Spike stood at the foot of the bed with a frown. Angelus and his old mate were naked as the day they were born and spread eagle. He wasn't sure when the change from anger to plain annoyance occurred but it happened.

He held up the stake that had been the leg of a chair—the broken end was perfect to punch through his grandsire’s chest. Stepping around the foot, he was to Angelus’s side in two more strides. The plunge was easy, really. He pulled his hand away as his grandsire’s form jerked, browned and turned to dust.

In both his life and unlife, he had never felt such a surge of triumph as that moment held.

Drusilla bolted up and out of the bed, looking at the ashes of her sire like they’d burned her. Maybe, in her mind, they had.

Turning from her and the remains of the bane of his unlife, Spike dusted his leather coat off and walked around the bed to the door. It was time to wait for his moment—granted, waiting wasn’t his best virtue; but it would have to be done.

“What did you do to my Daddy?” Drusilla yelled at the height of her vocal range.

If it weren’t for the head splitting pain the sound caused, he would have been nicely impressed. In the past few months, he had begun to think she was good for only two things: fucking Angelus and breaking his heart. She was a banshee as well. Who knew?

“Put him out of my misery.” He threw the words over his shoulder. Then stopped and turned to her. “Someone would have. Eventually. I was just the lucky bloke who got to do the honors.” Turning back to the door, he waved to her over his shoulder. “I’d leave Sunnyhell, Dru.”

Drusilla let off a war cry that had him spinning around. She was flying through the air, naked with black talons drawn. Her ridges were out and rage contorted her mouth.

When she was in arms reach, he swatted her out of the air. He was on her before she even hit the ground, holding her by the neck. Knowing he would have backed off any other time, yet this time was different.

Awhile back, he’d caught himself thinking that she would come back to him if only Angel were here instead. Then, somewhere along the way, his plans changed and now he wanted neither. He wanted to be rid of everything that was making his un-life hell. So his days as love’s bitch were over.

“The only thing keeping you from not being a big pile of dust is the past century, Dru. If you know what’s good for you, Don’t. Ever. Try. That. Again.” Releasing her, he stepped back.

He studied her and wondered what would happen to her, now that she was on her own. She was so much like a little girl. Shaking his head, he turned and walked to the door. But when he reached the doorway, he stopped.”

“We did have some good times, didn’t we, Spike?” Drusilla sounded as normal as him, or any other.

Frowning at the pain in his chest, he nodded. “Yeah, Dru, we did.” And before she could say more to pull him back where he didn’t need to be, where he didn’t want to be, he walked away. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to find someplace before daybreak. He’d come back when he was sure she was gone.

Some Months Later

Buffy stood back in the shadows of the cafeteria doorway and watched her friends. They looked so normal and she felt… numb? She wasn’t sure anymore. At least when Angelus was coming around, she could be angry or angst-y. But this… nothingness was getting boring, fast.

When people started looking at her as they walked past, she grabbed herself something for lunch. It didn’t matter what, she didn’t look—then headed over to her friends and plopped down next to Willow.

“Have you heard the news?” She said by way of greeting.

Buffy frowned. That wasn’t odd—it was how Willow usually started a conversation. Cordelia was sitting with them. Very odd.

“No, Will. What?”

“Another student was found murdered today. Shot. Again.”

“How many does that make?” Xander shoveled more food into an already full mouth.

Buffy grimaced.

“Gross much?” Cordelia moved a fraction away from him.

When had they started sitting so close?

“Three. I think,” answered Willow, a slight frown of concentration marring her forehead.

The rest of Buffy’s day followed a similar theme: no matter where she went, Sunnydale High seemed ready to burst with gossip about the murders and she seemed to be in a haze.

By the time she went patrolling that night, she was angry and frustrated at hearing so much about it. And it bugged her that it did. That it irritated her so much that the whole town was going on about something so… mundane for Sunnydale. Even her friends seemed to have forgotten that Angel was their current problem.

Evil Angel. Angelus. She had to start thinking of him in those terms. He was no longer the man she loved. She frowned. This was so not the time to get into a depressed pity party over the whole thing. How was she going to know when he would decide to come back and start torturing her again? Wasn’t that the way he did things? Torture people, like he did Drusilla? Had he given up on his goal, if he ever had one?

It didn’t make any sense.

At least when Spike was making a nuisance of himself, he seemed to have had a plan, even if it was just to kill her. All Angelus seemed intent on was driving her up a wall.

If he ever did show up again… When he did—because there was no doubt he was doing this just to bug the hell out of her—she would have to go ahead with her plans. Stake the bastard through the heart.

As she turned the corner of a mausoleum, a fist shot out and connected with her face.

“OH!” She stumbled back, covering her nose.

Over her hands, she saw a tall, beefy vampire step out of the shadows and rest his sledgehammer fists on his hips and plant his legs Peter Pan style. He glared at her he was that tall. His smile was all fang, and his ridges did nothing for his Cro-Magnon man face.

“Did all you vampires take lessons from Spike?” She uttered the words unconsciously. “Why is it always the nose?” No bones were broken and she was pretty sure there would be very minimal swelling. She hoped so because boy would this be a tale to explain to her mom.

“Oh, nothing much, Mom. I was just out hunting vampires like I do every night and he came out of nowhere and just punched me in the nose. I think it’s a conspiracy. Spike sent it out in their newsletter—Ten Ways on How To Make the Slayer’s Life More Difficult.”

Yeah. That would be just great.

“Who’s Spike?” Cro-Magnon man asked, somehow frowning through his thick brow and ridges.

Rolling her eyes, she dropped her hands from her face and made fists. Tonight wasn’t the night for banter.

Hauling back, she landed a solid punch on Cro-Magnon’s chin. She even smiled when he stumbled back a step. She quickly lost any satisfaction she had when the vampire stepped forward and lunged at her.

Her eyes widened.

Ducking, she twirled out from under him—the swipe of his arms breezed over her head and moved her hair. Coming to a stop by his side, she wailed a few double punches to his ribs and pulled a stake out as she stepped out of his reach as he wheeled around.

