~*~

Thunk.

Buffy turned to her Watcher, grinning. “See, Jenny?” she said triumphantly. “I’ve totally mastered the knife thing.”

“I’d kind of hoped you had.” Jenny walked over to the target, carefully examining the knife. “Now we can start with crossbow!” she said with a bright smile, turning to the teen.

Buffy’s triumphant smile instantly disappeared. “Come on, Jenny, you told me I could go to the Bronze,” she whined, picking up a knife and balancing the handle on her finger. “Besides, I could kill an elephant with a crossbow.”

“Which, given that an elephant’s eye is as big as Wesley’s head, would be such a difficult feat,” Jenny retorted, smiling slightly.

Wesley poked his head out of the stacks, where he’d been buried in demon mythology. “I say, did someone say my name?” he inquired. “Because if you’re in need of any assistance, I’d be delighted to help.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “Wesley, the only reason we’re here is because most kids on campus don’t even know the library exists,” she said bluntly. “We don’t need your help.”

He puffed himself up indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I’m a Council-trained expert on demons!”

“And I’m a Council-trained expert on killing them,” Buffy replied, rolling her eyes. “Go back to your books, Wesley.”

Luckily for her (or maybe him), he did, muttering about insolent teens. She really, really wished there was a different room they could practice in…but unfortunately, the library was the only place Jenny had found for them. It really kinda sucked, because they had to put up with Wesley’s whining every day. “You’re sure we can’t just practice in the computer lab?” Buffy asked, only half-jokingly.

“If you feel like replacing thousands of dollars of equipment, sure,” Jenny replied. “Now: crossbow.”

“Now: Bronze.” Buffy insisted. “Please, Jenny? A happy Slayer is a non-suicidal one,” she sang with a grin.

Jenny winced. “I really wish you wouldn’t talk that way.”

“Let me go to the Bronze and I won’t.” Buffy looked at her hopefully.

Jenny could tell that there was no way she was going to win this argument. “Fine,” she sighed, “Go. Have fun. But come to class tomorrow!” she yelled at Buffy retreating back.

“Will do, Miss Calendar!” Buffy called in a half-mocking voice as she left the library.

Jenny watched her go, sighing. Buffy was so young, so exuberant, that at times it was difficult to remember that she was the Slayer. Thinking that she was 17 and therefore had a maximum of eight more years left in her life made the computer teacher’s chest feel tight.

She was jolted out of her reverie by the phone ringing. “I’ve got it—aah!” Wesley yelped as he fell down the stairs, books tumbling with him.

Jenny rolled her eyes and picked up the phone. “Sunnydale High, Miss Calendar speaking...oh, hi, Rupert! What? And he just—okay. Yes, I’ll try to tell her. No, she just ran out a moment ago. Yes. Well, I can always try, can’t I? Why’d you let him—oh. That makes sense. then. Yes, I’ll talk to you soon. Rupert, if you want me to find her, I really have to go. Yes, I’ll call when I do. Okay, Rupert. Rupert! Drink some tea or something!...okay, bye.” Jenny hung up the phone. Her face was grim.

“Is there a problem? Something I can help with?” Wesley asked eagerly. He was covered in dust and his glasses were askew.

“No, Wesley. Now shut up. I’m going to find Buffy; we have a problem.” She grabbed her car keys and a cross and left the library. As she climbed into her car, she sent a brief prayer up to the heavens: Please don’t let me be too late.

A few minutes earlier...

“So, Rupes, remind me again why we’re in the States?”

“Business,” Giles replied vaguely. He was perusing a book he’d pulled out of his suitcase.

Spike rolled his eyes; trust Rupes to be more interested in books than in making their motel room even remotely more livable. “Well, ‘m goin’ out. I wanna kill something.”

“Don’t get hurt,” Giles advised him, not even looking up from his book.

“Right. ‘Cuz I always come back limping,” Spike said sarcastically. When Giles didn’t answer he snapped his fingers in front of the older man’s face. “’ey! Brit-boy! Wake up!”

“Hm?” Giles looked up, his face telling Spike that he hadn’t heard a word of what Spike had said.

“’m going out,” Spike replied in a slow, measured voice. “Bloody hell, Rupert, the least you could do is listen to me. Isn’t that what you Watchers are supposed to do?”

Giles pursed his lips. “Generally a Watcher’s Slayer isn’t half so disobedient,” he said primly, cleaning his glasses.

“Yeah, I know, I’m a bad boy, spank me,” Spike said impatiently. “Look, ‘f I have to stay in this fleabag motel much longer, I’m gonna piss myself from boredom. Talk to you later, yeah?”

“What? No! Spike, you need to know why we’re here first!”

“I can kill a few demons without a lesson, but thanks,” Spike said, shrugging into his leather duster. “You worry too much, you know that? Go get drunk or something.”

“Spike—“

“I’m going out. Honestly, when did you get this paranoid?” And with that, Spike opened the door and left.

Giles stared at the now-closed door, completely flummoxed, as he listened to the DeSoto drive away. They cannot be allowed to meet. That would spell absolute disaster. Luckily, there was a possibility that he wouldn’t meet her tonight...Giles hurriedly phoned Miss Calendar.

When he hung up his worry had increased tenfold. From what he’d heard of the girl, she’d kill first and ask questions later. If Jenny didn’t reach her Slayer in time, tonight could be absolutely catastrophic.

Giles didn’t waste any more time. Grabbing his keys, he ran outside and drove off.

~*~

Geez. Why was it that whenever something interesting was going on in her life, there were always a million vamps to kill, but the second she actually wanted to go patrolling all the vampires in Sunnydale were mysteriously AWOL?

“If I don’t find something to hit soon…” Buffy muttered, peering around what seemed like the thousandth mausoleum that night.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Slayer.”

She sighed in relief. Thank you, whichever God makes bad guys pop out of nowhere, she thought, turning around. “You know, if I had a penny for every time someone said that sentence, I could totally retire,” she quipped, grabbing a stake.

The vampire sneered. “Too bad I’m gonna kill you, you won’t get a chance to collect.”

“Whatever.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Can we just start fighting already? Because, you know, I don’t come to cemeteries for the social scene—and hey, what are you doing running away like that?” she yelled after the vamp. For some reason, he’d all of a sudden started running away during her little speech. “Get back here!” She yelled after him. Unfortunately, he was already out of sight—she’d been too surprised to follow him.

“Stupid evil,” she muttered, pocketing her stake and turning around. “You’d think they could stick around long enough for a—oh, crap.”

Standing in front of her were three very large, very ugly, very red demons.

“Okay,” she said slowly, backing away. “Maybe I should’ve stopped by home and gotten my axe.”

The demons did nothing but growl as they advanced towards her; apparently they weren’t the talky types.

“Do you think maybe you could, you know, wait here till I get back with an axe and chop your head off?” Buffy asked hopefully. “Because that would be really—ow!” she cried out as the nearest demon swung at her face. The force of his blow knocked her to the ground, but she leapt to her feet almost immediately. “Screw weapons,” she snapped, “You are so going down. I think that’ll leave a bruise!”

And with that last petulant remark, she leapt at them.

Unfortunately for her, three was two too many for her to beat when she was weaponless. They were so huge that no matter how many times she hit them or kicked them, they just bounced back, ready for more. Buffy had a limit even in her adrenalin-charged state, and she was starting to realize that she’d reached it.

Dangit! I wanted easy-to-kill demons…oh, God. I’m losing, she thought desperately. Two of them were cornering her up against a crypt. No matter how hard I fight they’re going to beat me! Her fist flew out; one of them caught it and bent her wrist back cruelly. Not enough to break it, but enough to force Buffy to do something she almost never did.

“AAAAUUUUGH!!!!!”

After that, several things happened all at once. She was knocked aside—by what, she wasn’t sure. Spots swam before her eyes and she struggled to stand, expecting at any moment to be killed by one of those demons. But when she turned around, she saw a sight that almost made her pass out.

One of the demons was making its way towards her, but two of them were decidedly occupied by a lean man who was hefting what appeared to be an axe with ease. The sharp metal swung through the air, making an odd whistling noise, as he hacked into one of the demons.

For a second all Buffy could do was stare. Who the heck was he and why was he helping her out? But when the demon aimed a whack at her, Slayer instincts took over, and the fight was on again.

Knowing that an armed ally was watching her back (or at least hoping that he was) made the fight go much more smoothly. Having only one demon to worry about, Buffy swiftly dispatched it, wincing at the crunch of bone that resulted from her driving her stake through the thing’s head. I am so never going to forget my knife again… she thought, doing her best to wipe her stake off on the grass.

Suddenly she froze. Her mysterious helper was still working on one demon—that wasn’t the problem. What had shocked her was that this guy, whoever he was, was making her Slayer senses go crazy.

No, make that whatever. Because this guy was definitely not human. She scrambled to her feet. The tingles on the back of her neck weren’t vampire, or not what she was used to, anyway, but she could never be too careful…she watched closely for a hint of fang as he swiped his axe at the demon.

Then it happened. He grabbed the demon’s arm, swung it, and threw the demon ten feet away. His axe followed, swishing through the air and embedding itself in the demon’s heart.

And just like that, Buffy knew. All the air left her lungs, and all she could do was let out a squeak.

Spike turned to the girl. He’d heard her scream and had come to help her, thankful that he was going to get some action tonight. He was actually rather surprised that she hadn’t run off; they usually did when he rescued—

Suddenly he froze, acutely aware of the way his neck was tingling like mad. His eyes widened, finally taking in the bloodied stake that she was clutching familiarly.

“Bloody—“ he began.

“Holy—“ the girl said.

“hell.”

“shit.

~*~

A/N: So…I’m really not sure about this story. Feedback? I know the whole they’re-both-Slayers thing has been done before, but hopefully I have some original ideas =D

~*~

Buffy was staring—no, make that gaping—at him. He was a Slayer. Mysterious helper-guy was a Slayer. As in, the Chosen One—except he was a guy, and she was supposed to be the Chosen One!

This was so not fair...

