “You’re beneath her.”

Everything froze. Everything. Time. The ground. The whole bloody world. His bones rattled with rage. Black, toxic hatred flooded his veins. That was it. The last straw. The final strain of his patience had snapped. Spike’s skin tingled and his chest ached. The demon wanted loose. Wanted free. Wanted to show this jackass the sort of stuff of which he was truly made. Stake his claim on the girl here and now and have the whole matter behind them. If Angel didn’t make tracks soon, one of them was going to die.

And it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Get. Out.”

Amazingly, Angel wasn’t so daft he didn’t realize that an invisible line had been crossed. He nodded and started for the door. “Right. I’ve said what I came to say. But remember, if you—”

“If you tell me one more time to stay away from her, you’re not gonna be around long enough to tell the tale.”

Angel’s brows perked. “Big words. Think you could?”

“Fancy findin’ out? I’m ready to rip out your insides an’ shove them down your throat. Get out.”

A nod, almost cordial. As though they were old friends. His words, though, weren’t as kind. “You touch her,” Angel said, opening the door, “a part of you is coming off.”

“You won’ get close enough to me to try.”

“We’ll see.”

And that was it. Angel was gone. Damage done and all.

He had the nerve to think he differed from Angelus.

“Stupid sod always has to have the last bloody word,” Spike mumbled, combing a hand through his hair. Then he turned and glared at the blank doorway. “Wanker!”

That didn’t make him feel any better. Growling, he turned back to the empty hotel room, glancing it over as though he had never seen it before. The vacuity of the walls. The broken television that had somehow skidded down the dresser and nearly collapsed completely to the worn, green carpet. The bed with a rumpled comforter. It had looked halfway decent once. Then Angel came and ruined everything. The fucking prick.

Beneath her.

He was going to break something, and he didn’t know for whom. Buffy or himself.

He wanted to go to her. Forget what he’d said or what they decided—he needed her now. Needed to see her. Needed to make sure she was all right. Needed to eradicate the fear that Soulboy’s lecture had managed to change her mind. He needed to know she didn’t think as Angel thought—that she didn’t think he was beneath her. People couldn’t help whom they loved, and he was a shining example. No one had asked him permission or bothered to take his feelings into consideration. But he loved Buffy. Spike loved Buffy and that wasn’t going to change. Despite Angel, despite his heritage, despite Sunnydale, despite the sodding Slayerhood and all of the above.

He had chosen.

So had she.

And bugger Angel. The sod had no right how to tell her to live.

Spike wanted to go to her. He needed to go to her. He needed to comfort her. He needed her to comfort him. He wanted them to comfort each other.

But they couldn’t, and he knew it. Not tonight. If he showed up now it would make things worse. Too much had occurred in too little time, and being cornered was the last thing she needed. He wouldn’t bully her; she’d had enough of that for one night. She had had enough of several things for several nights.

And yet she was hurting. He could feel it. She was hurting and she needed him.

No, he corrected himself. She doesn’t need anyone. Least of all me. Not tonight.

Buffy would have to come to him. She knew where she was and that he wasn’t leaving. She would come to him when she was ready. When she knew the decision she made was the one she truly wanted. When she settled her inner war. It might take time; rightly would, and there was too much on her plate as it was. They had agreed on tomorrow. Tomorrow.

He would wait.

“So that’s it?”

“That’s it. Don’t make me repeat myself. I hate that.”

“No need. I heard you enough the first time.”

“Good.”

“I can’t believe you would be so naïve.”

“Funny coming from you, wouldn’t you say? I loved you first, after all.”

“This is what you’re telling me? You love him?”

A pause. “I…I don’t know. Not yet. Maybe. It’s too soon…and there’s…but I know that I care for him. I care for him a lot. I’m definitely on a one-way road to Love-Ville. I do know that. He’s been there…he’s done stuff that blows my mind away. He came after me when I gave him no reason to.”

“And that makes every wrong thing he’s ever done okay?”

“I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“This isn’t about you, Angel. Why do you think I’ve kept to myself these past few weeks? It’s torn me apart. What I did. The reasons I did it. Why I didn’t regret it. What I felt for you was supposed to be invincible. It was supposed to be forever.” The silence that settled between words was deafening. She spoke again before it grew too deep. “It wasn’t. What happened last year changed things. I just didn’t know how much until Spike came back into my life.”

The air of resignation gave old scars new cuts. She didn’t flinch, didn’t react. She was beyond that. “This isn’t about me. I get that. We were inevitably going to have to face some pretty hard choices. I’ve…I’ve been thinking about that for a while. You’re the Slayer. I’m a vampire. And it kills me, but there is no future there. I’ve had to carry that burden longer than I care to consider.” He sighed, shoulders falling. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let go to have you run to someone who has even less to offer you than I do.”

Okay. Now anger. “Okay. Lemme get this straight. I sent Spike away so that I could give you the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech. You counter with your own version of ‘It’s not because I don’t love you, it’s because I’m a vampire.’ And then you tell me that you’re letting go but still want to have a say of who I have in my life? Let’s get one thing straight, Angel. It’s just not like that for us anymore, and if we’re really honest, it’s not like that for you, either. Things have been of the not since you got back from…”

“Hell?” he offered softly.

“Right. And if it wasn’t Spike, it would’ve been someone else.” She stopped. “But it is Spike. For reasons beyond me, he’s…he’s who I want to be with.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“Yeah, well, a part of me can’t believe I’m saying this. That doesn’t make it any less said.”

“You don’t know him. You never will. You can’t possibly know what you’re getting yourself into.” A dramatic headshake. “You think any of this is real?”

“I know it’s real. What he feels…I feel it from him more than I ever felt it from you. When he…when we’re together, we’re together. No vampires, no slayers. It’s just us.”

“That’s what he wants you to believe.”

“God, would you listen to yourself? I think I can tell when I’m being had. You don’t think I questioned myself every step of the way? You don’t think that I’ve wondered…I’m the Slayer, Angel.”

“No, you’re a child. You think Spike gives a damn about the likeness of a fair fight? He’s a demon, Buffy.”

She paused meaningfully. “You’re lecturing me? Hello! I’ve dealt with this crap for years! All I’ve seen is the bad. You were the cause of a lot of that. You were the reason I cried myself to sleep every night last year. You were the reason I pushed myself away. You were the reason I let my friends, my mother, and Giles down. Don’t ever coach me on the principles of good versus wrong.”

“So you think the way to rectify it is to sleep with the enemy? You think that Spike is the answer?”

“He loves me.”

“And that makes everything all right?”

“I never said that.” She stopped thoughtfully. “He loves me, Angel. And he’d never hurt me. He’s had chance after chance and he—”

“How very reassuring. At least you’re keeping tabs.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me!”