Her heel caught on a stone and she overbalanced. Eyes widening comically, arms failing, she went down on her back with a thud and an “Ummfp.” Cro-Magnon vampire made a mistake and followed her down.

Raising her stake, she angled the wood and met him halfway. Her weapon hit his ribs and went through to his heart.

Lying there, she looked at the dark sky as she took a deep breath. Her chest slowly eased. She hated close calls like that. Sitting up, she grabbed the stone that tripped her and pitched it at the mausoleum. The rock burst apart and left a gritty divot in the stone.

Feeling less like she was about to throw a tantrum, she got up and started dusting herself off. As she was doing this, someone started clapping, from a distance but slowly got closer.

Blinking the surprise off her face, she patted herself down one last time, picked her stake up off the ground and turned as she straightened.

Spike stepped out from behind a tree and its shadow. He stopped clapping with one final pointed clap and folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the tree. “Good show, slayer. Not enough play, but some nice tricks, that.”

“I thought you were wheelchair bound, Spike?”

* * *

As much as Spike wanted to deny it, the other slayers didn’t compare to Buffy. She left them all behind and presented a greater challenge then they ever had. Her fighting alone held some aspect of sex that confounded him.

What was he thinking? All fighting had a hint of sex—whether it was to get hot for someone at home or because he was hot for his opponent.

He frowned. Something was off with that thought. Mentally grinding his teeth, he forced his mind on track.

Fighting and the fresh aspect of sex appeal the slayer’s fighting style gave her -- he straightened suddenly. He hadn’t noticed it before but the wind had shifted between them. He dropped his hands to his sides.

“What? No wounded ego?” Buffy asked, distracting him from his thoughts.

“Didn’t come here for that.” He took a predatory step away from the tree.

His lips twitched with satisfaction as she stiffened with awareness. The light of it was brightened her eyes. When he took another step forward, she jerked her stake up, aiming for his chest without a thought. Stopping, he held his hands up.

“Easy, slayer. Didn’t come here for that either, as much as it would be.” Keeping his hands where she could see them, he eased to one side. “Came with a bit of cheer.”

She frowned as she followed his measured circle around her.

“Too much Queen’s English for you?” He smirked when she growled at him. Actually growled. He liked that. “Good news, love.”

“I’m not—”

He held up a hand and rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. ‘Not your love.’ Time for new material, slayer.”

“Point. Get to it.” She was glaring now.

“Stop butting in.” He continued before she could bite, “Angel”—boy was that hard to get out—“can now fit in an urn.”

All the fight went out of her in the blink of an eye. Her wide eyes went unfocused and searched the ground, like she was trying to put his words into a frame of reference she understood. “I don’t believe you.” She looked up.

She did. The knowledge was there on her pale face and in her too-large-for-her-face eyes. She knew in her heart of hearts he wasn’t lying. She believed him.

“Saw the blighter go poof myself.” He meant to sound pleased but…

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She pointed her stake at his chest again.

She was pissed … with him. He’d meant for it to be this way. Why did it feel wrong?

“No. Just a fact.” His voice came from a distance to his ears.

With that, she stepped into his personal space and stared him down from her shorter stance. “Why aren’t you rubbing it in?”

“Not the way I thought things would be.” Why had he said that?

She sniffed. “What does that mean?”

“Means,” he took a breath and almost choked on it. When had she started smelling so god damn good? “Means, I didn’t see things as clearly as I wanted. Best laid plans and all that rot.” Why was he telling her? “Didn’t understand. ’til now, that is.” Yet, he kept speaking.

He should shut the hell up.

“Never mind.” She shook her head. “Who killed him?” she asked with a voice gone cold. He looked into her eyes and they had undergone the same freeze.

“Does it matter? Save you the heartache, I’d think. As I see it, you might owe the bloke.”

She grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him down to her. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say, and not for the obvious reason; he felt her grip down to his toes. He wanted to wriggle his shoulders.

“Who?” Her voice broke.

It seemed he was doomed to blindness. She wasn’t mad at him. She had thought there might be a chance for her and Peaches. Even if she and her pals somehow made him all soul having again, Angel would never risk losing it again. And the slayer was a right temptation.

The Slayer was mad at the world.

Against everything he had built himself on, he understood that about her. Empathized. Shared. Dru had caused him the same hurt.

His mind rebelled at that point. Reaching up, he knocked her hands away. Shoving her, he turned away. But he was spun back around just as soon by her small fist.

He didn’t block her first blow, didn’t even try. He welcomed it. Things were normal this way. They were fighting, dancing to their offbeat tune. The blows, the kicks, the give and take they learned in their exchanges were familiar.

Just as events in the last few minutes had, the wind changed her mind and shifted between them. He was kidding himself. He didn’t know what had changed. But it was there, had been since he wanted her kill that hulked-out-Neanderthal vampire. He didn’t know where. When. Why.

But that difference was there, screaming in his lack of conviction, there when he let her knock him to the ground. That oddity, the change, broke wide open when his back hit the ground.

Unbidden, he tumbled her down on top of him. Catching her by the hips, he steadied her. Then kept her there, straddling his hips when she meant to get up and off him. He locked eyes with her, followed her gaze when she tried to break the forced contact. He wanted something, and, just maybe, he could find it in her eyes. He’d know what it was when he saw it but until then…

* * *

Buffy stopped and willingly held Spike’s gaze. Her heart started again. Pounded.

His eyes shone with it again. That undefined emotion, motive … whatever. It was the same something that had been there when he had been rambling on about not understanding. It shocked her, startled her, even scared her to find a spark of … reciprocation. Her mind bogged down as she came close to naming it. Like the concept of Spike and that emotion being together in the same neighborhood was too incomprehensible.

When his hands came up along side her face, she jerked. He stopped and held his hands in a peaceful gesture. All the while, he kept her eyes with his. She took a deep breath.

Slowly, he started to move his hands. When he finally cupped her ears, his gentle touch surprised her, caused her to jump in his loose grip. He framed her face; his thumbs lined her cheeks, like a cool rose petal, and his long fingers tunneled through the hair at the nap of her neck.