Spike was staring at the tiny girl in front of him. How—what the bloody hell had just happened? His Slayer senses were still going insane, but now he could tell the subtle differences between her signature and the one that screamed vampire. His senses weren’t warning him that an enemy was near—they were clamoring in welcome.

“You’re a sodding Slayer,” he said, and though he’d meant for it to come out as a question, it ended up sounding more like an accusation.

Buffy’s hands balled into fists. “Your point being?” she said in a dangerous voice, her eyes narrowing. This guy might be a Slayer, but she’d be willing to bet she could take him...or at least try.

“M’ point being, you’ve got a slight case of being a girl,” he snapped. “An’ last time I checked, the Slayer was male. Me.”

Buffy took a deep breath. Okay. Calm down. There is probably some rational non-Hellmouthy reason why some guy is talking to me and claiming that I’m not supposed to exist because I’m a girl. She closed her eyes briefly, fighting for control—and then punched him in the nose.

“’ey! You bloody bitch!” he yelped, clutching his face. “See, this is why girls aren’t Slayers. You’re too damn moody!”

OK. That was it. “You’re trying to tell me that I’m not a Slayer?” she demanded. “I just rammed wood through a big red monster thingy!”

“Humans can do that,” he informed her, smirking past his swollen nose.

“Oh yeah?” Buffy said, advancing on him in what she knew was a dangerous manner. “So, bleach-boy, can humans do this?” She leapt forward, kicking him in the chest, putting her full Slayer strength behind the kick. He flew into the air; Buffy watched with satisfaction as he yelled futile threats at her before landing in a heap next to a tombstone.

Her satisfaction faded when he stood up. Holy crap, he looked pissed off. All of a sudden she was a whole lot less sure about her ability to take him in a fight.

Spike had passed the point where he was just pissed off—that kick had made him so angry he was starting to understand that there was a literal meaning behind “seeing red”. “You stupid bint,” he growled, advancing on her. “I oughta kill you for that.”

She rolled her eyes, sticking out her hips in a manner that all of a sudden made it very obvious that she was a tiny, delicate girl. A girl with the strength of ten men.

A girl who, he realized as she opened her plump lips to speak, was one damn hot little piece, especially with her hair all silvery in the moonlight and her clothes all rumpled from the fight…Spike shook himself. Come off it, mate. Crazy girl sayin’ she’s a Slayer, remember?

“Kill me?” she snapped, her green eyes flashing. “Please. I could so kick your sorry ass!”

Too bad she was a complete bitch.

“Is that what you think, Blondie?” Spike asked, advancing on her. “You think ‘d let you put your little hands all over my hot bod?”

“My fists,” she corrected. “And sorry, but I’d do as little touching of your hot bod as possible.”

He affected a hurt look, putting his hand over his heart. “Now that hurt, Slayer,” he said mockingly.

“See?” she said triumphantly. “I kicked you, and now you’re calling me Slayer. We’re making progress.”

Damn. He had, hadn’t he? Spike was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she was a girl, and a Slayer, and standing right in front of him. When he got his hand on ol’ Rupes…

“Doesn’t mean I think you are one,” he retorted, smirking, trying to ignore how badly he wanted to walk forward a bit more and touch her. “I just don’t know your name, is all.”

She pursed her lips. “Yeah, well, if you think I’m telling you, you are so off your meds,” she informed him.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Look, ‘f you’re a Slayer, you have a Watcher, right? So take me to ‘im.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re a Slayer, you should have one, too,” she retorted. “So why don’t you take me to her?”

Her? “Don’t think Rupes would like being called a girl, pet,” he said, grinning inwardly.

“Yeah, well, Jenny wouldn’t like being called a—“

“Wait! Stop! William!”

“Buffy! Hold on! Don’t hit him!”

Buffy blinked. Jenny was racing through the graveyard at top speed, dodging tombstones and gasping for breath, and on the other side of the cemetery, a man in tweed was doing the same. Buffy sent a quizzical glance toward the Slayer-guy. “Your Watcher?” she asked, nodding to the Wesley-esque man. The guy—William?—nodded. “An lemme guess,” he said, nodding at Jenny, who’d just screeched to a halt at Buffy’s side. “That bird there ‘s yours?”

“Um, yeah,” Buffy said. “What are you doing here, Jenny?”

“I need to tell you,” Jenny gasped. “Wiliam—he’s a Slayer. Slayers can be—“

“Bleached blonde, obnoxious and male?” Buffy snapped, not bothering to hide her state of extreme pissed-offedness. “Yeah, I’d kind of noticed. And I want an explanation. Now.”

“Well, you’ll get one, just as soon as we—can breathe.”

Buffy glanced over at William. Tweed-guy had caught up to them and was copying Jenny’s exhausted pose. He extended a hand to Buffy’s Watcher. “Rupert Giles. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Jenny Calendar,” Jenny said, nodding but not bothering to take the hand. “Likewise.”

“Finally?” Buffy exclaimed, at the same time as Spike said, “You mean you were plannin’ this?”

“William, all will be explained in due time,” Giles said, waving a hand. “Please, just calm down. Introduce yourself to Buffy—knowing you, you haven’t bothered yet.”

Spike smirked. Trust a chit like that to have an idiot’s name. “’lo,” he said, nodding to her. “Name’s Spike. ‘m a vampire slayer.” He added the last part just to taunt her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Spike?” she said, in the same tone most people would’ve said horse shit. “I thought your name was William.”

“That’s only what Rupes calls me. You call me that, an’ I’ll rip you into little bits, got it?”

“Hello, Slayer here. If there’s any ripping into little bits, it’ll be done by me.”

What is just her, or was he leering? His tongue was all curled behind it teeth…and it was not sexy, Buffy decided firmly. “You’re forgettin’, luv, that I’m a Slayer, too.”

“No, I’m not,” Buffy retorted. “But you’re in no way ever going to get close enough to me to touch me.”

He stepped closer. Dammit. She couldn’t pick a fight in front of the adults! And now he was close enough that he was looking down on her, too, and she felt about as tall as a bug with his eyes on her. “You mean, like this?” he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders.

Screw the adults. Buffy flipped him onto the ground and placing her heel as his throat. “Yeah, like that,” she said coldly, before smiling and saying, “By the way, I never introduced myself. I’m Buffy—the Vampire Slayer.”

*

She was tiny. There was no denying that. But damned if she wasn’t just as strong and maybe quicker than he was.

And apparently even less patient. Spike watched Buffy closely as she alternated between tapping her foot and sighing impatiently. The adults had dragged their respective extremely reluctant Slayers to the library after Buffy’s little display and had sternly admonished them to stay put. That had been twenty minutes ago.

“I say—who is the young man?”

Spike damn near jumped out of his skin. A tweed-clad man who looked rather a lot like a younger Giles was standing in front of him, peering at him closely.

“His name is Spike.” Buffy sounded incredibly scornful. “He claims he’s a Slayer.”

Spike felt a growl rumble in his throat. “I am a Slayer.”

“Are you really?” Now the man was polishing his glasses. “How very curious. I had no idea that there was a male sect of the Slayer line!”

“That’s because the Watcher’s Council kicked you out, Wesley,” Buffy reminded him coldly. “Apparently, every real Watched on the face of the planet knew about it.”

Well, at least he wasn’t the only one who was a little pissed off that they’d been left out of the bloody loop. “An’ yet they didn’t bother to tell us,” he grumbled. “Stupid buggers.”

“You know, it’s kind of scary how much I agree with that,” Buffy said, before letting out yet another impatient sigh. “God! What are they doing, boinking in the supply room?”

Wesley blinked. “I say, Miss Summers, isn’t that a bit untoward?”

She just sneered at him. Spike grinned and said mockingly, “I say, Wesley, shouldn’t you be up there in your dusty piles of books?”

Wesley pursed his lips. “Given that Miss Summers uses the library as her headquarters, I have every right to inquire after her well-being—“

“But not my behavior,” Buffy interrupted, glaring at him.

“What the blonde bird said,” Spike said, not bothering to spare the “blonde bird” a glance. “So sod off, mate.”

Wesley drew himself up. “I will not permit a guest in my library to—“

Spike stood up. It was all he did, but he was deliberately trying to look very menacing and Slayer-like—and apparently it worked, because the man’s eyes widened.

“Ah, right then,” he all but squeaked. “I’ll just be—up there.” And he ran up the stairs and disappeared into the stacks.

“Um—thanks,” Buffy said awkwardly.

“Any time, Slayer.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” Buffy snapped. “I have a name, you know!”

He probably should have apologized, but making her mad was too much fun—he wasn’t the type of bloke to resist it. “Yeah, a right dumb one,” he replied. “An’ anyway, ‘f I don’t call you that, I’m liable to forget it.”

“Augh! You stupid, self-centered, stuck up sonofa—“

“Hey, guys, how’re you doing? Getting all Slayerey with each other?”

Jenny and Giles entered the library at what Spike privately thought was a rather inconvenient time—he got the feeling he and the other Slayer had been about to fight. Trust Giles to deny a fellow a spot of violence, he thought, stretching languorously. “We’ve been honing our skills,” he said with a grin.

“They were arguing!” Wesley piped up from his station deep in the stacks.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “It was productive arguing,” she told Jenny.

“And here I thought arguing was meant to be a means in itself,” Giles said, sitting down. “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Miss Summers.”

“Um, yeah. Likewise.”

She was pretty when she blushed, Spike noticed.

“So, you’re both probably pretty confused,” Jenny said, looking from one Slayer to the other.

“Um, yeah!” The embarrassed flush in Buffy’s face was replaced with an angry one. “It’s not everyday you run into a bleached idiot—“

“’ey!”

“—who claims to be a Slayer!” Buffy finished, ignoring her fellow Slayer’s indignation. “What the hell is up with that, Jenny?”

Jenny sighed. “Originally, only females—girls, really—could be Slayers.”

“Ha!” Buffy said triumphantly. Take that, you bleached doofus!

“However,” Giles interrupted, throwing a quelling glance at his Slayer before he could say anything rash in response, “About a thousand years ago, that changed. I suppose you both have heard of King Arthur?”

Spike gave him a look. “Everyone’s heard of King Arthur.”

Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Perhaps we could do this tomorrow?”

“Or perhaps you could explain now before I make with the disembowelment!” Buffy hadn’t raised her voice, but her tone was threatening enough.

“Um, Buffy? Am I interrupting anything?”

Spike stopped contemplating the lovely blush tinting the girl Slayer’s cheeks. At the entrance to the library stood a woman who looked to be about Giles’s age.

Buffy colored even more. “Why didn’t you tell me my mom was going to come?” she hissed at Jenny.

“Because I didn’t know!” Jenny whispered back. “If I had I would’ve stuck you in a closet or something!”

Spike grinned at the exchange before turning back to the woman. “So, you’re Mrs. Summers, then?” he asked, getting to his feet and ignoring Buffy’s gasp. “’m Spike, the Vampire Slayer. Nice to meet you.”

Joyce frowned at him, clearly puzzled. “I’m sorry—I thought Buffy was the Slayer. You didn’t die again, did you, honey?”

Buffy sighed impatiently. “No, mom, I managed to stay in the realm of the living. It’s complicated.”

“Oh.” Joyce frowned for a second before shaking her head slightly and saying, “Well, all the same, it’s a pleasure to meet you—er—Spike. Are you in town long?”

Spike shrugged. “You’ll have to ask m’ Watcher,” he said. “But ‘f I have my way we’ll be out of that fleabag motel we’re staying in soon enough.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re staying in the motel by the highway!” Joyce exclaimed in dismay.

“It’s quite all right, we’re accustomed to—what was that?” Giles bent his head to hear what Jenny was whispering in his ear frantically. He gave her a speculative look before saying, “Mrs. Summers—“

“Call me Joyce.”

“Right. Joyce, Jenny has just had a rather interesting idea. If you don’t mind a boarder, could you take Spike on for a few days? It would be lovely if he and Buffy could get better acquainted, I believe they’re both having difficulty accepting that the other is a Slayer.”

“I’d love to!” Joyce said, smiling. “Our home is always open to guests. Buffy, honey, you don’t mind, do you?”

Buffy scowled. Her mom was wearing that look that said if Buffy protested, she’d be in for a world of pain. “No,” she ground out.

“It’s settled, then!” Jenny grinned. “Spike can stay with Buffy, and Rupert will crash at my house.”

“Wonderful!” Giles said, smiling just as much as Jenny was. “Well, it’s late. I suppose we’d better finish this in the morning.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at Jenny. “You haven’t gotten out of explaining why the Council of Bastards didn’t tell us there were two Slayers,” she said darkly.

Jenny just grinned wider. “I know. Joyce, can you swing by the motel and pick up Spike’s bags?”

“I’d be delighted.” Joyce smiled back at Jenny, which made Buffy’s scowl deepened. All three adults looked way too happy. Why did she get the feeling that there was more to this than just her getting used to Spike?

“See you in the morning, then!” Giles said.

“See you, Rupes.”

Buffy looked at Spike suspiciously: he was smiling too. What was this, a conspiracy? Was Ashton Kutcher going to pop out and say she’d been punk’d? Although she doubted Ashton knew about Slayers. That is, unless he is one, she groused. God, this night was turning out to suck so bad...

Suddenly she realized that everyone was staring at her, apparently expecting her to make some kind of happy hospitable remark. Instead she just snapped, “Whatever. Can we go now?”

Spike stepped back, still closely resembling a Cheshire Cat. “After you, Slayer,” he said with what Buffy was beginning to think was his trademark smirk.

Buffy stuck her nose in the air and flounced off after her mother. Spike caught Giles’s gaze long enough to wink before following the blonde girl out of the library, his eyes firmly affixed to her wriggling little ass.

This should be fun.

~*~

A/N: Thanks for the wonderful reviews I got for the first chapter! This story will probably be updated a bit slower than my other one because I have more of Nothing More written out, but updates will definitely come.

~*~

He was looking at her. Well, it wasn’t really looking, it was more like little glances...but still, his eyes were on her...and it was weirding her out!

They’d already been by the motel and picked up Spike’s two small bags. Silence had reigned in the car as soon as the three of them got in, and it hadn’t lifted yet. Buffy was kind of surprised that her mom hadn’t tried to make polite conversation yet—but then, the whole point of this stupid Spike as a guest thing was that she was supposed to get all buddy-buddy with him.

Buffy snorted. Like that was ever going to happen.

“Bloody hell. Did you just snort?”

“What? No,” she said quickly. “I, um...harumphed.”

“Harumphed,” Spike repeated. “Right, then.”

Silence.

“So...when’d you get all chosen?” Spike asked, shifting in his seat. Well, at least he was as uncomfortable as she was.

Unfortunately not uncomfortable enough to avoid talking to her....”When I was fifteen,” she said stiffly, not looking at him.

“So you’ve been slayin’ for...how long?”

“Two years.”

“Oh.”

And the award for most awkward conversation of the year goes too... Buffy sighed, all the manners her mother had pounded in her head taking over. “What about you? When did you get chosen?” Chosen. He was weird guy she’d met tonight, and he’d been chosen—because he was a Slayer. Buffy’s tired brain was still having trouble processing that information.

“When were you chosen?” Buffy blurted out, trying to keep both her hostility and her awkwardness out of her voice.

“When I was sixteen,” he mumbled. “Three years ago.”

So he was nineteen, then? Good. That meant he wouldn’t have to go to school with her...”It sucks, doesn’t it?” The words popped out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Stupid mouth!

“Hell—er, yeah, it does,” Spike said with a quick look at the seemingly oblivious Joyce. “Definitely not m’ favorite gig.”

“You’ve had others?” God, why was she still talking to him?

Spike shrugged. “I was in a band b’fore. Didn’t really have time after Giles showed up, though.”

In a band? She guessed she could see that, what with the hair and the sexy leather and all.

Wait—no. The leather was not sexy. The leather was dumb, just like the hair, and it was only luck that made him look really hot instead of just idiotic.

She eyed him again. Luck that came in the form of one really gorgeous body...

“You in there, pet?”

“Huh?” Oh, great, now she was being a dumb blonde. “Yes, I’m in...wait. In where?”

Spike sighed. “I asked you what you did before killing things was your fun new hobby. Guess you spent your time bein’ an airhead, right?”

“No, I was a cheerleader—and I wasn’t an airhead, was I, Mom?”

“Of course, honey,” Joyce replied absently.

Buffy scowled as Spike chuckled. So much for hoping her mother was paying attention. “I wasn’t,” she repeated firmly.

He grinned at her. “Oh, I believe you, kitten.”

“What? No, you don’t!”

“Sure I do. ‘cuz you’re so very focused, now.”

She slumped down in the seat. “Shut up, Spike.”

The only sound in the car for the rest of the drive was Spike’s amused chuckling.

~*~

It was funny how, up until the second he stepped into her house, she’d mostly been able to ignore the incredible hotness that was Spike and his body. But when he stepped over the threshold and her mom flipped on the lights, there he stood—and she was all of a sudden gulping like some kind of possessed fish.

Well, she couldn’t really help it. His eyes, she suddenly noticed, were very blue, and his hair and cheekbones only made them seem more intense. And the leather...it was stupid and Buffy knew it, but the leather only increased his hotness tenfold.

And he was going to be staying in her house for an indefinite time.

Damn.

Spike smiled slightly when he saw Buffy gulp. They were standing in the doorway, staring at one another, and ordinarily he’d have made some kind of snide comment about it—but things weren’t exactly ordinary, so instead he turned his attention to the girl standing in front of him.

The lights in her house were rather a lot stronger than those of the library, and they were certainly brighter than the moon. Under these lights, her hair seemed to shine like a halo around her face, all golden and silky-looking. Her tank top showed off both nice cleavage and a trim form, and her pants hugged her legs like a second skin—and they were very, very nice legs.

Spike felt himself smiling slowly. When he slid his eyes back up past her full lips to her hazel eyes, he asked, “See somethin’ you like?”

“Huh? Um, no.” She did a pretty damn good imitation of not caring. “Duh. I was just wondering where the hell we were going to put you.”

“Spike? Buffy?” They both looked up. Joyce was standing in the living room, looking at them curiously. “Are you two planning on coming in?”

“Un, yeah. Sorry, Joyce. Was just admiring your porch.” He sent Buffy a sly look and entered the house. “Nice place.”

“It was nicer without you in it,” Buffy muttered, but Joyce beamed at the compliment. “

“Thank you! We’ve only been here for a year, so I’m still making it homey—would you like the grand tour?”

He figured it would probably be out of line to ask if the grand tour included the other Slayer’s bedroom…”Sure,” he said. “Lead the way.”

“Well, this is the living room, obviously,” Joyce began. I re-upholstered that couch myself—and it was some job, let me tell you!” She laughed. “That’s Buffy’s weapons chest.” She pointed to a large wooden object Spike had taken to be some kind of weird Eastern excuse for a table. “Feel free to rummage around in it.”

“Mom!”

“What’s the matter, Slayer?” Spike couldn’t help but grin. “Scared I can beat you with your own weapons?”

Buffy narrowed her eyes and glared, but she couldn’t seem to think of a good comeback. Finally she just said, “Mom, why don’t you show Spike the kitchen?”

“Excellent idea. This kitchen has a lot of history—a vampire almost drained me here once, in fact!”

And so it continued through every room in the house until Spike was upstairs, looking at the door of Buffy’s room. “Do I get a tour in here, Mrs. Summers?” he asked, taking delight in the shade of red that Buffy’s cheeks turned.

“Well…Buffy? Would you like to show our guest your room?”

“Um, no!”

“Oh, c’mon, Buffy,” Spike whined. “I wanna see how the other half lives.”

“The other half? Could you get more corny?”

Spike pointed at her. “’m a guy Slayer, you’re a girl Slayer. That makes you the other half.”

Of the three people standing in the hallway, Buffy was the only one who was extremely unamused. “Whatever. You’re still not seeing my room.” She did that little thing where she turned up her nose before sweeping off, headed for the downstairs again.

