“Spike--is there something wrong with the soup? You’ve hardly touched it.” He’d agreed to chicken soup, but now he just sat there dejectedly, stirring the spoon around. *And I thought vampires just played with food on two legs*

The vampire took a breath. “It’s just that, well... I feel like a great big ponce, sitting here eating chicken soup with the Slayer. I mean, I used to be the scourge of Europe, or at least a part of it, and now I’m all domesticated. It’s really hard on the bleedin’ ego.”

He looked up from his bowl and stared at Buffy. “It’s because of this bloody chip that I keep finding myself in these stupid situations where the only possible outcome is either staking myself or becoming an unwilling lapdog for the good guys.”

Despite herself, Buffy felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

“Look, I can’t tell you that I know what you’re talking about, or that everything’s going to get better. But I do know that someone doesn’t survive for 120 years without being able to adapt. This chip is probably--ok, definitely--the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but you’ll learn to live with it, just like you learned to live with everything else. Remember when you were paralysed? You didn’t stake yourself when that happened; you concentrated on getting better. Now concentrate on that chicken soup and don’t feel sorry for yourself.”

She wanted desperately to add: You’ve got me, now. I’ll help you get through this--but chickened out.

Spike’s glare softened a little. “Thanks, Slayer.” He turned his attention back to the soup that was laid out before him.

When it was clear that her guest was done eating, Buffy cleared the table and put the dishes away in the dishwasher. Spike stayed seated at the table, his head resting in his hands. He hadn’t eaten much, but she was happy to see him ingesting something other than blood. She knew he wouldn’t make a habit of it, but it made her feel better while it lasted. Right now, though, he was starting to look like hell.

“Spike? I think you should take a bath, and then go to bed. You look beat.”

He answered her, but didn’t move. “How come I feel bad again? I was feeling fine this morning, and then after I dozed off. Now I’m back to feeling like hell. I don’t know how you humans put up with this on a regular basis--I’d end up killing myself.”

She sat down on the chair beside him. “You feel bad because you’re starting to wind down for the day. It always feels worse in the evening because your body wants you to rest so it can take care of itself.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Now let’s go upstairs and I’ll run you a bath. You can even sleep in Dawn’s bed if you promise not to puke in it. She’d never let me live that one down.”

She stood back up, and held her hand out for him to take.

Spike took her hand, and got up. His mind was racing as Buffy led him up the stairs, his hand in hers. He imagined that she was taking him up to her bedroom, and felt himself get hard at the thought, *Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen*.

She led him to the bathroom, and sat him on the toilet “Now stay here--I’ll go see if I can find you some other clothing. I think Xander might have left some slouchy pants here at some point.”

As she rummaged through her closet, she could hear Spike whine, “Bugger that! I’m not wearing the whelp’s pants; I’ve had a bad experience with his clothes!”

His protest stopped short when she presented him with a pair of plain black flannel pants.

“They’ve got an elastic waistband, so you don’t have to worry about the fit, and I have some crazy notion that you won’t mind the colour. So shut up and take them.” She also handed him a towel and a facecloth.

She went to the bathtub and turned the water on--she fiddled with the temperature until she was content that it was just right. As she turned back to the vampire, she saw that he had begun to undress. He had removed his t-shirt, and was working on the buttons on his fly.

She could see that he didn’t wear any underwear; this led to naughty thoughts she wasn’t able to push away. *You know, you also need to take a bath; I’m sure he wouldn’t object to sharing the tub. Just imagine his strong hands, all soaped up, sliding down your stomach, his lips on the back of your neck...* She came back to her senses, and noticed that she was panting and staring right at him. *Great- now he’ll think you’re insane. Good going, Buffy*

Spike looked at the Slayer, intrigued. What was going on in that mind of hers? He had watched her as she sat on the side of the tub to turn the water on. Now she turned to stare in his direction, but she wasn’t really looking at him; she seemed to be staring through him. He turned around and looked on the wall, thinking that maybe there was a spider or something on the wall; for some reason, creepy-crawlies always hid in the bathroom. *No, nothing there...what is it then?*

He faced Buffy once again, and did a double-take. She was staring at him, one hand sliding down her stomach, and she was breathing heavily through parted lips. He cocked his head and said her name as if in prayer, “Buffy?”

He held his arm out and put his hand over hers, as it lay on her stomach. He heard her take in a sharp breath and watched her close her eyes. Fully aroused, the vampire’s senses were now at their sharpest. He could sense a charge flowing between their bodies.

He took one step closer and was hit by the smell of her arousal. *That’s for you, mate. The Slayer’s hot for you, and you’re too bloody sick to do anything about it.* He pulled her in an embrace and held her tightly, craving the physical contact like he craved blood.

Buffy expected Spike to taunt her, to sneer, to mock her; that or perhaps thrust himself onto her, in full throes of passion. What she didn’t expect was a hug. Without thinking, she returned the hug with affection. She could feel his lips caress her neck, and sighed. She ran her hands down his back, and felt his muscles tense. She could feel the strength hidden beneath his pale skin. He pulled back, and gazed into her eyes.

She had no idea what he was thinking, but she could see adoration in his blue eyes. *Do something! He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on earth that matters to him.* Buffy held his cheek in hand, pulled herself closer to him, and brushed her lips against his.

The kiss was feather light, almost chaste. She pulled back and rested her head on his chest, noting the lack of a heartbeat. It no longer bothered her that she felt something for Spike; this coming-to-terms was strange, but welcome, to her. She felt him tighten his grip on her; somehow, she now knew what he was thinking.

“Spike?” He brought his eyes to hers. “Things have changed--I... I want you to know that. I don’t hate you anymore; I don’t think I have for a while now. We have our fights, and I think that that’ll always be part of who we are, but I don’t wish you any harm anymore. I don’t know if this makes sense to you, but I feel like I have to tell you.”