He applied the smallest amount of pressure as he pulled. She resisted, unsure on so many levels. When she continued to hold back, Spike rose up and came to her. She pulled away as much as his hands would allow. She shifted as he came toward her, pulling at his hands, and still, he used only the slightest of force on her.

She felt herself falter, fall toward him. He titled his head up, tried to bridge the distance. Releasing his hands, she pushed against the wall of his chest. As always, he didn’t budge, he pushed forward. His slow determination and gentle approach kept throwing her off. She increased the pressure on his chest.

He flicked her hair off his fingers and grabbed her hands off his chest. He pulled her closer, brought her chest to his and started to wrap his arms around her. She reared back and toppled them. She ended up on her back with him cradled on top of her, her hands still trapped in his.

She pushed at him with her body, and he raised their locked hands above them, trapping her body, her head. She could only watch him. The play of emotions over his face held her, captivated, even as she knew he was planning to kiss her. Maybe do more. Was she going to be able to stop him? Did she want to stop him? Was this her time?

He tilted his head, studied her face. She saw doubt but it was overpowered by that unnamed emotion flashing in his electric blue eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed his eye color before?

As he lowered his head, his eyes continued to roam her face but came to rest on her lips. His crystal blue eyes were open, wanting—his eyes, even for the doubt that came and went, held no shame. In that moment, whether he knew it or not, he desired her. She closed her eyes to the sight, ignored her reaction to it. And he was there, pressing his mouth to hers.

Some deep seeded instinct had her resisting again, struggling in his grip. He held her down, pressed her body into the ground with his. He released her hands in favor of her shoulders—his grip was stronger, his fingers close to biting. With her hands freed, she tried to punch him. As he grabbed her swinging fist and brought it down to the ground, she grabbed hold of his coat. She pushed, then pulled on him before she slide her hand up under the collar of his coat and down his back. The planes of his back were hard.

He started to pull away and she followed him, took the exchange farther and slanted her mouth over his. Like cool water, he slid back into her mouth. She rolled them over, pressed him into ground and brought her hand down over his chest, feeling his shoulder as she went.

Spike went to deepen the caresses but stopped. He pushed her up and broke the connection, studied her as she watched him.

Then she was on the cold ground, watching as he ran off.

Spike tossed the blanket away and got out of bed. Naked, he started to pace.

Drusilla had taken his words to heart and fled Sunnydale. He’d come back to the old mansion a few nights later to find the place quiet and abandoned. She’d even taken her dolls. The pain in his chest had surprised him, and not just in the way he had expected.

His chest hurt with the knowledge that the ties between him and Dru had disappeared long ago. In the past few decades, his mission to cure her had been the only connection left. Their faded emotional link had been holding them together. The knowledge had been hard to swallow.

Planning the destruction of the last being who had been making a hellhole out of his life had helped to push her from his mind. Buffy had proven to be a more difficult pray then he had anticipated. He’d relished planning his attacks and being able to focus wholly on his task. But the minute he was in her presence, everything had gone bust. Again. Any nutshell of a chance his idea had of succeeding, she always found a way to stop him from success.

He’d figured her out, though.

She had her pals—another difference between her and the two slayers before her. Those pals grounded her—gave her a connection with the human race; enabled her to save the humans time and again. But going after the slayer’s friends would be too risky. After he offed the first one, she would bury them and herself in some hole with weapons drawn. He’d never have his day then. Dividing and conquering had seemed a viable option but they’d be too smart for that. Besides, they wouldn’t let him or any new person get close enough to start poisoning ears.

He still hadn’t come to a decision when he found her out on patrol the other night and what happened… Two nights had passed, and his mind still wouldn’t wrap around the events. His thought got stuck on how soft she was on top of him, under him. The thrill he got remembering the feel of her pulling him back when he went to pull away. He’d relented then, giving up any arguments that held him back. But then she’d rolled them over and pressed into him.

Her sudden acceptance, reluctant in it’s coming, had startled him to reality. He had the slayer under him. The Slayer.

The encounter, the discoveries, were more than a bloke could take in, in one night.

Why hadn’t it felt wrong? And if not wrong, why hadn’t he lusted for her blood instead of her body? Why had she let it happen? More questions, and still no one to answer them.

But what made him pace most of all was the need to know more: What would happen if they met again? Would they fight and end up as they had? Would they just drop the play and go for the kiss?

Going back to his bed, he flopped down on his stomach and glared at the wall.

If he ended up kissing her again, would the novelty of it be gone? Would being with her still not feel wrong? Because her embrace shouldn’t feel right…

Right?

Burying his face in his pillow, he groaned.

Just then, a bright purple-blue light gathered above Spike’s head and condensed fleetingly into the figure of a slender woman. “I need your help, Spike.”

He lifted his head just as her misty body broke a part and floated down over him.

* * *

“Buffy? Are you in here?” The back door stood open to a dark starless night when Willow came into the kitchen. Even knowing that Buffy was gone, she searched the space.

“Giles.” She called as she went to the island and picked up a piece of paper. She turned as he came into the kitchen. “She went back to the school, didn’t she?”

She handed him the flyer for the Sadie Hawkins Dance.

* * *


Buffy walked down the middle of a hall in Sunnydale High. Struggling with James, she’d learned, had no effect on him. He’d taken control of her at her house and hadn’t relinquished it. The only headway she’d made was some bit of consciousness separate from his. She could only watch from outside of herself as James moved deeper into the school—with her body.

A light mist surrounded her and yet, that swirl of white seemed to be one step ahead of her—the master leading its puppet

She hoped on one else was in the school, or, since that swarm appeared, hadn’t gotten through. How could she stop him if there was? She couldn’t stomach watching her body kill someone.

As James moved past a glass case, he stopped suddenly and turned back the way he came. Her heart pounded at the sound of woman’s high heels on the linoleum floor. James’s turmoil clashed with her fear—the two combined made her dizzy.

“James.”

His pulse leapt within her body. Grace!

“You’re the only one.” His voice came from some unseen place and her vocal cords softly echoed the words. “The only person I could talk to.” James turned her body around to find Grace standing inches away.