Joyce gave Spike a rueful look before hastening to follow her daughter; Spike was slower, giving Buffy’s door a long look before going back to the living room.

“Couch ‘s fine,” he said cheerfully, noting with glee that Buffy did not seem happy with that arrangement.

“Mom! What about midnight TV time?”

Joyce pursed her lips. “It’s an unhealthy habit anyway, Buffy. You might as well break it now.”

“But I don’t wanna,” she whined, sounding for all the world like a petulant child.

“Buffy.” Joyce again gave her The Look. Buffy wilted under it. “Whatever,” she muttered. “I’ll go get some sheets.”

When Buffy left the room, Joyce smiled apologetically at Spike. “She’s very stubborn sometimes,” she said by way of explanation. “Don’t worry, she’ll come round.”

Spike grinned. “’m sure she will. She seems a sensible bird—you’re raising her well.”

He grinned inwardly when Joyce gifted him with a grateful smile. First win over the girl’s mum, then win over the girl, he thought smugly.

“I knew you were a fine young man,” Joyce said, satisfied. “You and Buffy will end up getting along well.”

“Says who?” Buffy asked, reappearing downstairs.

“Your mum, apparently. Not that ‘m arguing, or anything.”

“Oh, you’re not, are you?” Buffy threw the sheets down on the couch and advanced on him.

“Well, look at the time!” Joyce said brightly, clapping her hands and effectively breaking the tension that was humming between the two Slayers. “I’d better get to bed or I’ll be a mess at the Gallery tomorrow morning. Buffy, honey, why don’t you come upstairs, too? I think Spike can manage down here.”

Buffy glared at her mom, but reluctantly followed. Spike watched her go with a grin—it was more than a little funny, how this powerful Slayer was bossed about my her mum like she was a tiny child.

“Sweet dreams, kitten,” he called, laughing when Buffy glared at him.

When both Summers women were upstairs, Spike grinned and started to make the couch. Sharing living space with the hottest li’l thing I’ve come across in years...yeah, this could definitely be worse.

~*~

Buffy was bored. In a big way.

Being the Slayer—or being a Slayer—had meant that she kept some really strange hours. Strange enough that she was usually up at midnight, either making with the slayage or, if there were no evil baddies, getting her dose of latenight TV. But having a really hot guy downstairs who just happened to be a Slayer? Seriously cramping her style.

Buffy scowled at the ceiling. Stupid Spike, being all nice to my mom...I bet he’s only doing it because...um...whatever. I bet he as an agenda!

Wow. Even in her head that sounded totally lame.

So...hot guy downstairs, invading her territory. And unfortunately she couldn’t get scary and threaten him, because he was a Slayer too, so he’d at least have a change when it came to kicking her butt.

So, Buffy, what’re you gonna do?

Buffy’s face suddenly became full of resolve. She was not going to let some big, dumb, bleached Slayer mess up her life. Maybe it was petty—in fact, her inner almost-grownup was telling her that it definitely was—but she was not going to let Spike get away with being such an asshole. Now was a time for action, something Buffy was very good at.

She slipped out of her bed, careful not to make any noise—she herself knew that Slayer hearing was really good. She crept silently across her floor and opened the door, careful not to let the hinges squeak—mom-hearing was almost as good as Slayer-hearing was. Still walking like a cat burglar in a cheesy movie, she slipped down the stairs and into the living room.

Unfortunately for her, the lights were on the other side of the room, near the kitchen. Barely breathing, Buffy tiptoed past the male Slayer on the couch and flipped the lights on, letting her gaze instantly fall on the bleached menace who’d stolen her couch.

Oh, my God! She’d had a sarcastic wake-up line ready, but it disappeared from her head when she laid eyes on Spike. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head, displaying his bare chest. That would’ve been bad enough, but the blanket that reached to his hips did absolutely nothing to disguise the fact that he was sporting a huge erection. Spike! Erection! I am so dead...

And when she met Spike’s very blue, very awake eyes, she knew that there wasn’t a grain of falsehood in that panicked thought.

His lips curled upward in a sly smile. “Hello, pet,” he said. “Fancy a bit of fun?”

~*~

A/N: Yup, I’m evil. Nearly naked Spike, petrified Buffy—wanna know what happens next? You’ll have to leave a review for that to happen…

“F-fun?” As soon as the quavery word came out of her mouth, Buffy berated herself for it. God, pathetic much? She’d faced vampires, demons, Principal Snyder—and now she was losing it over some half-naked guy.

A half-naked guy with an erection, who just happened to be sitting on her couch.

Okay, so maybe this was worse. Still, as his grin widened, she was berating herself for her girlyness.

He held up the remote. “Yeah. Thought it was midnight telly time? ‘course, midnight was a good hour ago, but I knew you’d be down sooner or later.”

“Oh, you knew, did you?” Buffy retorted, trying to ignore the fact that her brain was still on sensory overload—it couldn’t get over the fact that the male Slayer was lying almost naked on her couch.

“Yeah, sure did.” He shifted so that there would be room for two on the couch. “So what ‘bout it, Goldilocks? Too scared to share space with a Slayer?”

“I am a Slayer,” she snapped angrily.

He smirked. “Right. But ‘m a Slayer too, an’ I think that’s scaring you.”

“What? It is not!” Oh, wonderful. Now her voice was all squeaky. “I’d be glad to watch TV,” she added haughtily, sticking her nose in the air. “Just do us both a favor and make Spike Junior there behave.” She snatched the remote out of his hand and sat down primly on the couch.

Spike watched her discomfort with amusement. “Teenage guy here, pet—m’ dangly bits have a tendency to pop up without me tellin’ ‘em to,” he said, knowing damn good and well that he was lying. Hell, his dangly bits had gotten all excited in the first place because he’d been lying on the couch, imagining what sort of stuff the other Slayer might have in her underwear drawer. Not too bright, that.

Funny how the pajamas she was wearing now were almost as sexy as some Victoria’s Secret togs would’ve been—to him, at least. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something about the girl that really drew him.

Now she was rolling her eyes. Christ, even that was sexy. “Please,” she said derisively. That’s what all guys say, and it is so not true. It’s just an excuse for them to let their thingys out to play.”

Spike couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You call ‘em thingys?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Buffy asked, then flipped on the TV. “No—no—no—really no—ooh, look, My Fair Lady!”

Spike glanced at the channel she’d stopped on and just barely restrained a groan. All the good stuff that was on in the middle of the night, and she chose Turner Classic Movies? The bint wasn’t right in the head.

But when he glanced over to tell her to change the channel, he found himself unable to speak. She was—well, he didn’t really think there was a word to describe the attention she was giving the telly. She was staring at it like it was the Second Coming and Judgment Day all rolled into one glowly little package.

And really—what kind of tosser would tell her to change the channel when she looked that happy? Spike sure as hell couldn’t.

So Buffy watched My Fair Lady…and on the other side of the couch, Spike watched her.

~*~

Wow. Had she fallen asleep in the graveyard again?

Buffy yawned, stretching a bit. Her pillow seemed to be extremely hard, which lead her to believe it was a headstone…she began to feel around, not bothering to open her eyes. Suddenly she frowned. A headstone with…arms? Oh God! Spike! Nearly naked Spike on my couch—me on nearly naked Spike on my couch!

She almost screamed—but then she opened her eyes and looked up. They were lying lengthwise on the couch, her head having fallen onto Spike’s chest sometime during the night. His face was inches from hers, and she couldn’t believe what she saw.

He looked peaceful. More than peaceful; he looked…happy. He was so tense when he was awake—he looked ready to kill anything, anytime. It was a good attitude for a Slayer. Buffy knew she could looked like that, too. But somehow, seeing him looking so different when he was sleeping had her heart doing a flippy thing in her chest.

And the flippy thing? Not of the good. Because she was the Slayer, so generally, flippiness was discouraged. There was also the tiny fact that Spike happened to be a Slayer, too, so that was doubly bad.

There was also the small, not so insignificant fact that she didn’t like him…

“Buffy?”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she shot up so fast that her entire body actually lost contact with the couch for a second. Her mom was standing just a few feet from the couch, looking at the two Slayers lying on it with an incredulous impression. “Mom!” she blurted out, standing up hurriedly and smoothing her pajamas, praying that Spike would have the sense to keep himself covered with the sheet. “Um…good morning!”

Joyce regarded her beaming daughter skeptically. “Buffy, what in the world—“

“It’s not what it looks like! Really!” Buffy interrupted hastily.

Joyce raised her eyebrows. “It had better not be, honey, because it looks like you two are—“

“Mom! We weren’t doing anything! I came down to watch TV and Spike was here so we watched My Fair Lady and I guess I fell asleep,” she finished sheepishly, hating the smug little smile her mother was currently wearing.

“Well, then, I suppose I don’t have anything to be angry about,” Joyce said, still smiling. “Spike, sweetie? Are you awake?”

Sweetie? Buffy thought incredulously. What, is Spike mom’s son now? Are we supposed to be siblings? If so, the police had better get the handcuffs out, because she was pretty sure incest was illegal in California.

Not that there was going to be any incest-type doings with Spike. Because she didn’t like him that way. Nope, not even the tiniest bit.

Still, she watched with great interest as her mom shook Spike’s shoulder, saying, “Spike, wake up. Spike? You’re supposed to meet Giles and Jenny at the library. Come on, Spike, wake up!”

He remained dead to the world.

Buffy sighed, exasperated, and stomped over to the couch. “Spike!” she yelled. “Wake the hell up!”

“Buffy!” Joyce scolded. “Watch your mouth!”

“What? It’s not like he can hear.” She poked the other Slayer’s chest. “Look—he’s totally dead to the world.”

“Maybe you should shake him,” Joyce suggested. “I don’t have all that Slayer strength. I might not be getting through to him.”

Okay. She really didn’t want to touch Spike. But given that her mom had just seen them doing what could only be called snuggling, Buffy decided that a certain amount of blind obedience might be a good thing.

She reached out and gripped his upper arm—God, he has nice muscles!—and shook him hard. “Oh Spikey,” she sang, grinning in spite of herself. “Wakey wakey!”

“Bloody hell!”