“Because hurting Slayers is something Spike’s never done.”

“And yet between the two of you, look who’s done the most damage.” She held up a hand. “And I’m not talking about your magical mystery tour into the land of soulessness. You hurt me so much without having to have Angelus to blame it on.” Another pause. “And for the record, I don’t think you know him half as well as you think you do.”

“Of course not,” he sputtered indignantly. “You wouldn’t.”

“If you’d seen him—”

“I saw enough. Enough to eradicate whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish, and I’d feel no differently if you had…Buffy, he’s a killer. A ruthless, soulless killer. He doesn’t care about what he’s done or what he will do. And he can’t stop himself. You don’t know that kind of darkness.”

“Oh, but because you’re a vampire, you automatically know how all vampires think and feel. Honestly, Angel…”

“I know a lot more than you do if we’re going from that angle.” He shook his head in disgust. “You’re embracing darkness itself. You’re giving yourself over to something that will never appreciate what you are and what you do.”

She froze. “What about who I am? Doesn’t that matter anymore?”

“If who you are is someone who can love something evil, I don’t care to know you. You’re different than this. You’re above it. And you’re betraying everything—your calling, your friends, your Watcher, yourself—by dismissing what—”

Silent tears skated down her cheeks, but he didn’t comment. And she made no attempt to wipe them away. “How can you say that?”

“Apparently, just as easily as you can do it.”

Buffy Summers sat in the dark of her room.

There were many things she hated about Angel—things she had known for a while, things she was picking up as she went along. She hated the way he looked at her with otherworldly knowledge; a walking encyclopedia and a constant source of the ‘how-to’ guide everyone should consult. She hated the way he spoke to her as though she was a child. She hated the way he saw Giles’s side of a disagreement more than hers. She hated his ego-trips. She hated the way he never wanted anyone to forget he was the way he was by choice. He was always tortured. Always carrying the burden of a thousand crosses for the path of redemption that remained incomplete. And she was the one temptation keeping him from salvation.

She hated it more when she felt he had a point.

None of these were questions were revelations. The past few weeks had been a testament of self-reflection. Wondering how whatever had transpired between her and Spike had been allowed to grow at all. Why neither of them had been able to walk away. If certain things hadn’t happened, she knew she would feel differently. But things had happened, and Spike had come for her.

Spike had saved her when no one else would. Spike had loved her with no want for himself. And Spike was nothing like Angel.

That was one of the things she currently liked best about him. His positive attributes were currently stuck on repeat. Right now, his non-Angelness was his strongest forte. She expected the next would be the way he shared his humor when he was amused and understood what she meant when she went on her most obscure tangents.

It was wrong. She knew that. It was wrong. Whatever she felt for Spike was wrong. And as Angel so delighted in observing, it would tear Giles apart if it hadn’t already. It betrayed everything she was. Everything the Slayer was supposed to represent. Spike was evil. Despite what he did, how he tried, he would always be evil.

So what did that make her? The lover of an evil thing.

Buffy was tired of mind games. She was tired of battling with herself and losing over and over again.

She didn’t realize she had started crying again until tears splashed across her hands. It wasn’t fair for a person to hurt this much. To have known such blissful release and have it stolen within a half hour.

And yet, somehow, somewhere, she knew it didn’t matter.

Not what Angel thought. Not really.

Not what anyone thought.

And somehow, that made everything worse. Worse and better at the same time. Life was funny like that.

She was hurting too much. And she couldn’t be here anymore. The rules had changed. At every turn, an amendment was made. She was half making them up as she went along. Breaking a little more and piecing herself back together in an image that only pretended to represent what she was before. Spike was her choice. He had been since the first. Since the night they found themselves trapped together. He had been her choice that night.

He had been her choice every night thereafter.

Tonight was the first night that she had the courage to accept it.

Everything had changed. And distance, despite how smart it sounded on paper, was the last thing she wanted tonight. She needed reassurance. The mobility that allowed her to believe that tomorrow didn’t matter. She needed to get back to where they had been tonight, and she couldn’t wait another day. Alone was something she couldn’t tolerate. Not tonight. Not when she needed connection so desperately. The same she had nearly thrown everything away to grasp.

He would understand. He loved her.

And that was all that mattered.

The minute that he opened the door, she knew she had done the right thing. But she didn’t have the opportunity to say so; before she could even issue a weak hello, she was ushered inside by a pair of very relieved arms which swept her into welcoming arms, holding her against his chest as his lips immediately began exploring her skin. Kissing her like he hadn’t seen her in years. Like the time apart had all but killed him, and she was the only antidote.

It came slowly. A trembling, whispered hush. “Are you all right?”

“What?”

Spike pulled back, hand going to her face. She realized she hadn’t stopped crying since leaving her bedroom. There had been no sobbing. No angered screams for a plight unheard. Just tears. A steady stream that would remain unclaimed.

The safer route was to ignore his question completely, especially since she didn’t have an answer. “I’m sorry.”

He tensed. “Why?”

“For not waiting, like we decided. I just couldn’t…not after…”

A long sigh of relief rushed through his lips. “Don’ be silly.”

“But—”

“Are you all right?”

A question asked twice could not go ignored.

“He…what he said…”

“I know.”

“How?”

Spike pulled back so he could see her eyes. Similarly, it was only then the details of the room came into view. The smashed television. The rumbled comforter. The rather large indention in the wall.

“He came here?”

“Left not ten minutes ago.”

Buffy nodded, vision blurring again. God, she hated crying. “I needed to see you,” she whispered.

“Bloody well had to staple myself to the floor to keep from finding you. Din’t know if seeing me was what you needed or not.” Spike sighed. “I wagered it was better to let you come to me.”

She was still trembling, but it all seemed better now that she could rest her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.” Buffy exhaled deeply, rubbing her face against his tee. “He told me it wasn’t real.”

Spike was still for a minute. Then, slowly, he lowered his head to her throat and began whispering kisses across her skin. “Does it feel real?”

“Yes.”

“’S real for me, Buffy. Always will be.” He pulled back and brushed a soft kiss across her forehead. “Is it real for you?”

“Yes.” Buffy licked her lips, her head rolling back. “He said I don’t know you.”

“Bollocks. You know me better than I know myself.”

“He said you don’t love me.”

Spike’s embrace tightened. “He’s wrong.”

“I know.”

“Do you regret anything?”

Buffy could tell even he was surprised at the ease which came with that question, but not as surprised as she at the ease of her answer. “No,” she replied. “Nothing. He…he told me everything I thought he would.” Buffy shivered and buried her face in his shoulder again. “And it just made me want you more. Is that wrong? Am I…?”

“No. Absolutely not. There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want.”