Buffy mentally blinked. As much as s he was outside her body, James controlled what she saw at times. And he saw Grace. But… Spike stood only inches away with an expression of pain on his face. What was he going here?

“You can’t make me disappear just because you say its over.”

“I just want you to be able to have some kind of normal life. We can never have that, can’t you see?” Grace’s voice, like James’s, echoed from a ghostly realm, and, microseconds later, was repeated by Spike.

“I don’t give a dame about a normal life!” Tears were rolling slowly down her cheeks with the raw grief coursing through her from James. “I’m going crazy not seeing you. I think about you every minute.”

Spike’s presence flashed to that of Grace as she raised her hand and touched James’s cheek. He bowed his head and pressed her hand closer with his.

“I know. But it’s over. It has to be!”

Grace turned to leave but James chased after her and spun her around.

“Come back here!”

Buffy blinked—Grace was Spike again. Some flicker of awareness had her looking closer. Was he as conscious of what was happening as she was?

“We’re not finished,” James said, her voice echoing it. “You don’t care anymore, is that it?”

Tears easily fell from Spike’s face, and he could barely meet her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter how I feel.”

“Then tell me you don’t love me!” Once again, James took full control and Spike was Grace. “Say it!” Even his voice was his own.

“Is that what you need to hear? Will it help?” She could barely keep her face from crumbling. She was shaking her head. “I don’t, I don’t. Now let me go.” Her voice was followed by Spike’s as James’ hold wavered.

“No. A person doesn’t just wake up and stop loving somebody!” James’s control strengthened in a flash that made it impossible for her to follow their actions until Grace was Spike again. Then her heart stilled and her mind went numb.

She was aiming a revolver at Spike’s chin.

“Love is forever.”

As Buffy looked at the fear on Spike’s face, she was drawn to his eyes. They were as blue as they always were, but haunted with memories that weren’t his, and pain. Buried deeper, something moved, a deeper emotion that was all his.

“I’m not afraid to use it, I swear!” James told a disbelieving Grace. “If I can’t be with you…”

That undefined emotion was bared in Spike’s already full eyes—he was there with them, with her.

“Oh my god!” Grace says, Spike’s thicker voice coming thereafter.

As Spike turned and started down the hall, Buffy was in 1955 again and Grace had once again fully replaced Spike. James chased after her.

“Don’t walk away from me…”—as he followed her around a corner, Spike was back. “Bitch!” Her voice echoed in the silent hall and drowned out James’s leading tones.

They ran through a set of outside doors onto a balcony.

“Stop it, stop it! Don’t make me.” His last words faded with a pleading tone as she repeated them with anger.

Grace’s fear making him breath heavily, Spike panted, “All right. Just…” As he turned, Grace took his place. “You know you don’t want to do this. Let’s just both…” she took a breath, “ calm down. Now, give me the gun.” Grace held out her hand.

“Don’t. Don’t do that, damn it!” As he shook the gun, Spike flickered back. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some stupid…”

His violent shaking made the gun move in his grip and his fingers instinctively tightened. As the word kid was about to leave her lips to echo, the gun went off.

Spike jerked back with the impact of the bullet into his body. Lifting a hand to his chest, he looked down at the blood that covered his palm. He lifted his pain filled eyes.

Open-mouthed shock had Buffy staring back. What had she done? Had she killed the only person who had ever seen her?

“James.”

Buffy stared in disbelief as Spike started to lose consciousness and then he was gone. She gave up fighting James’s hold.

Grace’s system went into shock and she stumbled back and over the rail of the balcony. James stepped forward and saw her. Her eyes were closed and her hand lay across her stomach like so many happier times.

Choking on a sob, James turned and scrambled back into the school.

* * *

On the steps below the balcony, Spike’s supine body lay unmoving. White mist gathered about him and his eyes suddenly came open. He looked up at the balcony as music softly drifted to him. Rolling smoothly up onto his feet, he took the stairs two at a time and raced through the school to be at the music room door in seconds.

Grace’s panic washed through him as he stopped and looked through the glass at Buffy. She stood in front of a full-length mirror with unfocused eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked down at the gun in her hand.

Silently, Spike entered the room and crossed to Buffy’s side as James had her raise the gun. Reaching out, he pulled the revolver from her hand and set it aside. She whirled around and looked at him with wide eyes. She wasn’t Buffy—he was looking at James.

“Grace!”

At that point, Spike let Grace have full control of him and retreated.

“Don’t do this.”

“But-but I killed you.”

“It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No.” James hiccupped. “It was my fault.”

“Hush.” Grace put her finger to his lips. “I’m the one that should be sorry. You thought I stopped loving you but I never did.” She slid her hand onto his cheek. “I loved you with my last breath.”

James let out a sob as his face crumbled and he touched his forehead to hers.

“Shh…” She wiped the moisture away from his cheeks. “No more tears.”

Stretching up, she kissed him.

Above Buffy and Spike’s heads, a swirling purple-blue light appeared. As they continued to kiss and cling tightly to one another, the ethereal light briefly intensified then was suddenly gone.

* * *

Spike slowly came back to himself and the kiss he was sharing with Buffy. She was soft and warm in his arms. The embrace answered more then he was ready to learn or accept. He didn’t know if he wanted to throw his hand back and roar in frustration… Or pull her closer and discover what they would.

Reluctantly, he compromised and slowly broke the caress. Brushing his lips over hers one last time, he drew back to look at her face. Her eyes were closed and her kiss-swollen lips were slightly parted. Her hand, which had come to rest on his chest some time during their kiss, played with the collar of his shirt.

She softly blinked her eyes open. Surprise flared in her wide, hazel orbs.

“Spike?”

Before he could form a coherent thought, running footsteps sounded from the hall. “Buffy?” one of her pals called.

He could only watch as she pushed past him and left the music room.

Five days passed, and Buffy barely noticed.

As much as she would like to tell herself that her distraction came from thinking over what happened the last two times she and Spike met, she couldn’t. Not fully, anyways.