Buffy jumped back quickly, finding herself suddenly looking into a pair of extremely blue eyes. “Um—good morning?” she said lamely.

“Good morning? That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself? Jesus Christ, Slayer, give a man a chance to wake up before you go shakin’ him like the world’s ‘bout to end!”

She should have had a snappy retort ready. Ordinarily, she did. But instead of putting him in his place, she just pointed at Joyce and said, “You’re really hard to wake up.”

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he said, “Uh, right. G’morning, Joyce!”

“Good morning, Spike.” Her mother’s voice was extremely dry. “Would you like me to get you two breakfast?”

Okay, this was getting just a little too cozy and domestic for Buffy’s taste. “Actually, we’d better run,” she cut in. “We promised we’d meet Giles and Jenny at the library in an hour.”

“Does it take an hour to get to the library?” Joyce asked. “Gracious, you’d think—“

“Mom!”

Joyce took one look at her daughter’s face and her expression became instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, honey,” she apologized. “I’m just being a mother. Why don’t you run upstairs and take a shower?”

Buffy took the opportunity to dash for the stairs. As she started up them she heard her mom ask Spike, “Will you need a shower, too?”

“Nah, I took one b’fore we left England yesterday,” Spike replied. “’ll be okay.”

“Ew!” Buffy yelled back down the stairs. “I am so not going to be around him if he doesn’t bathe!”

Joyce smiled at the bleached blonde. “I think you’d better take a shower, too.”

“Right.” Spike’s eyes drifted to the stairs. He could hear the shower starting, could picture in his mind Buffy’s naked, golden form, with water running down it…get a hold on yourself, mate. You’re talking to the girl’s mum!

He smiled at Joyce. “Soon ‘s Buffy’s out, I’ll hop on in.”

Joyce smiled at the boy she was rapidly thinking of as her son. “In the meantime, how about some eggs and bacon?”

“Got any Weetabix?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. The store was having a sale on cereal, and I’m afraid I went a bit insane…”

Spike smiled as he followed the chattering Joyce into the kitchen.

~*~

~*~

“Giles is late.”

“How many times am I gonna have to tell you, Giles is never late? And anyway, ‘f he’s late, then that bint who calls herself your Watcher is late, too.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Do you always have to be so insulting?”

“’s more fun than being polite all the time.”

“Some people might judge you on your manners,” she replied pointedly. Spike, however, didn’t seem to take the hint; that smug, high-handed look stayed firmly in place. Stupid annoying bleached Slayer…

The smug voice in her head shot back, Right, just like he was stupid and annoying when he was half-naked on your couch last night, right?

Luckily she didn’t have time to follow that particular train of though, because Giles and Jenny both came half-running through the library doors, clothing disheveled, just as out of breath as they’d been last night. Buffy and Spike raised an eyebrow in an identical expression as the two adults collapsed in chairs on opposite sides of the table.

“So sorry,” Giles said, sounding extremely English. “We overslept.”

Spike muttered something that Buffy couldn’t hear. Judging by the expression on Giles’s face, though, it was something dirty. “Kindly keep your lewd speculations to yourself, William,” the tweed-clad man said, his lips pressed together.

Buffy looked askance at Jenny. Spill, the blonde mouthed.

Her Watcher shook her head. Later, she mouthed back, before saying, “Yes, Spike, we’re late, but I think we have better things to do than talk about it.”

“Bloody right we do.” Spike, with his what Buffy was coming to think of as characteristic abruptness, said. “Why the hell did no one ever tell me there’s another Slayer—a girl Slayer—out there, an’ what does King Arthur have to do with it.”

Giles sighed deeply. “It’s rather a long story…”

“Which we are both prepared to hear.” Buffy glared at Giles in a way that she hoped was menacing. It wasn’t like she’d had a lot of practice; generally when she wanted someone to be scared of her she just hit them.

“Right, then.” Judging by the nervous throat-clearing, she’d succeeded. Yay team me. “I suppose you all have heard of Merlin, the king’s sorcerer?”

Buffy and Spike both nodded. “Stuck in a save by that freaky chick Nimue,” Buffy said, at the same time Spike remarked, “Killed by some little trollop, right?” Their voices overlapped and halted simultaneously; they glared at each other.

Jenny was grinning slightly when she said, “Right. Well, Merlin liked playing around with magic.”

“It was more than just a hobby to him, however,” Giles added, looking faintly disapproving at his colleague’s lack of intellectual preciseness. “When he discovered the Slayer magic, he—dabbled in it.”

“Wait—how’d he find out ‘bout Slayers?”

Jenny grinned faintly. “That ‘freaky chick Nimue’ was one.”

“Ha!” Buffy exclaimed triumphantly, relishing the look of chagrin that passed over Spike’s face, “Girl Slayers were first!”

“Yes, well, that hardly matters now, does it?” Giles said. “The fact is, while researching and experimenting on the Slayer bond, he inadvertently split it.”

Spike shook his head. “Bloody stupid bloke.”

“Pretty much,” Jenny agreed. “He died never realizing what he’d done. It was Arthur who discovered it.”

“Wait—Arthur? How’d he—was he chosen?” Buffy said incredulously.

Giles shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. He discovered when, even after being given protection from the Lady of the Lake, his nephew and son Mordred was able to kill him.”

“Mordred.” Spike’s voice sounded just as astonished as Buffy felt. “That pissant little rat was the first male Slayer?”

Buffy couldn’t help herself; she smiled smugly. “Looks like the line hasn’t improved much,” she said. Jenny and Giles hid their smiles.

“Anyway,” Jenny continued, “what we’re getting at is that after Mordred let the figurative shit hit the fan by killing Arthur, the Council of Watchers recognized that they needed to appoint Watchers to the new male half, too. They decided to keep the two separated—“

“To maximize efficiency,” Giles cut in.

“And here we are today,” Jenny finished.

Buffy blinked. She was having trouble distinguishing her emotions right now, mainly because they were a fucked-up tangle of fury and disbelief. “So what you’re trying to tell us,” she said slowly, furiously keeping a handle on her anger, “is that during King Arthur’s time, the Slayer was a complete slut, and her bajillion-year-old boyfriend decided to screw around with the Slayer line, and then after the first male Slayer—who was a victim of incest and a truly bitchy mom—killed his dad slash uncle, the stupid Council of Watchers decided not to tell anyone, including the Slayers, what had happened?” By the end of her speech, she was screaming.

Oops. So much for not showing her anger. Jenny was just looking at her in abject surprise—she’d never had an outburst like this before—Giles was staring at her like she’d lost her mind—which she might have—and Spike?

Spike was amused.

Buffy scowled at him. “Is there a problem?”

His grin widened. “Not at all, Slayer. Carry on.”

“You’re making fun of me!” she exclaimed, clenching her hands into tight fists. Bastard!

He snorted. “Not bloody likely. I rather think you’re right. Don’t you, Rupes?”

“I’ve told you not to call me that, William,” Giles said crisply. “But yes, I’m rather inclined to agree with Ms. Summers. It was the fact that Jenny and I so disapprove of the situation that we allowed you two to meet.”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to look sarcastically amused. “You allowed us?”

“The Council of Wankers did buy the tickets, pet,” Spike told her.

“I’m not your pet!” Buffy rounded on him. “My name is Buffy, you bleached-blonde freak!”

“Okay, much as I’m enjoying the reenactment of last night’s Osbournes rerun,” Jenny cut in hastily, earning herself confused looks from the two Englishmen, “You two really need to stop being at each other’s throats all the time. OK?”

Buffy’s anger was still rolling around in her. If she didn’t get away from Spike soon, she was going to pop. “Fine,” she snapped. “I know how to solve that problem. Bye.” She grabbed her coat and stalked towards the library’s exit.

Spike was in front of her in an instant. “Now, now, luv,” he said tauntingly, “Let’s not be naughty. Don’t think the Watchers gave you permission to leave.”

She sneered at him. She didn’t sneer often, but right now everything seemed sneer-worthy. “I don’t need their permission. Now get the hell out of my way.”

That was when he said the shortest—and most infuriating—thing in the world: “No.”

Buffy lost it. That was the only way to describe what happened. One minute she was a (reasonably) rational person just trying to storm off in a huff without interference, and the next she was an uber-bitch who’d dealt the male Slayer such a forceful punch that he’d flown out the library doors and into the deserted hallway.

And the weird part? She wasn’t even sorry. The few times she’d hurt a human before, she’d always been horrified…but apparently her conscience had taken a vacation, because as she ran out the doors and watched Spike spring to his feet, she didn’t feel even remotely guilty. She felt, if possible, even more pissed off than before.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh?” Spike wiped blood off his nose. He didn’t seem too upset, either.

“Yes. That’s how it’s going to be,” Buffy said, surprising herself. Wow. For someone who wants to rip his head off, I sound really calm…

“Right, then.”

Buffy didn’t have time to react before Spike lunged forward and copied her blow, slamming his fist into her face.

She went down hard, and it hurt. And it wasn’t just pain on her nose—no, there was pain all over her body. Dammit. He hit harder than she did!

Fortunately, she had the Slayer instincts that had kept her alive all these years. She leapt to her feet, pivoting smoothly and dealing him a kick to the chest. He grabbed her heel—she executed a flip—he threw a punch—she dodged it and threw her own—

They fought for a solid twenty minutes, both of them furious and silent. Buffy had never met anyone, human or vampire, who matched her so completely. And it wasn’t just that he was as skilled as she was. Their styles were damn near exactly the same. For every punch she threw, he dodged it the same way she would have. Given that they’d been taught by two different people on opposite sides of the planet, it was freaking Buffy out.

When their fight was nearing the thirty minute mark she finally managed to get a punch in. Panting and grinning, she straddled him, pressing his hands to the ground.

“You bitch!” Spike growled, fighting to get up. Buffy held him firmly to the ground, reveling in the feeling. They’d hardly known each other for half a day, but he was so damn irritating that she’d wanted to beat him up from the second he opened his big dumb mouth.

She grinned in triumph. “Give up?”

He sneered at her, still jerking his hands up, trying to get free. “Not on your life.” He jerked his torso, trying to unseat her.