She quirked a brow but didn’t pull away. “Are you just saying that because it works in your favor?”

“’Course not. I’m impartial.”

“Right.”

Spike grinned and rested his head against hers. “You know this is it, right? For me?”

“I know.”

“An’ for you…?”

“It’s it for me too, Spike. I…” A sigh. “It’s only been a few weeks, but I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting you and this. I’m tired of trying to decide what’s right and wrong. I’m tired of people telling me they know me better than I know me, and therefore know what’s in my best interest. And I’m sure as hell tired of being told there’s something wrong with me.”

His eyes darkened. “Did he tell you that?”

“Everyone’s been telling me that, and not just about you. God, I just…I can’t do this. I can’t pretend to not want what I want and not get what I need and…I can’t pretend to not want this, and fuck if I don’t care what that makes me.”

“You are who you are. I can’t make you anything.”

“I know that.”

“Do you really?” Spike pulled back and met her eyes again. “This isn’t about you touching darkness, luv. I’d know it if it were.” He smiled and spread his arms. “’m the one’s that’s been corrupted.”

She blinked. “Corrupted?”

“Your…you, Buffy. God, I can feel it jus’ bursting off you.”

“What? What’s bursting off me?”

“Everything I’m not supposed to want. Everything that ever made me at all. That’s you all over. I’m the one who’s reaching…” Spike sighed. “An’ he can’t stand that. That your light touches me when it couldn’t him. Not when he was all muckin’ darkly dressed up with no place to go.”

Realization was a scary thing. Understanding was more so.

“You think that’s what this is about?”

“Not completely, but a big part of it.” Another brief pause. “This isn’t gonna be easy, pet.”

“I never thought it would be.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, you understand me?”

Buffy nodded; her tears had stopped. Her arms curled around him and their gazes matched. Power for power. “I know,” she replied softly. “I wouldn’t let you, anyway.”

He nuzzled her delicately. She figured he was in the same state that she was. It felt much more than an hour had passed. Funny how time bent in accordance with emotional revelations. “’S that a fact?”

She scowled. “If you even think of going anywhere again, I’m going to cut something off.”

“Oi. Easy on the goods. A bloke can’t take that too lightly.”

“They’re only good here, as far as I’m concerned.”

He chuckled and swooped to kiss her again. “So you’re holding me hostage at the risk of my manly parts?”

Buffy nodded, her hand dropping to his stomach and she tracing mindless patterns across his clothed flesh, inching up the black fabric little by little. Her head fell back to his shoulder, fingers easing from his abdomen and whispering up his arms, nails barely touching his skin. Barely breathing her influence across him. A trembling whisper at his throat, then her tongue was exploring him in soft, unhurried caresses.

Spike’s gasp twisted between hesitation and pleasure. “Buffy…” he whimpered. “What…what are you…?”

“I want you.”

He moaned in protest. “Want you, too. But…sweetheart…” He managed to pull back, finding her hazy, pouting eyes. No more tears. “I don’t want to make things…I don’ want you to do this to…to prove somethin’ to me. It’s real now. I wanna keep it real. Please…please don’ turn me into a comfort fuck.”

Spike was precise. He used the word fuck as absence of love. There would be no fucking in this room.

There would be no fucking at all. When they joined, it would be making love. He needed her to understand the difference, because when they crossed that line, there was no going back.

Cautiously, he met her eyes and released breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. She was smiling. She had the sweetest smile.

“This is not about comfort…” Buffy whispered. “Well, okay, it is a little. A very little. And yeah, I’m vulnerable and needy gal right now. I won’t deny it.”

“Not really helping the cause, pet.”

“But that’s beside the point. I knew the minute you left me tonight that I wasn’t going to be able to not…to not do this. I want you because I want you. Not because I need to feel better. I came here tonight because…” She sighed. “Angel didn’t make me, Spike. His talking to me didn’t…and it’s not because I need to prove anything to you or myself about this being real. It is real. It’ll be real tomorrow. But it’s also real right now…” Her mouth found his throat, and he crooned at her touch. “I’ve missed you.”

She knew how those words did him in.

“You…”

“I’ve missed you. I don’t know if I’ve told you that or not.” Buffy’s hands reached the hem of his shirt and began tugging upward, waited for his compliance, and smiled softly when he raised his arms and allowed her to remove the tee completely. “You stood outside my window that night…and I knew you were going away. And I…I didn’t know what I thought or felt then, but I knew I was going to miss you.” A breath before she leaned inward, kissing his shoulder. “You let me be me. Just me. Not Buffy-When-With-Mom or Buffy-When-With-Friends or Buffy-When-On-Patrol-And/Or-Training…just Buffy. A hundred percent.”

“Hundred bloody percent,” he agreed, taking in her scent.

“And I knew when you walked away that I’d miss you.”

“If you’d have run out after me, I would’ve stayed.”

“If I had, do you really think we’d be here?”

There was a question to which he really didn’t have the answer. Neither did she.

“The poof doesn’ let you be you?”

She chuckled wryly. “When Angel gets a look at me—me as I am—he gets snippy. Sometimes I think I’m supposed to be more than I am when I’m around him. Like being the Slayer plus girl he loves makes me some pedestal, and when my less-attractive personality traits leak through, it soils my image.”

“Then he doesn’ love you.” Spike pressed a finger to her lips before she could object. “Not like he should, anyway. If he only sees what he wants…’s like being infatuated with somethin’ because of the image you give it. The stupid sod’s never been close to perfection in his unlife—not when he was an alive wanker, an’ certainly not as a dead one. You’re not perfect, Buffy. Not in the way he wants you to be. I wouldn’t love you if you were. Flaws make you human, an’ it’s your humanity that I love.” He grinned cheekily and nuzzled her again. “An’ other things, of course.”

“Mmm…other things…”

His jaw tightened as her exploration, traveling southward. “Sweetheart, are you sure?”

“Sure…?”

“You wanna do this now? We’re worth waiting for.”

“Spike, I’ve waited. I can wait more if you want to. If you need to have that reassurance that we’re real. But I’ve told you, you’re not going anywhere.” Her fingers deftly popped open the clasp of his jeans. “And neither am I.”

Then she wasn’t speaking at all. Spike took her face into her hands and fiercely brought his mouth to hers, drawing her into a biting, needing, loving kiss that devoured and assaulted within the same breath. At last the strains of his own need became tangible, though how he had kept them from driving him out of his mind, she would never know. She certainly hadn’t. It took only a beat of initial surprise before she was responding in kind. His thumbs moved in soft, sensual circles against her cheek, calming and arousing all within one stroke as he explored her mouth to his satisfaction.