In the gap that Angelus’ odd disappearance made, another badie sprang up in his wake. As much as she relished the reprieve from her more than gloomy thoughts and her morbid disappointment that Evil Angel was dead, she wanted time to think about Spike. Him, and the strange desire and unnamed emotion that ran unchecked across his eyes when he wasn’t thinking, and her responsive reciprocation.

She would have liked being able to think about him, a lot more than taking out that badie. The lack of surprise at that desire was more shocking. But with everything that had gone on, she’d only been able to relive snatches of their embraces.

Walking up the front porch of her house, she unlocked the door and went in. There were the pleasant sounds of home coming from the kitchen and she was able to breath.

“Mom, I’m home,” she called as she put her keys back in her coat.

“Hi honey.” Joyce came out of the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“Long. We had a test I didn’t know about and our gym teacher wants to make us sweat to death.” She smiled as her mother chuckled. “How about you?”

“I had an interesting day. A young man came by this evening looking for you.” Joyce raised her eyebrows. “He seemed very disappointed when I told him you weren’t home.”

Buffy frowned. “Did you invite him in?”

“Yes, but he didn’t want to. He just shook his head and left.”

“Did he have white blonde hair and wear a long leather coat?”

“Yes.” Joyce said. “Do you know him?”

Buffy nodded. “You could say that.” She pointed up the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

“I hope it wasn’t life or death,” Joyce murmured.

Her sentiment exactly.

“Good night, sweetie.”

“Night, mom.”

Spike could be very unpredictable; and that was on his good days. But if she went by his past behavior, her death might just be what he was after, which clashed with the way things were shaping up between them. As much as her being attracted to him oddly didn’t bother her, she didn’t want to end up dead because she forgot who she was getting involved with.

She was halfway to her bed when she saw a note tapped to the outside of her window. Throwing her bag and jacket on her bed as she passed, she strode over. In a slanting, sharp cursive, Slayer was scrolled across the front of an envelope. An envelope that went with a stationary set her mother had given her.

Frowning at the mocking scrap of paper, she wrenched the window open just enough to get her arm out and reach the letter. Snatching it off the glass, she pulled it inside.

The note was concise and not a little presumptuous: Slayer, meet me tomorrow night at that mausoleum.

He hadn’t even signed it, the cocky bastard.

* * *

She wasn’t coming.

Or that’s what Spike kept telling the anticipation flaring in his chest every time he heard even the smallest of sounds. It was well past midnight, and she hadn’t come yet.

Why did he keep torturing himself? Because he was a glutton for punishment, that’s why. He should just leave Sunnydale and wait for the next slayer so he could go back to his old routine. He was crazy. That’s it…

His vampire instincts had him turning around, alerting him to her presence before he even saw her. It had been the same with the other slayers, but it gave his instincts a thrill, maybe it was her and that odd sensation… He cut that thought off.

“What took you so long?”

“I didn’t realize I could be late when you didn’t specify a time.” The slayer came around the corner of the tomb. “Besides, I had to wait for my mom to go to sleep and then I had to patrol.”

When she spoke of her mum, the knowledge and annoyance of what he’d done shone in her eyes. But as silence settled between them and she studied him, the light in her eyes became uncertain. Curious.

“You do remember that I’m the slayer, right?” A cute, little frown gathered between her delicate eyebrows.

“Not likely to forget that anytime soon. Love.”

She growled at him. Again. His stomach clenched and he couldn’t help but smile a satisfied grin.

“Do you realize the shit storm I’m going to receive?”

“You? But you’re a vampire.” She frowned harder.

He tired not to roll his eyes and almost failed. “We are talking about the same thing here, aren’t we?” He didn’t want to say it straight out but for the sake of clarity and getting this over with sooner than later appealed greatly to him.

She pursed her lips and looked over at the spot where they’d first kiss. He didn’t follow her gaze. The place was perfectly, torturously etched into his brain. She glanced fleetingly at his face but too quickly for him to read anything meaningful in her eyes. Then without looking directly at him, she gestured between them.

“You. Me.” She swallowed. “Possibilities.”

“Yes.” The gruff word had her glancing at him.

Looking away, he cleared his throat.

What had his point been? Turning away from her, he rubbed the back of his neck to buy some time. She was looking at him; he could feel her gaze as if the sun were blazing down on him. It was damnedly distracting.

Right. Consequences. For her as the slayer and him as the vampire—and them together, against the demon world and her pals, no less.

Swirling around, he dropped his arms to his sides. “If we do…”

She gave him an impatient hand gesture.

“Right.” He gave the term neither of them seemed to say a gesture as well. “And that gets out, in the demon world, I’ll be considered a betrayer. You think you got it bad now? We’ll both be marked.”

The idea hadn’t come to her but she was thinking about it now. Good.

“Are you willing to risk it?”

The question made his eyes widen in surprise—it was something he was about to bring up.

“I don’t know.” He met her eyes, steadied hers with his direct, willing, open expression. “I don’t know what’s going on here.” But he was willing to find out.

She was nodding. She was still looking him in the eyes, studying him. If he wasn’t off his mark, she was taking him in. Maybe for the first time.

“You know,” he started as he began to move toward her. “You’re mum is a right nice bird when she isn’t toting an axe.”

“You weren’t trying to kill her daughter.” She gave him a rueful smile.

“True.” He’d expected her to take a step back, but even as he stopped inches from her, she stood her ground and tilted her head back to look up at him.

“Don’t that beg the question why didn’t she recognize me?”

“Like most people in town, I think she unconsciously explains it away.” Her eyes were searching his face. She settled for studying his lips.

He swayed toward, even dipped his head. The compulsion to kiss her, pull her close and feel her the way he had in the school after the ghosts had left was almost overwhelming. He could understand Angel’s problem of not touching her—it was near impossible not to.

He straightened. “I’m not Angel.”

Her eyes shot to his in a flash and narrowed. “No. You’re not. If he was still around, I wouldn’t be here.”

Neither would he, he realized. He didn’t like that—for either of them.

“All I meant was I don’t fancy being taken as a replacement,” he said, fully understanding. Too many things would be different if Peaches had kept his bloody hands off the slayer. Did he intentionally put a possessive spin on that?

“You’re both vampires. Not clones.” She broke eye contact in favor of his chest. “Besides, I think if he’d known … he would have left. Before.”