She pressed herself down, a wicked smile curving her lips. “What about on yours?”

A similar smile graced Spike’s lips, tugging them upward, showing a tiny bit of his tongue—

And the world turned upside down.

Suddenly, winning the fight wasn’t the most important thing. The most important thing was lying beneath her, and all of a sudden she was fascinated with it.

She was straddling his chest. His hard, muscular chest. His hands rested on her waist. A second ago their position had seemed strategic, but now? Now it just seemed sexy.

And his lips…dear God, his lips. They were thin and sexy and just a few inches from hers. All of a sudden, the hallway seemed a whole lot hotter. And smaller.

Buffy was a logical person. She had to be, seeing as she was the Slayer and all. But what she did next wasn’t logical. It was the opposite of logic. It was dark-side-of-the-moon logic.

Because the next thing Buffy did was bend down and kiss him.

~*~

A/N: What? Didn’t you expect a mini-cliffhanger? ;) Thanks for all the reviews I got…and if you’re one of those people who reads what it takes me hours to create and then doesn’t review, please, please drop me a line telling me what you think…remember, reviews are the only payment I get…

~*~

Spike had been enjoying the fight. Despite the fact that every time the bint’s fists hit his face it felt like a load of cement crashing into him, it was one hell of a dance.

But it became a thousand times better when she pressed her sweet, plump lips to his.

His hands immediately grew tighter on her waist, pulling her down, forcing her legs to part as far as they’d go. One hand skimmed up her back, stopping at the nape of her neck to cup her head as he kissed her back, fiercely.

It was like the meeting of fire and ice, like the clash of thunder. Overblown, clichéd metaphors they might be, but it was exactly what it felt like. A second ago he’d been ready to kick that hot little body of hers halfway across the school. Now all he wanted was to keep it firm against his, forever.

And the best part about it—aside from the eager way her lips moved over his, as though she wanted to swallow him whole—was that he didn’t have to be careful. He didn’t have to make sure that she was okay with how hard he was gripping her, didn’t have to worry that he was hurting her when he crushed her to him, his hand digging into her back. She was a Slayer, same as he was. She could match him strength for strength.

And God, she was doing her damnedest to surpass him. He didn’t think he’d been in quite such a violent kiss before. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, he mused as their tongues clashed and twined together, matched in their frenzy.

Like all incredibly passionate kisses, he had no earthly idea how long they lay in the hallway. What he did know was that he hadn’t had near enough when she suddenly wrenched away and stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Oh, God.” Her eyes were wide, her legs stiff where they imprisoned Spike’s torso. “Oh God oh God oh God—“ She lurched back, scuttling across the floor like some kind of demented crab.

Spike was not happy. “Why the bloody hell did you stop?” he demanded angrily.

She stared at him in disbelief. Funny how even when she was sitting on her (rather dirty, actually) school floor, looking at him like she hated him right after they’d shared the hottest kiss of his life, she was still completely adorable. “Are you kidding? That was insane!”

“But fun,” he countered, trying to ignore the fact that fun didn’t exactly cover what he’d been feeling a minute ago.

“Fun?” Buffy repeated. “You call that fun? What about, about responsibility, and duty, and God I’m such a slut!”

“’s not like you’re the only one,” Spike pointed out, fighting to keep calm. “Bleeding hell, Slayer. Shit happens. Doesn’t make it the end of the world.”

“Shit happens? So me kissing you was shit?” Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”

Spike was starting to recognize this as one of those times when no matter what he said, it would be the wrong thing. Not that I can ever say anything right ‘round this bird, he thought, annoyed at the whole situation. “Not shit, exactly,” he said finally, “Just…a mistake.”

“Wait.” Her brow furrowed. “I thought you said it was fun?”

“Mistakes can be fun, pet,” Spike pointed out, trying to keep from smirking. He may not have known the other Slayer for long, but he knew that the smallest sign of smugness from him would make them start fighting again.

“This wasn’t fun! This was bad. Very very bad.” Buffy licked her lips; Spike’s gaze was instantly drawn to them. Whichever ponce decided it was smart to make Slayers teenagers was a sodding idiot, he thought, standing up before he lunged at Buffy again.

“Look, I don’t really give a piss whether ‘s right or wrong,” he informed her flatly. “I came out here t’ stop you from bein’ an idiot an’ running away from our Watchers. You gonna come back inside or not?”

Luckily she seemed to grasp was he was trying to. She nodded. “Um, yeah. Sorry for the outburst.”

Curtly, he replied, “Apology accepted.” He was just a few feet from the library door when she added, “And the thing back there? The kissing thing? Totally hormones.”

So that was the game they’d be playing, eh? Spike was smiling when he replied, “’course love. It’d have to be a pretty damn heavy dose ‘f hormones to make me wanna touch you.”

He had the pleasure of seeing her eyes light up with fury. “You stupid, nasty, idiotic, Billy Idol wannabe!” she snapped before, quite literally, tackling him.

They fell through the library door together. Buffy’s little fists were punching at him, and Spike couldn’t help himself—he was laughing uproariously.

They were both so occupied that they didn’t notice Jenny and Giles spring apart, guilty looks on their faces. “Well—I suppose they haven’t resolved much,” Giles commented, running a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristically Spike-like gesture.

“Really? Looks like they’re getting along fine to me,” Jenny joked, smoothing her own hair down and surreptitiously wiping the corners of her mouth.

“I am going to kill you!” Buffy yelled, her hand flying toward Spike’s face for what felt like the thousandth time that morning.

Spike’s laughter only escalated when he caught her wrist, holding her fist inches from his nose. “Now, now, Slayer, none of that,” he teased, giving her a lascivious look. “Don’t wanna damage the merchandise, do you?”

“Ooh!” Now she was kicking him. Dammit. Spike’s laughter faltered when one of her flailing feet made contact with his shin. Could’ve just let her have the last word, but no, had to start a fight again…nice job, mate.

“Little help ‘ere!” he called over his shoulder to the Watchers.

“Actually, I rather think this is a valuable part of your training,” Giles replied, a slight smile on his face.

“Yeah, you guys need to learn to get along,” Jenny called.

“If he keeps being such a butthead, I’ll kill him!” Buffy declared, emphasizing her declaration with yet another swipe at his face.

“Right,” Spike drawled. “’scuze me for thinkin’ you’re only fighting me right now to get your hot little hands all over my body.”

Both adults rolled their eyes in tandem—but the insinuation made Buffy freeze. Spike watched in amusement as her face turned magenta, then crimson, and then a rather interesting shade of maroon. He knew heads tended to explode with alarming regularity around the Hellmouth, but this was a phenomenon he hadn’t foreseen. “Sorry.” She rolled off of him for the second time that day, but this time she stood up and walked over to the table the Watchers sat at, taking a seat resolutely.

Spike took his own sweet time getting up, careful to make a show of straightening out his duster and running a hand through his hair. When he was done he sat down opposite of Buffy, smirking triumphantly. Granted, he had quite a few bruises from the morning’s insanity…but damned ‘f it hadn’t been interesting. His leg brushed up against the table leg, and he winced. Well, it’d been interesting when she wasn’t kicking him.

“Right, then.” Giles sounded weary. “Are we quite finished with the morning’s hormone-driven insanity, or do you two need to have it out again?”

“Nah, I think we’ve fulfilled out violence quota for the—bloody hell, Rupes, is that lipstick?”

Giles’s reddening face was his answer. Spike’s and Buffy’s eyes met in a display of mutual disgust. It was fine for them to kiss, but their Watchers? “Teenage hormones, my arse,” Spike said, at the same time Buffy exclaimed, “God, Jenny! That’s gross!”

Jenny just raised an eyebrow at her Slayer. “The library door has windows, you know.”

Buffy looked down, chastised. “Right. Sorry.”

“Anyway, if the morning’s insanity could kindly be forgotten, we could get back to the matter at hand,” Giles said pointedly. “I would like to point out that the two of you are still Slayers, and as such, you have certain responsibilities.”

Spike snorted. This was an avoidance maneuver if he’d ever seen one…but he could play along. “Right. What does Sunnydale’s own Slayer generally do with her Saturdays?”

Buffy shrugged. “Torturous training for, like, ever, and then Bronzing with Wills and Xander at night.”

The life of a California bimbo cum world-class warrior, Spike thought wryly. It was truly odd how well she blended the two personas. “Doesn’t fightin’ for a half hour count as enough training?”

Jenny raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know how they do it in England, but over here, training isn’t just beating on each other. Now that you two have gone completely insane over each other, you need to meditate.”

“Jenny? Really not following the logic of that,” Buffy informed her. The small blonde’s nose was wrinkled; Spike could tell she didn’t like the idea of meditating anywhere near him.

Well, neither was he. So they were even, in a third-grade, immature sort of way.

“Sorry, Buffy, you know the rules. You lose control, you have to regain it through meditation. That’s the one part of the Handbook that I’m sticking to.”

“I’d like to throw the frickin’ Handbook at your head,” Buffy muttered.

“What was that?”

She sighed. “Nothing. Fine. I’ll meditate.” She got down on the floor, barely sparing Spike a cursory glance. “I’m guessing you know how?”

Spike copied her position. “You kidding? Rupes has made me do this shit for hours.”

“I think I actually feel sorry for you,” Buffy said lightly, their earlier animosity apparently forgotten.

“Same here.” He closed his eyes. They sat very close together, their knees almost touching, mirror images of each other. He placed his hands palm up on his knees and inhaled deeply, clearing his mind of the various thoughts and emotions that currently clogged it.

Buffy couldn’t help herself—she peeked. She knew it was a bad thing to do. Meditation was almost if not just as important as having good fighting skills, as a Slayer she needed to maintain internal balance, blah-bitty-blah and a bag of chips. But seeing Spike sitting still, inhaling deeply, with that serene, oddly Buddha-like look on his face? So more interesting than uniting herself with the universe.

Unfortunately, Jenny was smart enough to predict her Slayer. “Buffy,” she said in a warning voice.

Spike didn’t even twitch. Wow. Had Giles hit him with a cane or something until he learned how to meditate?