It wasn’t enough, though. Soon his hands dropped to tug at her shirt; a black number with the British flag sprawled across the front. He had noticed it earlier and though he forgotten to mention it, he smiled a bit at the irony. The garment fell to the floor and he had her lips against his before he could miss her taste.

Her own hands were becoming more boisterous, and he grasped her wrist before she could delve into his jeans and free his cock. Funny that despite what they had gone through together, they had not managed to do this properly. Always stashed away in some closet, shoved aside by the angry world or trying to hide from it. He hadn’t even seen her naked. Not really. Their first night had been in the shadows, and there hadn’t been anything but each other. No window. No nothing. And it had been hurried. The sort of union that was beneath her. Hard and angry. He hadn’t explored the full depth of his feeling then—he had only come to terms with feeling it at all. She was the tool for extracting his confused rage, and it shamed him now to consider.

Spike enjoyed sex thoroughly—hard, slow, fast, gentle, it didn’t matter. With Drusilla there had been little variation. She changed occasionally, of course, but it was very rare that she did something they had never tried before. A new brand of pleasured punishment. And she always liked being in charge. It was a game to her, and he hadn’t minded.

This was new. And he wanted it to be different than the first time.

He wanted to show her what she meant to him. That he could be all sorts of things if only to see her just as she was. That the anger of their past was just that: in the past. Things had changed since then, and he wanted her to see how much.

“Buffy,” he whispered into her mouth, coaxing her hand completely away from his cock even as his body cried out in protest. This wasn’t about him. “Jus’…slow down, all right?”

“Slow down? I haven’t even—”

“I know. Figured I’d stop you while you’re ahead.” He nibbled on her lips. “If you start on that, I won’…this is different, luv. Jus’ lemme…lemme do this for you properly.”

Buffy cocked a brow. “Properly?”

“Mhmm…” Spike’s hands dropped again, unzipping her fly as his lips worked across her collarbone. He drew back to tug in earnest at her clothing and she nearly cried out when he dropped to his knees before her. Without much effort, he managed to rid her of her pants completely, tossing them next to her shirt and discarded footwear. Then she was standing before him, dressed in her cotton white panties and matching bra.

“My underwear sucks,” she complained, crossing her arms over her breasts.

Spike tsked disapprovingly. “I’ll say,” he agreed, fingers running over her damp crotch. “Thought I told you to never wear these again.”

“They’re not the same from earlier. You oughta know, seeing as those are ruined and in your pocket.”

Spike grinned unashamedly. “Was I not specific enough? No knickers for my Slayer, understand? They get in the bloody way.” To demonstrate, he tongued her through the thin layer of fabric, and chuckled when she buckled in response. “See?” he asked, ripping them from her body without further warning.

“That’s two in one night, you realize.”

“I’ll destroy all your frilly undergarments if I have to get you to see things my way.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’.” He was against her again in seconds, mouth commanding hers desperately. “I love you like this.”

Buffy’s head rolled back. “Like this?” she asked, scratching his arms.

“Like whatever. But definitely like this.” He cupped a breast, grinning when she moaned and swooping down to tease her throat again as his thumb excited her nipple through her bra. “Here in my room, full starkers…where I can see you.”

“Spike,” she breathed desperately against his mouth.

In two seconds, he had ripped away her bra as well. And she was naked against his eyes. Spike inhaled sharply and stepped back, his hazy eyes running the length of her. She was completely left to his observation. After a few seconds, the air around her grew tight and awkward; he stopped her before she could cover her breasts again.

“Don’t,” he gasped. “Please.”

“I—”

“Please.” Spike closed his eyes but opened them just as quickly as though fearing she’d disappeared. “You’re so bloody beautiful.”

“I…”

“You’re beautiful, Summers. Don’ think I’ve ever seen anything as…” Then there were no more words. He who thrived on dialogue was at a loss, and the knowledge overwhelmed him. It was the rightful end of whatever there had been; the beginning of something monumental. And he couldn’t stand it. He bent and drew one of her nipples into his mouth, doing things to her that she had never thought she could experience. His hand tended the neglected breast, tweaking her nipple between nimble fingers as his lips and tongue bade worship to her. His other hand, not to be left out, dipped between her thighs and pried her pussy lips apart, and he moaned into her skin when her liquid heat rolled over her fingers. His fingertips slipped over her clit. She was a harp; he her musician, and he played her to climax.

Then took the repeat and did it again.

Buffy panted heavily as she came down, realizing belatedly Spike was still mostly dressed. Her chest pressed against his—skin on skin contact that she craved so much. His fingers were still exploring her pussy, thumb teasing her clit at his leisure, and he leered every time a wanton moan escaped her lips. Her hands clutched at his shoulders desperately, her head rolling back. And Spike could do nothing but stare at her in wonder. Here she was. After everything, here she was. In his arms.

She wasn’t going anywhere. This was real.

His fingers curled inside her and she sobbed softly in pleasure. Oh God. This was real.

“Spike…”

The vampire’s eyes fluttered closed, his lips feathering her face with soft kisses. She battled him; of course she would. Fighting until she found his mouth, sucking his tongue her trembling hands remembered themselves and again dropped to his fly. This time he did not protest. He couldn’t. As it was, he was fortunate she had loosened them as she had before he’d grown carried away. She withdrew his cock tentatively; her fingers danced over his sensitive skin, running the expanse of his length. Knowing him. Memorizing him. Learning him again, but for the first time.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Spike whimpered.

Buffy’s eyes shot open, her sweat-laced body heaving against him deeply. “Nuh uh,” she replied, squeezing his shaft and teasing his throat with her teeth. Nibbling sweetly on his skin, squeezing his cock and teasing his belled head with her thumb. Spike whimpered and hissed, his hips jerking forward in time with her exploratory pumps.

“God,” he mumbled against her. “You’re beautiful.”

“You’ve told me.”

“’m telling you again.”

“Well, so are you.”

He huffed indignantly. “Still tryin’ to emasculate me.”

Her grip tightened around his cock, earning a heady whimper in turn. In an instant she had gone from moaning and writhing to controlling and dominant. It drove him wild. “Now,” she breathed against his throat, pumping his cock harder, “why would I wanna do something like that, when there are so many more…pleasurable pursuits?”

“Dunno,” he replied. “Seems you’d do yourself a right injustice.”

“Agreed.”

Spike smiled and brushed a surprisingly chaste kiss across her brow. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” she whispered, fingers dancing teasingly over his aching head.

“Keep that up, pet, an’ this isn’t gonna last but another twenty seconds.”

“Mmmm…but what a twenty seconds.”

He flashed another grin, deftly withdrawing his fingers from her pussy and lifting her into his arms.

“Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly.

Spike’s brows perked. “Where do you think?” he replied, depositing her unceremoniously on the bed.