He wondered if she knew how astute that was.

* * *

Buffy had to catch her head before it dropped to the table. Again. She was staying out too late. The last two nights, she hadn’t gotten in until almost three.

“Do you realize that in the last week alone, paranormal activity has dropped?” Giles addressed the group around the library table at large—while reading from one of his giant tomes and walking to them from his office.

Buffy shook her head. Maybe if she were that coordinated with her schoolwork, she would get more of it turned in. Or get home earlier. Actually, it was due to Spike. Both her inability to study and the drop in demon activity.

“Buffy!” Giles sharp voice cut across her thoughts.

She brought her head up to fast and pulled something in her neck. Grimacing, she reached up and rubbed at the throbbing muscle.

“What?”

“Have you noticed?”

From his voice alone, she got the impression that wasn’t the first time he’d asked. That and Willow, Xander and Cordelia were looking at her.

“No.”

“You haven’t? Do you not patrol?”

“I patrol. But everything seems normal to me.” Actually, the load had gotten heavier in just last two nights a lone. Spike hadn’t been kidding about them being marked—she was shocked at how quickly news spread in the demon world.

Spike had given her another surprise. She had thought she was going to have a fight on her hands about him and his role in this demon war they were bringing down on their heads. But he had been more than willing to help out. His zeal for fighting, when not directed at her, was kind of cute.

Ooh, she just thought of something to tease him about.

“Have to get my kicks in somehow.” He’d said when she asked him. “Besides, knew you wouldn’t want me going around terrorizing the human population.”

Did that mean he didn’t feed on them either? She hadn’t had the nerve or the energy to ask that night. They seemed to be taking things as they came. If it became a major issue, she’d deal with it then.

“Maybe I have been doing more than we thought?” Lame as it was, she couldn’t think of anything else.

“I had wondered if it had anything to do with Angelus, Drusilla and Spike’s sudden disappearance.”

There was that, and she had nothing to say to that. She still couldn’t tell them that Angel was dead. And why was she taking the word of her former archenemy? She had nothing to say to that either.

“Have you been to the mansion to see if there has been any activity there?”

“What?” She looked up from zoning. “No, I haven’t.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but isn’t it strange that they just stopped coming around?” Xander said, looking up from a rather large tome. “I mean, didn’t you see Evil Dead Boy at least once a week?” He turned his gaze to Buffy, drawing everyone else’s attention to her.

“I guess? I don’t know.” When everyone continued to stare at her, she started packing up her school things. “It didn’t rate up there with things to keep track of, ok?” Swinging her backpack onto her shoulder, she looked up. “I have to go on patrol. I’ll check out the mansion while I’m out.”

* * *

Giles watched as the library doors swung shut after Buffy’s hurried departure. She had been distant of late, since just before the Grace/James trouble.

“What’s with the worried?”

He looked down to his left to find Willow looking up at him. “Pardon?”

“You looked all concerned.” She gestured to the doors.

“Have you noticed anything, I don’t know, odd about Buffy’s behavior of late?”

“No. She was a little side tracked with that whole James/Grace ghost thingy.” Willow waved her hand. “Mainly, I think, because some aspect of it reminded her of her relationship with Angel.” Looking over her shoulder, she said, “What do you think, Xan?”

Without looking up from his tome, he said, “Same kind of Buffage as usual.”

“See?” Willow turned to Giles. “No worries.”

He nodded absently. He wasn’t so sure.

“What did you do to your neck?” Spike’s rumbling voice came from somewhere above her head.

“I was trying to cover for you.” She let her words trail off into a hum. “While you’re back there, do you think you could get to the pain that goes down into my shoulders?” She rolled her head forward as his hands moved down.

Spike was doing the most enjoyable things with his fingers. The pain was subsiding and the muscles and tendons in her neck and shoulders were slowing un-clenching. His fingers were cool but warming as they moved over her skin. The calloused pads of his fingertips soothingly abraded the taught flesh.

“How are the two connected?”

“What connected?” She had been thinking how pleasurable his touch was and he was asking about connections?

“Saving my hide and the crick in your neck?” He leaned down close and his mouth brushed against her ear and then down to her shoulder. The feel of his mouth near her neck was less disconcerting than she would have imagined—him being a vampire and all. “Where’s the connection?”

“Giles.” She wasn’t paying attention to her thoughts or the words coming out her mouth. He was pressing the most delicious touch to her ear, her cheek, and her neck. “He wanted to know about the drop in demon activity.”

He stopped only long enough to say, “The bloke obviously doesn’t get out much, then.”

She opened her mouth to give a retort but he found a sensitive bit of skin between her neck and shoulder. He played there, first kissing, biting and then soothing it with sweeps of his tongue. His hands, in the mean time, had traveled down her back, then up. He let his fingers glide over her arms. At her wrists, he gripped, then gently messaged. He slid his hands up then right back to her wrists and released one.

“Up.”

She blinked up at him, surprised to find him in front of her, pulling her to her feet. He stood back, holding her by the wrist, just looking at her.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she stood and looked down her front. She felt out of her depth. No man had ever looked at her the way Spike was just now. Angel immediately came to mind to contradict that thought but she pushed it away. She didn’t want to play the comparison game. She met Spike’s eyes again. “What?”

He only shook his head. “Can I kiss you?”

Buffy blinked again. “You suddenly need my permission? I though we were—”

Her eyes widened—he was kissing her before she could finish, and she was kissing him in return. They were kissing. As wrong as those words would have sounded some time ago, she couldn’t pull away—even to breath. The kiss was cool and controlled. Maybe he was trying to be careful, trying not to scare her off?

His hands were tugging on her hips, trying to pull her ever closer to him. She stepped into him, bridging the gap between them. He stopped, caught off guard, as she knew he would be. His hands, abruptly on her butt, didn’t move.

She took the lead, enjoying the softness of his lips in contrast with the hardness of his tongue, absent as his attention was. She fought off the distracted ministrations he was paying to her lips and nibbled on his lower lip until his opened his mouth. When he settled comfortably into her actions, she plunged her tongue into his mouth. He grabbed her up, gripped her butt and crushed her against him. The toughness of his hips against her pelvis had her gasping into the heated kiss she’d conjured.