“Sorry,” she said hastily, and closed her eyes.

Breath in, breath out. It was a pretty simple routine, one that she’d gotten used to a long time ago…stop, Buffy. You’re supposed to be clearing your mind, remember?

In, out, in, out…clear you mind, steady your emotions, open yourself up to the world outside….in, out, in, out…endless rhythm, swinging, singing, rhythm of breath, rhythm of the stars….in…out…in…out…

Out…

And all of a sudden it gripped her. One second she could feel her mind opening, could feel her soul melding into her surroundings—and then she was falling, falling through endless time and space. She wasn’t sure if she was screaming, or if the sound was just air rushing past her—wasn’t sure if there was any air, or sound, or her, for that matter…

Blackness. Deep, terrifying blackness. And then images that made her wish for that unadulterated evil dark again.

Teeth. Tearing into her, tearing into him…blood spurting, screams echoing, death, terror…smoking structures, worse than destroyed…desecrated…touched with evil, unable to ever be rebuilt again…

A moment of horrible hopelessness overwhelmed her, made what was left of her sob. What she was doing, what she’d done, it was all useless in the face of the inexpressibly terrible maelstrom that now beat down upon her.

A sharp keening sound—her own voice, gibbering in utter terror. And then the unrelenting shower of images began to waver, shaking—shattering—

Suddenly her ears existed again, and she could hear screaming—no, she was screaming, and someone was yelling at her, screaming her name…Jenny…Jenny was screaming for her…

Buffy opened her eyes—and the illusion, or vision, or whatever it had been disappeared. She was sweaty, terrified, and lying on the floor of the library. Jenny was staring at her; the older woman had stopped screaming when her Slayer’s eyes opened. A few feet away from her, Giles was doing the same to Spike, just staring at him, trying to understand what had caused the two Slayers’ mutual screaming fits.

Spike was the one who got his voice back first. “What the bloody hell was that?”

~*~

A/N: I’m starting to think that I’ve officially lost it with this chapter…I’d meant for it to be some harmless, amusing fluff, and then it up and got a plot on me…ah, well. Thoughts? I really appreciated all the reviews I got for the last chapter--they were amazing! Thanks so much!!!

“So basically, Spike and I both occasionally have visions by ourselves, so when you put it together it’s like…Slayervision Film Festival?”

“Something like that, yes,” Giles said, polishing his glasses. “I really don’t understand it, myself.”

“I think I do.” Jenny shrugged when everyone looked at her incredulously. “What? It’s simple. Male half.” She pointed at Spike. “Female half.” Now her finger moved to Buffy. “Put them together to make a whole, and they’re stronger.”

Everyone stared at her incredulously. Finally, Buffy shook her head. “Techno-pagan,” she said by way of explanation. “They’re a little nutty.”

“Makes sense to me.” Spike leered at her. “Two halves that fit t’gether perfectly, ‘f you get my meanin’.”

“You’re disgusting,” Buffy informed him prissily.

“Like you’re much better. I seem to remember a certain amount of moan—“

“OK, that’s enough!” Jenny clapped her hands energetically. “Who’s up for a trip to the Magic Box?”

Giles declined for both himself and Spike, a move that Buffy was pretty sure pissed the other Slayer off to no end. She eagerly accepted the invitation. Time spent alone with Jenny was always of the good, and anyway, she’d be glad to be away from Spike for awhile.

Yeah, sure. And pigs are going to sprout wings and fly, right? part of her said sarcastically as she and her Watcher walked down the street towards the magic shop.

Well, anything’s possible, another part shot back.

Buffy groaned out loud. She wasn’t just talking to herself—she was arguing. “I am so headed for the loony bin.”

Jenny glanced at her. “Not that I don’t have a huge list of reasons, but why?”

“I’m arguing with myself. There are two little voices in my head, and they’re arguing!” Belatedly, Buffy realized that she was yelling.

Jenny wasn’t the only person eyeing the Slayer askance. “These voices don’t happen to be telling you to—“

“Go all hatchety-murdery? No, they’re arguing about Sp—never mind.” Stupid mouth and its stupid blurting. She knew that Jenny knew about Spike and what had gone on, but she so didn’t want to talk about it.

Jenny didn’t seem to care. “You were arguing with yourself about Spike?” she asked, grinning wickedly. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“I wasn’t arguing about Spike! I was arguing about—um—sporks.”

“Sporks.” Now she just sounded flat-out disbelieving. “Now, why do I not believe that?”

“I dunno.” The Slayer grinned at her Watcher innocently. “I was just thinking, what’s up with sporks? Because they’re mostly spoons, not forks, the little pointy things are like this big—“ she held up her fingers—“So, really, they should call them spooks, or something.”

“Buffy. It’s worrying me a little that you’re being so secretive. You told me everything you did with Owen. I don’t like being out of the loop.”

“That’s because Owen was…Owen,” Buffy replied. “It’s different with Spike. It’s—“

“More important?” Jenny finished for her.

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know.”

They entered the magic shop and started browsing the shelves for the supplies they needed. For a little while, they were silent. Then Jenny asked, “Are you ever going to tell me?”

Buffy shrugged, a sly smile on her face. “Are you ever going to tell me about you and Giles?”

She had the pleasure of seeing Jenny reduced to spluttering. “It was—there was nothing—“ She stopped and said stiffly, “The current sleeping arrangement is entirely for yours and Spike’s benefit.”

“Really? So when you told me that romantic attachments were unneeded distractions, you were just kidding?”

Jenny sighed. “You are so annoying sometimes. Giles and I are two adults. What we do together is no one’s business but our own. You, however, are my Slayer, and if I want to know what’s going on with you and another Slayer—“

“Omigod!” Buffy pointed a finger at the older woman. “You are so pulling rank on me just so I’ll give you dishy details about me and Spike!”

“Aha! There is a you and Spike!” Jenny snapped her fingers in triumph.

Buffy rolled her eyes and got a bottle of newt eyes from the shelf. “There was kissing. That’s all.”

“I knew it!” Jenny crowed triumphantly.

“Wait—didn’t you see us? We were going at it in the middle of the hallway.” She cocked her head, regarding her Watcher speculatively. “Unless you were busy doing something else…”

Jenny’s cheeks were suddenly very, very red.

Buffy gave a derisive snort. “Groping in the library,” she said scornfully, as though she and Spike hadn’t been doing the same thing in the hallway. “Could you be any more hormone-ey?”

“Why don’t we just get the rest of the supplies?” Jenny glared at her laughing Slayer. “You can get the cow patties.”

“Cow patties? What the hell kind of spell are you going to be doing?”

“Actually, it’ll be a spell on you and Spike,” Jenny said absentmindedly, picking up some thyme. “We need to retrieve that vision you two had.”

Buffy blanched. “Okay, so don’t want to relive that! It was disgusting, Jenny. Like walking into a nest of master vampires, only a million times worse.”

Jenny winced at the mention of master vampires—they’d both had some bad experiences in that department. “Yeah, I kinda got that it was bad from all the screaming you two were doing. But it’s necessary. If that was a prophetic vision, we need to know what’s coming.”

What’s coming. With a sinking stomach, Buffy all of a sudden remembered exactly who and where she was: a Slayer on top of a very active Hellmouth. Spike’s arriving had drawn her attention away from that for awhile, but the vision had made it come back. She could practically feel the weight of the world dropping back on her shoulders.

The only difference was that this time she knew she was sharing it with someone. The problem was that she couldn’t figure out if she was happy about that or not…it was great that there was another Slayer, of course, but couldn’t he have been nice and harmless, like that goony Scott Hope guy who was always trying to get her to go out with him? Why’d it have to be someone as annoying as Spike?

On the other hand, she was pretty sure that Scott would scream like a girl if he ever saw a demon, and she knew from experience that when it came to Spike, it was the other way around. Of all the people she could have guarding her back, he definitely wasn’t the worst.

And it helps that he’s a really great kisser and hotter than hell, right, Buffy? a little voice in her head said sarcastically.

“Buffy!”

“Huh?” Oh. Jenny was snapping her fingers impatiently in front of Buffy’s eyes. “Sorry. I was—“

“Daydreaming about a certain British guy?” Jenny teased.

“Like you don’t do the same thing.” She quickly scanned the table she’d been standing at and saw the brown box, labeled “cow patties, 3.19” in hurriedly scrawled permanent marker. She grinned and picked it up. “Here we go. Cow crap.”

“Buffy,” Jenny admonished her as they walked towards the counter, “how many times have I told you—“

“That even crap is a cussword?” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Jenny, that is so 50s…”

They were bickering jokingly all the way back to the library.


~*~

A/N: So, so sorry updating took so long...I'm kind of sick, so I recognize there's a chance that this chapter sucks balls. But thanks over and over for all the great reviews! *huggles* They made me so happy =)

~*~

According to Jenny, the spell wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow—something Buffy was incredibly grateful for, because the longer she could put off having to see that uber-gross vision, the better.

She went out to the Bronze that night with Willow and Xander for some much-needed distraction. Luckily, Spike was nowhere to be seen when she left the house. The very last thing I want is for the bleached idiot to intrude on my night off, she told herself firmly.

Her friends were as glad to see her as she was to see them. “Buffster!” Xander greeted her enthusiastically, enveloping her in a hug. “We were starting to think you’d decided to live at the library.”

Willow nodded, getting up to hug her friend. “Not that it would be a bad thing, or anything, will all the books and stuff,” she said, grinning.

Buffy just raised her eyebrows. “You want to live with Wesley? Wow, Wills. Bad taste much?”

The redhead winced. “Oops. Forgot about that part.”

“Was he being his usual annoying geeky self?” Xander asked. “Because if so, murder is always an option.”

“No, I think he was actually kind of scared of Spike,” Buffy said. “Definitely the only thing he’s good for.”

“Spike the Slayer, right? I—I mean, the other one?” Buffy had talked to Willow and Xander about him on the phone earlier that day.

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, he’s the other Slayer. The more annoying Slayer.”

“How does that work out, anyway? Did another Slayer just appear or something? Talk about bad planning,” Xander said.