Buffy bounced and giggled, and his eyes followed. God, her breasts were fantastic. And suddenly he couldn’t get naked fast enough. In hurried seconds, he had divested the rest of his clothing and was joining her. His body covering hers, pressing her thighs apart, his thick cock coming to rest upon her delicious mound.

“I love how you feel against me,” she mused, wiggling her hips. “So…heavy.”

Spike grinned, running his mouth over hers without pausing for a kiss.

“Heavy, huh?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then you’ll love this.” He thrust his hips forward, nudging his length between her pussy lips and drenching himself in her juices. His balls slapped recklessly against her flesh. “So hot, Slayer. So wet. Love you. God, how I love you.”

Buffy blinked harshly and raised her head to meet his kiss, unhurried and loving for everything that yet remained unsaid. Her hands grasped his forearms, leveraging herself against a hard thrust of his hips. The wealth of feeling pouring behind blue eyes said more than he ever could, despite the richness of words in a place where they should not subsist.

Spike reached between them once more to finger her pussy before he positioned himself. He teased without thinking, eliciting more hurried, voiceless whimpers that only coaxed his spirits higher. The sounds she made were so bloody delicious—he couldn’t help but do whatever it took to make sure she never stopped making them. He only paused when he noted her eyes were squeezed shut, her nails digging trenches into his forearms. And there it was. The cause for all. A sight so breathtaking. More than he was worth. More than he could ever hope to be worth. A being of pure radiation. Life and light—lovelier than anything he had been fortunate enough to see in the long years of his existence.

And it was his. All his. At last, at that moment, he understood, and the notion stole the proverbial breath from his lips. He was here. He was finally home.

“Buffy,” he said softly as he prepared to push inside. “Look at me.”

It took a minute to realize that she had been addressed. Her breathing was labored and her eyes heavy, shining vibrantly with desire. The sight stole what little was left of his heart. “I love you,” he said.

Buffy smiled kindly. “You’ve told me,” she said again.

“Won’t ever stop tellin’ you…” He began edging himself into the only home he had ever truly known. Plunging into the encompassing welcome of her perfect flesh, wet and wrapped so tightly around him he could barely remember he didn’t breathe. He wanted everything. Her scent. Her sounds. Her touch. Her skin molding perfectly against his. He wanted it, Christ, and it was too much. Too much and yet not enough. Spike breathed steadily, head again finding rest at her shoulder. “Can’t ever stop telling you…stop showing you…” He began moving within her slowly when she gave her silent consent, setting a gentle tempo, delving beyond depths of any physical magnitude. She burned him, set his skin aflame and cooled him all within one delicious stroke. Oh God. And again. “Christ, baby, you’re so fucking tight.”

“Spike…”

He lowered his head to her breast, drawing her nipple into his mouth and laving it with his tongue. His hips moved in slow, deep strokes, his free hand at her hip to pull her with him. Their eyes met once more and then they were moving together, fighting each other, battling each other—warring for custody of his cock while remaining trapped in a paradise of sensation. Every thrust to match the answering parry. Each time he entered her, he was embraced by the same homecoming molded anew with perfected light. He made a harvest of her body, hands everywhere, unable to touch her enough. Her own fingers drew tracks down his back, combing pathways through his hair, scratching marks into his skin. When she timed his thrusts with the contraction of her Slayer muscles, he nearly lost it all over again; unsure what he was so desperate to posses. There within his view. There but far.

“So much,” he mewled into her ear.

It took a few seconds to find her voice, her hips surging upward. “What?”

“Never…so much…oh Buffy…” Spike’s eyes closed tightly as he tried to regain the control that was slipping away beat by beat. He had to be careful; else it would vanish completely. And by God, he had to make this last. He had to make it about her. “Never been like this…”

“Never,” she agreed, though it was more in turn to his statement.

He couldn’t ask her for love. Not yet. Not tonight. And he couldn’t keep reiterating his love for her, lest the words lose power. They were still new and he wanted her to always remember.

But there was still something he needed.

“Tell me…” A few intermediate pants. Funny how oxygen became essential even for the dead. Was that her influence or his? He didn’t know. “Tell me I’m…tell me I’m not forgettable.”

Buffy’s eyes locked on his. This was important. He needed to know just as badly as she needed to say it. “Spike…” she moaned as his attentions honed. “You’re not forgettable. Could…never…forget. Never forget you.”

“Tell me this is real.”

“Real. So real.” He pistoned deeper within her, and she arched with a muffled cry. “Oh God. So real.”

Spike’s jaw clenched and his pace increased, triggered by the hard slaps of their bodies colliding. The feel of his balls smacking against her ass. Words were at a loss for the whimpered moans rumbling through his system. There was nothing to say that hadn’t already been said; everything was left to plain reiteration, however much it was needed. And it was needed. Anything he could get right now was very, very needed.

As it was, he was beyond surprised that he hadn’t started sputtering verses of godawful poetry for the feelings she was releasing. The sounds rumbling through her throat were going to drive him over the edge if the needy, awe-inspiring look on her face didn’t beat them to it. With every inward plunge, the sheen behind her eyes changed. From desire to kindness, from lust to cordially, and he found the combination, with as erratically unpredictable as it was, moving beyond compare.

God, she was the embodiment of perfection. Her breathing was becoming labored and he pulled away completely, lingering so the very tip of him caressing her outer labia. Her eyes went wide.

“Spike!” She meant to sound menacing, but her heady moan betrayed her more influential need.

“Buffy.”

“Oh God…”

He wanted to tease her forever just to get her to call his name like that, but his own need was too great to prolong her torment. With a defiant swirl of his hips, he slammed into her again, and if possible, her eyes widened even further. Her head flew back into the pillows and she mewled, her Slayer muscles contracting to pleasurably painful depths. He knew he would have been crushed were he anything but what he was, and the knowledge turned him on like nothing else.

She was so much more than he could have ever imagined.

“Tell me,” he gasped, stopping harshly. “Tell me it’s me, Buffy.”

“Yes. God yes. It’s you, Spike. It’s…” He started moving again and her words rode out on a strangled gasp. “…I think…it’s always been you. Somehow.”

Their pants intermingled as his thrusts grew more frantic. She was growing tighter and wetter with each stroke and it was driving him to the proverbial edge—the same edge that he reckoned would only remain proverbial for so long. He was close, so close, but he held back, forcing his orgasm aside. One hand strayed, brushed her hair from her eyes, and traveled the length of her body before slithering between them. His mouth returned to her throat and mimicked its course, drawing a tantalizing pattern southward and suckling her nipple between his teeth.

“Oh God…I’m…”

“Love you.” The words came unbidden. He couldn’t help them if he tried. “Love you so much.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Love you.” He found her clit and rubbed her slowly, softly. She was so slippery under his fingers. She burned him up. “Always.”