Her hands thus far had lain passively on his shoulders. With his fervor finally up, she moved her hands up into his hair, clenching to hold him to their kiss.

It ended all too quickly for her when he suddenly broke the kiss. He had a good grip on her butt and she wanted something other than his hair to hold onto—she slid her hands down into his coat when he decided for unknown reasons to pull away.

When he stepped away, she had made it so that they were still holding each other—she with her hands on his back and he with his on her waist. The moment was strange and Buffy had no way of knowing what was going on.

The last kiss of the night was chaste. Spike then—surprising her even further—walked her to her street before silently telling her goodnight.

* * *


The other patrons of The Bronze were nothing more than dark shadows passing over or at the edges of Spike’s vision. He was focused on only one thing: Buffy.

She was in the middle of the dance floor all by herself but with half of the male populations’ attention on her. Spike had to growl—the girl had no idea the sight she made, how it affected everyone around her, and not just the males. Many of the females were looking her way as well, with daggers.

Just then, she turned and looked directly at him, and did something with her hips. The dirty minx knew he was here, watching. He thought he’d dreamed their interlude the other night. But that slow grind, directed at him, had him re-thinking.

At every turn, she’s surprised him. It seemed he was more reluctant, resistant—whatever—than she was to the idea and realty of them. What was she about? Was he just something to take her mind off of Peaches death? That he caused and he still hasn’t told her. He had no way of knowing because hell would have to freeze over before he asked.

Pushing that thought from the forefront of his mind, he pointedly looked her up and down—knew she felt it when she slowed her rapid dance steps. Then, just as pointedly, he stepped into the shadowy corner at his back. He lost sight of her then as more people crowded into his vacated spot and onto the dance floor.

He was almost to the wall when someone bumped into him. Spike straightened and looked at the tall—very tall—man walking away. A cold chill swept up his body from where he had connected with the stranger. Something bugging at the back of his brain, but for the un-life of him, he couldn’t put a finger on what it was or who the man was.

Spike was about to step forward—go after the bloke and demand to know who the hell the blighter was—but a hot hand on his chest stopped him. Without looking down, he put his hands on her warm hips.

“You know who that was, Slayer?”

She turned within his arms to look. “Who?”

A group of teens, giggling and gabbing at the same time, passed in from of him and the strange was gone when the girls had gone by. Spike frowned.

“He’s gone.” The blighter. The whole situation felt oddly similar. Like déjà vu. He did not like it. The man appeared behind him—and there had been no one in the corner where he’d stepped. He’d made sure.

He was distracted when Buffy started squirming in his hands. He tightened his arms over her stomach. “Where ya going?”

“My friends are here. I don’t want them to know until I know whether this is leading anywhere or not.”

He stilled. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might tell her mates. “You’re going to tell them?” He glanced around to make sure that just the mention of them hadn’t conjured them. “About us?”

She was silent for far too long. She was most likely thinking he was upset because she wasn’t going to tell them sooner.

“Eventually, I will.” She said.

“Why would you want to go and do a thing like that?”

The slayer turned wide, blinking eyes on him. “Don’t you want me to tell them?”

“Not bloody likely.” He turned her around and settled her against him. “They’ll stick their noses in where it don’t belong and muck the whole thing up.”

She was staring up at him like a codfish. He couldn’t help but smirk.

“Close your mouth, love, or you’ll catch something.” Gently, he put a finger under her chin and pushed her mouth closed.

“I’d though you’d want me to tell them.” She was starting to look more confused than surprised.

Maybe he hadn’t been the only one surprised at every turn. But there was still no way he would ask about any connections with him being a replacement. But she’d answered that, though, hadn’t she? Angel was gone and she was moving on with her life. He smiled, feeling great and forgot about her mates, Angel and that strange man.

She turned her head in suspicion and frowned at him. “Why are you smiling like that?”

He didn’t feel like letting her in on that little secret. Yet. “You dance with me?”

“But my friends…”

“Aren’t in this dark corner with us, are they?” He pulled her arms up around his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her waist. “All private, here.”

She gave him another searching look but made no further protests. His luck continued as a slow song came on. When she leaned her head against him, heat shot from his chest and infused his body. Even though the sensation was emotional, it was the best he had felt in the longest while.

Comfortable and feeling like time could stretch—corny as that was—he didn’t want to move away from her. Leaning into her embrace, he laid his head on her shoulder. Unsure of how much time passed, he only moved when she pulled her head up. She met and held his gaze.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Buffy?”

One corner of his mouth tilted up. “No.” The effort it took not to laugh almost killed him.

She had to suppress her mirth as well; proven by the pursed smile she gave him. Then she promptly punched him in the ribs. Even with her holding back on her slayer strength, the punch smarted.

A lighthearted playfulness washed over him and had him lunging for her throat. As he dove, he realized that this could go one of two ways: bad or really bad…

She started giggling as his lips met with the skin of her neck. The sound delighted him. He went after her again, tickling her with his mouth. She jerked her arms down from around his neck and went for his sides.

Spike suddenly pulled back. “No,” he said, grabbing her wrists. But it was too late. She was tickling his sides. Here he was; the big bad and he was ticklish.

Wicked joy spread over her face as she really dug in. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ticklish?”

Between bouts of laughter, he was able to get out, “Yeah, middle of a fight and I’m going to call a stop to it and announce, ‘Yeah, Slayer, just thought you should know how ticklish I am.”

She was nodding. “Yes, you should have.”

He mock snarled at her. “Teach you.”

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he spun her around and pinned her to the wall. Then promptly renewed his mouth assault on her neck. She went wild. It felt great. With a quick jerk, she moved out of his grasp. He turned his head to go after her but the angle wasn't right. They stopped. Their mouths were only a breath away from touching.

He looked up to find her watching him. As much as they checked their actions with the other, their interactions were comfortable. He loved their quick ease. He saw great potential for them—as long as he didn’t let his head get in the way.

