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Buffy stared at the diminutive infant in the clear, plastic bassinet. His impossibly small body was festooned with wires and medical tape that connected him to bleating machines. His mother had placed a little blue cap over his red, bald head, a personal touch that looked sadly out of place.

Buffy was supposed to be doing something for the sick baby because it was eight at night, but she couldn't remember for the life of her what it was. Then she recalled that she was to inject breast milk into the tube in his nose. Buffy prepared his meal, muscle memory taking over where her mind had faltered.

"I can't keep this up," she thought.

She'd been seeing Spike a lot. It had been three months since he'd been brave enough to tell her he loved her, more brave than she could be. Since then they'd added one more time, then another until she was seeing him nearly every night.

Buffy's superior, a blonde woman with a gentle face and large, light eyes padded by.

"Tara, I think I need to go home," Buffy said.
Tara looked at her with concern, then pressed a soft hand to her forehead.

"You've never taken a sick day before so you must be due, go ahead," Tara said.

It was Saturday night. Dawn would be at Janice's house sleeping over, Riley was with Xander and probably Sam or maybe he was home tonight, she wasn't sure. Riley didn't tell her his plans so much anymore, probably a reaction to her own secretive ways.

Buffy went straight to Spike's place and let herself in with the key he'd given her. She found him asleep at the dining room table, his head resting on a pile of papers, a red pen lax in his open hand. There was an empty pint glass that smelled like Guinness on the table beside a box of Wheetabix. Buffy wondered if that had been his dinner.
She touched his tousled hair and he snorted, then sat up in slow motion.

"I'm drownin' in footwear," he muttered.

"Hey, wake up so we can go to bed," Buffy said.

Spike turned his head up to her and smiled.

"What time is it?"

"About 8:30," Buffy said.

"So I've got you all night?"

"Until three or so, but there will be no making of the smoochies, way too tired. You're not mad, are you?" Buffy said.

Spike stood up. He looked like he wanted to speak, and then his eyes were wet.

"Not mad," he said.

They got undressed and fell asleep almost instantly. Buffy draped her arm over Spike's waist and trapped his legs between her own. At one in the morning she woke up with a jolt of panic, certain that she'd slept too long, certain she was going to be found out.

When she saw the red light of the digital alarm clock burning on the table beside the bed, she lied back down, tense but reassured. She could go now without waking Spike, God knows he must be just as exhausted as she'd become.

Buffy studied his face in the wan light, all the sharp angles less so because he was resting. She wanted to trace the lines of his cheekbones and kiss his forehead, follow the heart-shaped lips with a fingertip. He hated it though, and he would burrow under the covers away from her annoying explorations, which was painfully adorable and made her want to do it more.

Buffy crept out of bed and dressed silently. She used the bathroom, brushed her teeth with the brush he'd given her and then moved around his house with confidence until she found a slip of clean, unlined paper. Buffy scribbled a note with his red grading pen and then went back into his bedroom. As she set the note on his bedside table, Spike's hand shot out and latched onto her wrist.

"Call him, tell him you're working a double shift," Spike said.

"I can't," Buffy said.

"Then stay another hour," he said.

"You do this every time," Buffy said. She tried to withdraw, but he wasn't letting her go.

Spike yanked her, hard and suddenly she was on the mattress, flat on her back. He was on top of her with his left hand down her pants, fondling the space hidden between her legs. Her clit swelled under the pressure of his fingers and she pressed against his body. He'd learned just how to touch her so fast, it felt almost like he was part of her. Spike slid her top off over her head, folded the cups of her bra down and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

Then the pants came off and he was moving inside her all hard muscle covered in soft skin. She should have stopped him because she had to go, she should have stopped him because in his haste he'd forgotten the condom, but then she was floating and her toes were curling and every nerve ending pulsed with an emphatic yes. He moaned and speeded up his pace.

"I love you," he said. Even though he'd been asleep his breath was still sweet. She wondered how he did that. Spike's whole body jerked and then he was loose on top of her, holding her face with hands that had become as articulate as teddy bear paws.

"Buffy. Don't go," he said, his voice small.

Tears burned her eyes and then snaked down her face. She stroked his hair.

"I have to."

"Why?"

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. His question was painfully sweet, the way a child would ask.

"I know you don't want to hurt anyone, but it's too late for that, love. You need to choose," Spike said.

"The right thing is to give you up," Buffy said.

"There is no right, here, pet." Spike said.

"I don't want to do this to Dawn," Buffy said.

"It's already done."

"Not if they never find out."

"They will. I'm sure Riley already senses it."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I always knew with Dru. You just know," he said.

Maybe he had anticipated what she would say, the only thing she could say because he kissed her as though he were trying to still her words. His taste was so good, but she had to stop to breathe, and in that gasping moment, Buffy gathered her strength.

"You're right, I've got to choose, so I choose Dawn. She deserves more from me," Buffy said.

Spike pressed his forehead to Buffy's. He kissed her again and then he rolled off of her.

"Get out of here before I make you stay," he said.

"Spike--"

"Get the fuck out," he said, then added softly, "Please."

Buffy rose and then dressed again. She understood that he needed to be cold to keep himself together, just as she had when this whole thing started. She left the house, wondering for a moment if she should go back in and leave him her key. Buffy felt the weight of the metal piece in her palm. Then she tucked it back into her pocket.


Chapter End Notes:
The title of the chapter comes from an infamous poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
"My candle burns at both ends It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light."



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