“Always.”

“Come for me, pet. Please.”

“Yes, I’m—”

And that was it. With a final thrust, she arched and convulsed, digging her nails into his arms as his name escaped her with hoarse declaration into the mockingly still ambiance of the room that awaited the boundary beyond the bed. And he was following her, shooting blinding white streams into her welcoming heat. Emptying himself as his hips surged forward, desperate for as much as she would give him.

When the waves finally subsided, it took everything not to simply collapse on top of her. He held himself up on quaky arms, observing her with emotion that pushed him far beyond anything he had ever thought himself to be. Her own gaze was blurry and unfocused, but she found him. And the warmth that poured from her eyes moved the final piece into place.

She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. She didn’t know what she was betraying. What she was telling him without saying anything at all.

But he did.

Finally, coherency returned, and she gazed up at him quizzically. “You didn’t go all bitey.”

Spike blinked. “I didn’t.”

“Thought you would.”

A smile tickled his lips and he lowered his head to the mark he had already given her. The mark that had somehow linked them together and brought them where they were now. He made play with it, gently running blunt teeth over her skin, and shivering lightly with the implications of her gesture.

“I will,” he promised her. “But not tonight.”

Not tonight. She had already given him so much tonight. Claiming her in that way would signify the beginning of something for which she was not yet ready. The promise of a new beginning she didn’t know fully that she wanted.

But he had seen it in her eyes. The words were there, buried under recesses of doubt and insecurity.

For that, there would be another night.

He knew it now, and it brought him solace.

Their eyes met through the room’s darkness created together new heights of radiance. He was over her, moving in shallow thrusts, hands skimming the length of her body, fingers exploring her temples before trailing to cup her breasts. Their mouths met and they ravaged each other over and over again for the foreclosure of time.

Time.

Flash. She was astride him, riding his prone body, arching and crooning with every downward spiral upon his cock. Her eyes were closed, a look of pained pleasure wrought across her face. He tugged at her nipples, pulling her down to kiss her.

“So warm.”

The first words to know life in an hour. The room had been heavy with their shared whimpers and pants, but no words. They had been too occupied with each other to voice any emotion. It was so rare for Spike to be vocally submissive, but the unspoken implication that words were too little to describe this remained redeemably drawn in blood.

But he was speaking now, and it was wonderful.

Buffy placed her hands on his shoulders, eyes hazed. Her body tingled all over, her movements slow and wonderful. There was something to be said for this. There was something to be said for a lot of things.

“What?”

“You’re so…so warm.” Spike panted needlessly, running his fingers up her sides. “You’re burning me up. God. Feels so bloody good. So good.”

“You, too,” she gasped, head flying back. “Feel so good.”

His hand went immediately to her hair, threading strands through his fingers as he grasped her head to direct her eyes back to his. “Tell me.” There was no demand behind his voice; rather a plea, but she could deny him nothing. Especially not like this.

“Deep,” Buffy mewled. “So deep.”

“Oh…”

“Touching…it’s never…not like this.” She bounced harder at her own words, slamming him with her pussy and working his length deeper within her. “Never been like this. Not even…with you…I can feel you…more than just…” A long sigh rumbled through her throat as his fingers slid down her abdomen, between their bodies. She whimpered as he sought her clit, slamming onto his cock with focused intent. “I feel you, and I know…I know it’s you.”

Spike closed his eyes. “Oh, Buffy…”

“And it’s so good. So…oh God.” She sighed again, pace increasing still, her desperation betraying itself in vibrant colors. “I…I…”

“Shhh…” Instantly, his eyes flew open and he hauled himself up, covering her mouth with his free hand, fingers rubbing her clit as their bodies moved together. It was still too soon for the words, and the last thing he wanted her to do was blurt it out during climax. There was something so insincere about orgasm-inspired love confessions. Her eyes matched his and she understood. And nodded.

He was right. It was too soon.

But it was coming.

Fortunately, at that instant, so was she. With a heady cry, she braced herself and rode out the endless ripples of her orgasm; squeezing him so tight he was genuinely surprised when he didn’t pop. He followed her with a roar; vamping and forcing himself back to the mattress. His hands immediately found purchase at her hips, and he hauled her downward as he pistoned himself into her.

And finally knew silence.

Spike hugged her to his chest and they trembled together, remaining intimately connected; neither wanted to lose that union. This was almost as good as the other. Resting together in the post coital drift. Simply being.

He loved that she perspired. It was a strange thing to love, but he did. The scent she exuded was incomparable. His fingertips skimmed her back, barely touching, and drifted over her sweat-laced hair. He brushed a kiss across her forehead.

And they rested.

“What? Ohhhh…again?”

“Are you really surprised?”

“No. Really, really not. But…again?”

“Again an’ again. We’re putting a sodding deadbolt on that door. No goin’ in, no goin’ out. No bloody interr…oh god.”

“Somehow, I think the hotel supervisor would have a problem with tha—oohhh, God.”

He grinned. “Sod the bloody supervisor. I aim to keep you in this bed an’ well shagged for the rest of your days.”

“Ohhh…I could live with that.” Her moan was detoured with an irritated rumble. “Then…there’s…there’s the…Ascens—”

“Wait. Gotta wait. Jus’…yeah, luv. Jus’ like that. Don’ be afraid to use them. It’s what they’re there for. Ohhhh…”

New rule: no talk of shop while in bed.

Ever.

“Slayer, that fuckin’ tickles.”

She giggled and moved to the side of the bed as he lunged for her, missing horribly and nearly toppling to the floor. “Poor Spikey. What’s wrong? The Big Bad can’t handle a little torture? What sort of Big Bad are you, anyway?”

“Torturing utensils usually come in the shape of whips an’ chains, luv,” he argued as he rolled over and raised himself on all fours, prowling toward her like a sleek feline. His eyes were sparkling wickedly, and he ran his tongue over his teeth in that way he knew made her go all weak at the knees. In a moment of ill-timed swooning, he was able to capture her wrist. “Not sodding parrot feathers.”

“I was trying to be…inventive?”

“Where’d you get that, anyway?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? This is your dump, remember? Not really of the fancy. Sunnydale suits aren’t exactly posh. For some reason, no one ever wants to vacation here.”

“Gee, I wonder. An’ stop insulting the digs.” Spike scoffed. “Behold the mini-fridge.”

“And the smashed television.”

“Blame that on King Forehead. He got in the way.”

“Of what?”

“My fist.”

“So you ruined a perfectly good television to hit Angel.”

“Would’ve ruined a lot more, too. At leas’ I saved the mini-fridge.”

“Oh, right. This is high-living.”