She got tired of waiting on him and grabbed him to her and kissed him. If he had needed to breathe, he would’ve had to pull away to drag a breath in, for she just knocked it out of him.

Even as close as their bodies were, he stepped closer. She pulled her body up straighter, as if she could swallow him. Spike sank his arms around her, secured them there between her lush body and the heated wall. The Bronze disappeared around him and sensation turned to a black haze as he melted into her.

* * *

Buffy watched as Spike went flying overhead. It’s amazing. She’d learned how many he kills when he seemed to be always falling down, getting knocked down, or thrown around. She shrugged; if it gets the job done.

A punch to the jaw drew her attention back to the three in front of her. They’d spread out from the pile she’d thrown them into. Not sure which vampire was the one to sucker punch her, she grabbed the closest one. Kicking out, she got the second one in the knee and then threw the other one away. While the first two dealt with their hurts, she went after the third. He was tall and ultra thin.

Banter would feel good right about now, but after killing ten vampires, already, she was all quipped out. Other than the normal grunts and groans, it was unusually quiet from Spike’s corner as well.

Skinny squared off with her and grinned around his fangs. She smiled—he was well guarded in his stance but for one weakness, Stepping into his striking range, she jabbed him in the ribs.

As Skinny fell back, she dealt with the other two, easily. A few punches, a roundhouse kick and with two swings of her stake, they were dust.

Spike, meanwhile, was pinned to a tree by a very large forearm. The demons seemed to travel in groups—and not just of one type. The demon holding Spike was large, blue, had a mane of brown hair and gigantic, spiraling red horns.

“Is there any reason why you’re holding my boyfriend hostage?” Buffy stepped around the demon’s back to his other side—the only side that didn’t have an eye patch.

“You slayer, yes?” His voice rumbled through the graveyard.

“Yes.” She knew where this was going. Did she call Spike her boyfriend? Had he heard? Was that ok? She quickly glanced at Spike but he seemed preoccupied with his boot.

“Make him,” the giant demon turned back to Spike, “traitor.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Please. I’ve never been one to—” He choked on his words and started struggling anew as blue beard pushed harder against his throat. He couldn’t die from lack of air, but it sure had to hurt like hell.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. All she had were stakes and she didn’t think they would hold up all that well against old blue beard… Who suddenly jerked and bellowed. Buffy blinked and stepped back as the demon threw Spike at her feet. Blue beard stumbled back and turned to them. A large dagger was planted in the center of his chest.

Frowning at Spike, she reached down and helped him stand.

“Where did you keep that?” She pushed his hands out of the way and checked his neck. “Might be a little bruising but no true damage done.”

He rubbed it once more before he answered, “My boot.”

She glanced over his shoulder as blue beard went down with his eyes rolled back. She looked back at Spike to find the oddest expression on his face. She’d seen it before or something like it, but what the hell with that odd smile?

“Are you all right?” But movement coming from behind Spike had her looking over his shoulder.

She’d forgotten about Skinny. Spike hadn’t noticed her distraction and was coming toward her. She pulled him to her side and threw a stake at Skinny. It landed home and he burst into dust.

The dust from Skinny hadn’t even settled to the ground when Spike spun her to face him. His odd expression had condensed and turned intense. He was staring at her like he’d not seen her every day for the last half week.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

His eyebrows flicked together in a quick frown. “How am I looking at you?”

“Like you did that first night we kissed. Like it was the first time you’d really seen me?” She knew it came out as a question but there weren’t words to describe the look her gave her.

“Might be.” He said then lowered his head and kissed her.

He usually held back. He didn’t this time. She lost her breath and control of her mouth in one gasp and didn’t get either back for some moments. Like cool heat invading, he took her over, kissed her mouth and danced with her tongue. She got lost in the caresses he gave her. She didn’t get any semblance of rational thought until she felt one of his hands in her hair and the other sliding down her backside.

Quickly, she had to pull away from his mouth. “Someone has been following me.”

Spike blinked at her. “You’ll have to repeat that, love.”

“Lately, it feels like someone has been following me. At times, they aren’t very good at it and I can easily lose them but other times, its like have a shadow on my tail.”

She recalled their body’s positions: Her hands were on the back of his neck and she had lifted one leg partially up his. Spike had one hand at the back of her head and the other was half under her shirt. She lowered her hands to his shoulders and put her foot on the ground.

“It’s why I was late.”

He made a thinking hmm sound in the back of his throat. Without saying anything, he took one of her hands in his and toed her toward a grove of trees that grew around a mausoleum.

“They the same person?” He turned and leaned her against the stone structure.

As dark as their temporary shelter was, she could feel his stare like a caress.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

He leaned into her, slid his hand down her side then down the back of her thigh. “Doesn’t sound like there’s much to do.” He pulled her leg up over his hip and settled more firmly against her. “Tonight.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with us?” It wasn’t what she wanted to ask: Had he heard her boyfriend declaration?

“Yes.” He leaned down to start their kiss again but she drew breath, thinking that she was ready to ask. He pulled back. “Need to talk, love?”

She looked at him. She did but didn’t want to. “No.”

Gently, she pulled him back to her lips. “Let's leave it for another night.”

He kissed her but he was distracted. Wanting his focus on her, she took his hand and just placed it on her breast. He stopped for all but a fraction of a second. She held her breath during that time. In the end, he took her silent plea to heart and let his worries go.

Happy, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged.

* * *

Giles stepped on a twig and winced.

He could hear Buffy fighting a set of vampires and didn’t want to alert anyone to his presence. He stopped where he was and waited until he could no longer hear the distinctive sounds of a physical altercation.

Giles had only gone a few feet when he hears Buffy and another’s voice. He stopped, trying to hear whom it was but he couldn’t recognize the voice. It was male, for sure, but the rumbling tones weren’t clear enough to register.

Shaking his head, he rushed quietly forward. Why stand back when he could walk forward and see whom Buffy had taken to patrolling with. But as he cleared a grove of trees next to a mausoleum, there was no one in sight and the voices were gone.

He stood there, feeling jilted, of all things. Something was going on. He had a terrible hunch that it was demonic, and Buffy seemed to be right in the thick of things.