Spike’s heart sang at Buffy’s words. She’d read his emotions, and laid bare her heart to him. It wasn’t an admission of love, but it was close enough for him. Anything other than ‘I hate you Spike and I hope you die’ was a good start.

“Yeah, pet, it makes complete sense.”

He grasped her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. They stood there, his chin resting on her head, not knowing what to say next.

It was Buffy who finally broke their silence, “Uh, you might want to get in the tub before the water cools down completely.”

He gave her a leer. “Care to join me?”

*I wonder how he’d react if I said ‘sure, why not’?* The little voice lost out, as level-headed Buffy took over.

“No--I think you need to wash up and head for bed. You’ve had a long day and you’re not feeling great yet--I can see that you’re still under the weather.”

She pulled out of his embrace and left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

She leaned against it, and closed her eyes. *Buffy, what are you doing? Can you handle falling for another vampire? What’s Giles going to say about this? And the Scoobies!*

Her little voice interrupted the Slayer’s thoughts, * Xander will be horrified, Anya will be excited, and Willow and Tara will sympathise with your need to be with someone. They might not understand, but they’ll be supportive--they always are. At least this one doesn’t have a soul to lose. That and you don’t have to worry about whether or not he’ll be faithful--his last relationship lasted 120 years. And last but not least, he’s dead sexy- you’ve got to find out what he’s like between the sheets!*

“Ok, that’s enough of that!” Buffy pushed herself away from the door and walked to her bedroom--she needed to get herself ready for patrol.

Dressed in leather pants and a deep red tank top, she grabbed Mr. Pointy and a small vial of holy water from her weapons chest. She laid them on her bed, ready for when she would be heading out.

She heard the water draining from the tub. The bathroom door opened, and Spike walked out, wearing Xander’s flannel pants. He looked slightly better rested, but still in need of at least one good night’s sleep.

“Ok, let’s get you to bed, shall we?” She walked ahead of him, biting her lower lip. *God! How can he look so sexy when he’s not even trying? He’s sick and tired, and you can’t think of anything else but what it must feel like to have him lavish you with kisses. What’ll happen when he’s feeling better, and he goes back to acting like a Casanova?*

They made their way to Dawn’s bedroom. Buffy turned the lamp on, pulled the comforter back on the bed and looked around.

She laughed quietly. “Hopefully the boy-band posters won’t give you any nightmares. Remember--if you don’t feel well, I’ve put a bag in the garbage. Try to reach for it if you think you’re going to be sick. I’m not kidding when I say that she’ll kill me if you puke on her bedspread.”

Spike sat down on the edge of the bed. He felt out of place--here he was, wearing someone else’s clothes (someone he hated, at that) and preparing to sleep in a teenaged girl’s bed. This was definitely going on his ‘weirder life experiences’ list (well, the post-chip one, anyway). He pulled his legs up on to the bed, and leaned back against the pillows.

Buffy draped the blankets over him and sat down beside him.

“I can get you something to help you sleep more soundly. There’s this stuff called Neo-Citran- you just mix it with water, kind of like tea, and it makes you sleep better. Do you want to try some?”

Spike gave her a shy smile. “Do you think you could mix it with a mug of your finest?”

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Neo-Citran in blood? Ugh, I guess I can. It’s lemon flavour, though. Don’t know what that’ll taste like, but I can make it for you...”

Spike looked at her in earnest. “Slay... Buffy--I want you to know that I appreciate all this, what you’re doing for me. I know I called your ‘nurse’ bluff, but you never really had to go ahead with it.”

Buffy brought her hand up to his hair and pushed some stray locks back into place.

“Actually, this isn’t what I originally was planning on doing; I was going to wait for you to conk out at the Magic Box and I was going to sneak you back to your crypt.” She offered a sheepish grin. “Giles helped me realize that that wasn’t the ‘responsible thing’ to do. Thing is, I made a promise and I have to keep my end of it. I was annoyed at first, but it’s turning out to be better than I could have imagined.”

She pulled his head closer to her, and kissed his forehead.

“I’ll go get you that concoction so you can get a good night’s sleep.” She paused, and smiled. “Strange saying that to a vampire...”

Spike watched her leave the room and leaned back into the pillow. All of a sudden, he was almost afraid of getting better--he didn’t want this to end. He’d never been one for introspection, but he found that being sick led to a lot of that. He tried to remember exactly when it was that he developed feelings of any kind for Buffy. He startled himself when he couldn’t recall not having feelings for her--right from the start she had turned him on. The fighting, the banter, the tight little outfits; he realized that he’d always had it for her.

He closed his eyes and took a few unnecessary breaths. Breathing always calmed him down--he didn’t exactly know why, but he suspected that his body was comforted by the memory of its humanity. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Buffy making her way into the bedroom.

“Here you go--Neo-Bloody-Citran, just like you asked.” She put the mug down on the bedside table.

“Now it’s time for me to go take a late-night stroll through Sunnydale’s finest cemetaries. You make sure that you drink that all up--I’ll come by to pick the mug up when I’m back, and I don’t want to see anything left in there.” Then her face fell. “Oh, I’m sounding like a mother, aren’t I?”

Spike gave her the most charming smile he could. “Yeah--it looks good on you. You’re a natural, you know that?” He picked up the mug and took a sip. The smile disappeared. “Ugh! This is awful--you expect me to drink all of this?”

She attempted a ‘don’t argue with me’ look that must have been more convincing than she imagined, because the vampire frowned and took another sip.

“Good--now get some sleep and I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow morning. Maybe then I can get you out of my hair so I can have that relaxing holiday I was looking forward to....” She gave him a smirk and left the room.