“Can’t live highly if I’m not alive.” He grinned at her, managing to pry the feather from her fingers. If she had wanted to keep it, overpowering him would have been simple. Slayer abilities: major bonus in the strength department. Even if her opponent was a notoriously strong vampire. But with that look in his eyes, Buffy clearly saw that trying to avoid whatever tactic he was up to would have been one of the more foolish rendezvous of her trial.

“You’re cute when you’re inventive,” he informed her, kissing her nose. He rolled away before she could capture his mouth and begin a long and diversionary snogging session. “But otherwise, a bleedin’ amateur.”

She pouted. How dare he look all kissable and just move away like that? “Oh really? Think you can do better?”

Spike shrugged off-handedly. “Don’ like to brag, but—”

The pout vanished without prompt, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh please.”

He chuckled but conceded without contest. “Right. Who am I kiddin’? I love to brag.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and sidled up closer. “Luckily, you’ve given me plenty to about.”

Buffy flushed but walloped him on the shoulder. No way was he winning that simply. He’d never let her live it down. “As if.”

“You know it’s the truth, pet.”

“You’re bent.”

“An’ it makes you scream, doesn’ it?” He ran the feather lengthwise down his taut cheekbone, and grinned as she leaned inward to receive the same treatment. “That’d be the hundred plus years of…experience.”

God, his voice did a number on her. Buffy shivered and tried to look resolved, failing miserably. “Enough experience to know what to do with that feather?”

“’m hurt that you even need to ask.”

“Something inventive?”

“’Course,” he replied with the utmost seriousness. “Lay back.”

She wanted to fight him but he delivered a look that clearly stated it would be well in her favor to abide. That alone prompted obedience. If Spike didn’t want to fight, then he must have something…interesting up his sleeve. Metaphoric sleeve, of course. Right now, he was scrumptiously naked and very adamant on remaining that way.

“Comfy pet?” he purred. The shit-eating grin on his face informed her he was perfectly aware of where her mind was. Hell, he could probably name the gutter.

“Shut up and get on with it.”

“Mmm…so sentimental. I can already tell we’re gonna be one of those cutesy couples that can’t help but bleeding bash each other’s heads in or shag each other silly wherever we go.”

“Spike!”

“Look here,” he drawled cockily, sitting back. “She’s screaming my name already.”

“Argh, you infuriating asshole! Just wait until…uhhhh…ohhhh…”

“I don’t wanna leave.”

“Then don’t.”

“Kinda must. School day.”

“Bugger school. What can they teach you there that you can’t learn here?”

She giggled and rolled onto her side, fingers etching light, mindless patterns into his chest. “Nothing important. But I really should…Willow and Giles…and everyone…they’ll be worried.”

“What about your mum? You din’t tell her where you were goin’, did you?” He glanced worriedly to the door, as if by some twist of fate, she would burst in with an axe at the ready.

“I left her a note.”

He waited with an arched brow. She rolled her eyes.

“Of course I didn’t tell her where I was going. My mother might like you more than Angel—” Spike flashed an unrepentant grin and she pinched his lips before he could snag an obvious retort. “—but that doesn’t mean that she would approve of us having had endless sexcapades on a school night.”

“Oh, but it’s all right for the weekends?”

Buffy smirked. “And holidays. There’s probably a Parent/Teacher Conference Day coming up soon.” Then her face fell. “Oh God. I hate those.”

The vampire turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow to look at her. “When do you leave?”

“In a half hour.”

“You might as well ditch. You din’t get any sleep last night.” He grinned. “My naughty girl.”

A small smile tickled her face. “Trust me, I’d really like to stay here. Really, really.”

There was an obligatory pause. “But…”

“But I do need to talk to Giles.”

“About what we found.”

“Right.”

Spike pursed his lips and nodded. “Uh huh. So go talk to your Watcher an’ come back. No harm, no bloody foul.”

The proposition was entirely too tempting. School was tedious, especially for a senior who skipped on a regular basis, anyway. But there was a principle involved. She didn’t know what it was, per se, but she was sure that it was involved. “You want me to flunk out?”

“’Course not. You got homework? I’ll help.”

“What?”

“History, luv. An’ English. I’m good in English.”

Buffy grinned and leaned against the pillow. “Because of the poetry, right?”

A pause. He ducked his head, blushing as much as a vampire could, and she found it unspeakably adorable. “Yeah…”

“I want to. Really. You’re making the ‘be responsible’ thing really hard.”

His hips nudged hers suggestively. “That’s not the only thing that’s hard.”

“Spike!”

He didn’t even bother to look apologetic.

A few minutes of silence settled between them. Soft and companionable.

“You know what I said last night was true, right?”

She looked at him.

“’m not goin’ back.” Spike sighed. “I’m not leaving, and I’m not goin’ back. Either. To whatever we were doin’ before this. Makin’ excuses, telling each other it was wrong. No matter. I’m made of stones, pet. You know that better than anyone. But if you try hard enough, you can break stones, too. Especially you…bein’ the Slayer an’ all. I’m not goin’ back to that. With you, Buffy…I’m only goin’ ahead. You got me?”

There was a beat. Then she smiled kindly and sealed the space between them with a gentle kiss. “It’s still real,” she whispered. “I promised you it would be, and it is. It is. It’s tomorrow and I’m here. I want to be here. And I don’t regret anything. Do you get me?”

A lasting gaze of wonderment settled over his eyes. As though he hadn’t truly believed it possible until the first rays of sunlight verified that everything that occurred the night before hadn’t been some wondrous dream. As though he needed this moment—this—to know differently. She was touched and saddened in the same beat. Knowing that she could do that to him was one thing; knowing that she had put him in such a state to begin with was something else entirely.

“Hey…” he said softly, reaching for her face when he noted the fall in her eyes. “No more of that. I can be a right wanker at times. I jus’…I needed to say it. Regardless.”

Buffy nodded with a shadow of a grin, and leaned inward to claim his lips in a soft kiss, which inevitably led to another. And another. And another. A few minutes passed before either could break away.

“Mmm…pet?”

“Yeah?”

“Any idea where we go from here?”

There was a moment’s thought. She nibbled her lip and contemplated. “You know…for once in my life, I have no clue. I guess we’ll get an idea when we get there.” She paused to glance at him. “That all right with you?”

He grinned and kissed her again. “Bloody perfect.”

She smiled, because she believed him. And for now, that was enough.

The morning could not last forever. With a great deal of stamina, Buffy forced herself out of bed and into the shower…which was admittedly not the greatest game plan, as Spike found it imperative to join her and consequentially set her back even more than she was already.

It was worth it.

Dressed in yesterday’s clothes, he escorted her to the doorway and paused before she could leave.

“When will I see you again?”

“Tonight. Today, right after school. Or training. Whichever.”

“If you want, I can pop by the library an’ give Rupes a vow of my honorable intentions.”

Buffy grinned and rested her head against his chest. “You better not. I don’t want to risk him not listening to you and going all stake-happy. Listen, for them, it’s going to take—”

“Time. I know. Because of all the ‘tryin’ to kill them’ that I did.”

“Tends to bring out the worst in people,” she agreed.

“But now—”

“I know.”

He grinned. “Jus’ checkin’.”

An emotional pause as they studied each other, lips meeting in a lasting kiss she would carry with her throughout the day. His teeth nibbling at her, his tongue battling her, his mouth loving her for everything she was worth and more. A taste that she never wanted to find herself lacking. It amazed her with every beat. What he was. What he did. What he had become.

How easily he made her burn.

When they pulled apart, she was smiling. “Today is considerably looking better than yesterday, judging by the start.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“I’m glad I came by.”

“Oh, God, me too. You have no bloody idea.”

Buffy sighed and disentangled herself from his embrace. It was time to leave. She had to leave. Back to the mundane world of schoolness. All work and no play.

But there would be plenty of play at day’s end. She counted on it.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Soon,” he corrected, earning a smile. “Buffy.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

If there was ever a time she didn’t melt when she heard that confession, she reckoned she should be shot. He had the ability to turn her to butter with just a glance, but his words were her ultimate weakness. How many times had he prompted her to tears simply by proclaiming what he felt? She had lost count. There was too much to consider.

She would return the sentiment one day. Would find the courage to say the words and mean them. She was halfway there as it was. With the depth of feeling she experienced now, love was inevitable.

Inevitable, but not rushed. He did not want rushed. He wanted perfection.

“I know.”

He smiled.

She knew.

And he would know, too.

Someday.

The bell signifying the start to first period had hardly finished ringing before Willow twisted excitedly in her seat, wide-eyed. “Okay,” she said hurriedly. “You’re talking.”

Buffy flashed her a deer-caught-in-headlights look that might have seemed premature under different circumstances. There were some to which things she wanted to work up—not blurt out while Ms. Adams discussed frog-mating rituals. “It’s learning time!”

“Oh, phooey. You’re so talking.”

“You’re going to get us yelled at.”

“And you have a massive hickey on your neck.” The Slayer eeped and reached automatically to cover her throat. Not that it did any good; Willow merely grinned wider.

“Or should I say hickeys?”

“You mean…”

“You look like you have the plague. The plague of Spike Lips.”

Buffy grumbled and tugged her hair out of its ponytail, glancing around the room with the sudden suspicion that she was the target of a number of stares. For a school that thought it proper to ignore her, she had the strangest way of attracting attention when it was not wanted. “Dammit,” she muttered. “He is so dead.”

“Literally.”

A small grin tickled her lips at that. She couldn’t help it. “Not where it counts.”

“And where would that be, Missy?”

“In all areas.” Buffy nodded her head toward the instructor, who was giving them a death-glare. “Later.”

Later came sooner than she would have liked. Willow followed her with Resolve Face to the library; intently ignoring the Slayer’s chiding that reminded her she was being uncharacteristically evil by skipping second period.

The library itself was vacant, and she was glad. Despite what she told Spike that morning, she was so not ready to face the Watcher.

“You’re talking!” Willow told her. “You disappeared last night with Spike, didn’t contact us for hours, and Giles said that Angel came by to see him after—”

Buffy gulped. “You talked to Giles?”

“That time before school starts? Yeah, some of us are here for that, too.”

“He didn’t happen to…errr…”

“Well, he wasn’t too happy with…anything. But I think that’s just because he’s British.” Willow propped herself onto the front counter. “Speaking of British, you minx, you better start talking. You were all with the moon eyes last night, disappearing for hours when you were supposed to be tracking Faith, and show up this morning looking…well…I’m too virginal to put a name to it, but I know there’s a name!”

“Oh, yeah. About Faith. I—”

“Save it for the Watcher. This is best friend QT. Did you and Spike…”

Buffy bit her lip unsurely. “You’re all right with the ‘me and Spike’ of that equation?”

“Well, I am a little wigged by the ‘used to want to kill us’ thing, but hello! I was there last night.” Willow smiled warmly. “I saw something. Besides, after you get to talking to him, he’s an all right guy. I mean, for someone who’s all with the dead and all.”

“Giles isn’t going to like it.”

“Giles will get used to it. He got used to Angel.”

“Angel has a soul.”

“Angel also murdered his girlfriend.”

Very true.

“A-and,” Willow continued, “I really don’t think he’ll contest Spike if Spike doesn’t make with the eating of Hellmouthy locals. Is he going to continue eating Hellmouthy locals?”

Buffy reddened, her mind detouring hard and fast down the nearest gutter. “Ummm…just one, I think.”

The Witch looked at her askance before turning rouge. “I…uhhhh…ummm…Buffy!”

She grinned, masking her own embarrassment for such a brazen comment with a shrug. “What can I say?” she returned coyly. “I’ve been corrupted by evil sex.”

It was just the opening needed for Xander Harris to pile through the library’s swinging doors. Willow’s giggle masked his entrance, but by the automatically-interested look on his face, it was more than obvious he had caught that remark.

“No sex is evil,” he said in greeting. “I rebuke this in the name of Guy-Dom.”

The Slayer studied him in silent contemplation. Might as well go for broke… “It’s with Spike,” she clarified.

To his credit, Xander didn’t miss a beat. “I stand corrected. And disgusted. And…what?”

Willow and Buffy’s eyes met again, and they giggled conspiratorially.

This was an exceptionally good start.

Like all things, it would take time getting used to this. Buffy had known it from the start. From the moment she took Spike’s hand in her own. From the moment their eyes met. From the moment she understood.

In all things, there was no going back.

There were other factors weighing in. Giles. Her mother. Angel. The Mayor. Faith. All aspects that would be dealt with as they presented themselves. Some would be easier than others.

Some might rightly break her. But then, there had always been battles to face. Evils to defeat. And there always would be.

But not today.

Tentatively, Buffy knocked at room nine of the Sunnydale Inn just as the sun was setting. The door flew open without missing a beat.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Such evils would be faced another day.

Spike stood aside and gestured her inward. “So,” he began conversationally. The domesticity behind his tone elevated her to levels she didn’t know existed. The notion was so ridiculous that she couldn’t help but find it overly heartwarming. “How was school?”

A soft smile. This was right. She was drawn into something that soared beyond her. Beyond anything she had ever been made to understand.

A lasting piece falling into place.

And it was real.


FIN


The Yellow Brick Road to be continued in Book III: L’Amour…