“Actually, there’s this whole big long story about Merlin and King Arthur and oh my God, what the hell is he doing here?!” Buffy exclaimed. Spike was standing not ten feet from her, looking as sexy as hell. Her eyes narrowed. He was chatting up Cordelia. All his sexy-as-hell-ness was directed toward Cordelia!

“That bitch is so going down,” Buffy muttered, sliding off the stool and stalking towards Spike.

Willow looked at Xander, confused. “Does she usually call guys bitches?”

Xander pointed to Spike’s face—a bruise was just visible. “Maybe she made him her bitch.”

They both paused to let that thought sink in. Finally Willow made a face and said, “Ew,” and turned her attention to the blonde pair.

~*~

For the first time since he’d come into her life, Buffy actually felt sorry for Spike.

He was backed into a corner by Cordelia Chase. The brunette was chattering a mile a minute about something, and Spike couldn’t have looked more pained than if he was chained up and being tortured by a master vampire. When his eyes locked with hers, he actually widened them and mouthed, help me!

She bit back a grin. He is so gonna owe me after this…

She came up from behind Cordelia in time to catch part of the girl’s speech—“And trust me, nothing looks grosser on a girl than bright orange. And Harmony is a blonde. Granted, she’s a totally fake blonde, but—“

“Hi, baby.”

Buffy pushed past Cordelia rudely and slid her arm through Spike’s, blinking up at him coyly through long lashes. “Waiting for me?”

He smirked down at her. “Look for you, actually. How the hell d’you navigate in this place?”

“If you’re new, it’s best to have a guide.” She smiled in what she hoped was a seductive manner and slid a hand up his chest, trying to ignore the thrill that went through her body at the simple touch. Now was not the time for melteyness. “Want me to show you around?”

Part of her was disgusted at that statement, especially given that she was saying it to Spike, who despite the fact that he was a great kisser was still a huge pain in her butt. The other part of her, though, was dancing around in circles at the look on Cordy’s face: pure, utter murder.

“You know Spike, Buffy? Wow. I’m surprised he had time to hang around with a geek like you,” Cordelia said, the sweetness of her tone belying the words.

Spike slipped his arm out of Buffy’s. For a second her heart sank and she berated herself for helping him. He was going to humiliate her in front of the Miss Popular of the school, and there was nothing she’d be able to do about it.

But instead of making a nasty remark and leaving her with her humiliation, Spike slid an arm around her shoulders in a proprietary embrace. “Buffy’s m’ girl,” he said coldly to Cordelia. “An’ ‘f I hear you’ve been givin’ her a hard time, you’ll pay for it. Understand?”

Cordelia’s mouth feel open. “Are you threatening me?”

“Well, yeah.”

Buffy giggled—two words and Spike had made Cordelia sound like the dumbest girl on the face of the planet.

The tall girl’s face was now more than just mad. It was a deep, dark red, and Buffy really wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d exploded. She pointed two fingers sharply at Buffy and Spike. “You two,” she said in a trembling voice, “Are so going to pay for this. When I tell Daddy what you did—“

“How ‘bout you go do that?” Spike interrupted. “Run an’ tell Daddy. Least then we wouldn’t have to listen to your voice.”

That was the last straw for Cordelia. As Buffy and Spike watched, both very amused, she threw up her hands, let out a melodramatic wail, and practically ran out of the Bronze.

Once she was gone, Buffy turned to Spike. “You are the absolute best person in the world, did you know?”

“What, for tellin’ the bint off?” He smirked. “I honestly thought she’d keep talkin’ till the next apocalypse.”

“Yeah, I totally just saved your butt.”

“And I saved yours, so we’re even.”

“As if. Being humiliated by Queen C is way better than being talked to death by her. I saved you way more than you saved me.”

“Not even close, luv. I saw how much you were dreadin’ me telling you to shove off.”

“I was not!” Buffy argued. “I can handle Cordy myself.” When he continued to look skeptical, she insisted, “I can!”

“Right.” Abruptly Spike dismissed the subject. “So, what is there to do in this place, anyway?”

Buffy shrugged. “Not much. Get a drink, talk to friends. You could meet Will and Xander.”

“What’re you doing hanging out with a couple ‘f blokes?” Spike demanded, eyes narrowed.

She rolled her eyes. God, I kiss him once and he goes all possessive… “Willow is a girl, you bleached idiot. And Xander is so close to being gay it’s not even funny.”

He relaxed immediately. “Oh. ‘s alright, then.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just go get us drinks?”

Luckily, he decided to play along. “Right, then. Coke?”

She shook her head. “Pepsi?”

“What difference does it make?” he asked impatiently. “They’re both brown an’ bubbly, aren’t they?”

“Just get me a Goddamn Pepsi!” she all but yelled, pushing him toward the bar.

She had no idea why that would be so satisfying to him, but his expression immediately turned into a smirk. Mock saluting her, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

God, this night is turning out to suck so bad, she thought, leaning against a pillar. If only Spike hadn’t decided to come and find her…

“Hello, luv.” A heavy hand came to rest on her shoulder.

She whirled around. “What the hell are you doing back here?” she snapped angrily. “And where are our drinks?”

“Drinks? Why do you care about them?” He cocked his head. “Thought we had more important things to discuss.”

Oh, boy. She should have known he’d bring this up. “Like what, Spike? How much bleach you use when you dye your hair?”

He definitely looked weird when he was mad. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed—in any other situation, Buffy would have laughed and called him a girl. But before she had a chance to say anything, he yanked her into the dark under the stairs.

“Hey!” She clawed at the hand on her arm. It wasn’t too tight, but he obviously wasn’t going anywhere. “Let me go!”

“But we kissed. It’s important.”

“Yeah? So? I kissed Angel, too, and I’m not going to marry him!”

A peculiar look came over Spike’s face. “Angel?”

Oops. Buffy really, really didn’t feel like explaining her not-so-mysterious benefactor to the other Slayer at the moment. “Never mind. The point is, just because we kissed, it doesn’t mean you all of a sudden own me.”

She really, really didn’t like how he was looking at her. He looked more pissed off than she’d ever seen him—even when she was pummeling him earlier that day—but at the same time, he looked genuinely hurt.

Which was bad. She’d spent half the day convincing herself that it didn’t matter. She knew dang good and well that she couldn’t convince him, too. Why can’t he just cooperate for once and be all irritating and nonchalant about it? she wondered, watching his face stiffen before he opened his mouth and spoke.

“So basically, you’re tryin’ to tell me that the kiss this mornin’ meant nothing to you.”

He sounded calm. How could he sound calm? He was supposed to sound mad or hurt, not calm.

Wait. Nonchalant meant calm, didn’t it? Dang it.

Well, fine. Buffy set her chin. If he could be so levelheaded, then she could too. “Nope. Nothing. It’s not important at all. I haven’t even thought about it since it happened.”

Now he was smiling. Bastard. “So, it doesn’t affect you at all when I touch you?”

She couldn’t stop looking at him. His eyes had hers trapped. Buffy shook her head. “No.”

“So ‘f I do this…” he reached out a hand and slipped it round her wait, tugging her closer, until her breasts pressed against his chest.

In spite of herself, her breath hitched. She was a Slayer, his equal in strength. If she wanted to, she could push him away. And part of her wanted to do just that, give him a shove and send her tumbling…but the other part wanted to stay like this, with him, forever. She let out a sigh, feeling her body relax against his.

The small smile on his face widened. “I thought so.” His other hand came up, settling at the nape of her neck and tilting her face up. “See, ‘f you didn’t care about this, you wouldn’t ‘ve let me pull you into the darkness.”

There was something distinctly wrong with that sentence. If her heart would stop beating so loudly, Buffy would have been able to figure it out. “I’m not…”

“You like this,” he whispered, trailing a finger down her cheek. “You like me touching you.”

Again, she didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. He’d put her under thrall as neatly as a vampire.

“I can see it,” he whispered, eyes nearly glowing as they bored into hers. She should pull away…but God help her, she couldn’t. Every touch he gifted her with, every brush of his skin against hers, made her want more.

“It’s inside you,” he said, tangling his fingers in her hair. “The sunshine. Dancing, playing. It fights with the darkness, and the darkness cries out. The stars hear it crying, my sweet. The darkness wants to be left in peace.”

OK. Was it just her, or did Spike sound like he was on glue? Buffy knew she should do something—anything—to make him stop, but she couldn’t make herself move. “Spike…” she whispered weakly. “Don’t—“

He put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Mustn’t interrupt. It’s very, very rude.” He lowered his lips to her neck. “Besides, this is a special moment. We should pause and savor it.”

He paused—for a second his hold on Buffy faltered, and she almost cried out—but then, before she could do anything, she heard a quiet, feminine chuckle, and sharp teeth sank into her neck.

She cried out. Well, anyone would have. But she knew it was futile, knew that whatever was happening, no one would hear her. No one would save her. Still, she screamed. At that moment she wasn’t the Slayer—she was an innocent girl being preyed upon, one who knew she would die, and yet was unable to move a muscle to prevent it from happening.

“Buffy? Buffy!” A deep voice yelled her name, once in confusion, then again in panic. She felt something thud into the body sucking blood from hers, and it crumpled to the floor. Suddenly able to move again, she slapped a hand to her neck, fighting the searing pain that came from having the vampire’s teeth ripped out of her neck so quickly.

Her rescuer handed her a handkerchief, which she immediately pressed to the wound. She gaped at him. “Angel, what—“

Face grim, he pointed to the crumpled figure on the floor. Buffy became sick when she finally saw her attacker for who he—or, rather, she—was.

A long white dress enveloping a pale figure with dark, smoky hair. Face still contorted in an insane, vampiric snarl.

“Drusilla.”

~*~

A/N: OK, don’t kill me ;)

~*~

“Drusilla?”

Buffy couldn’t believe her ears—or her eyes. “I thought you said she wasn’t coming back!”

Angel’s face twitched; on a normal person, it might have been a grimace. But then, Angel was neither normal, nor a person. “I thought she wasn’t.”

She put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. “Explain.”

“Buffy, it’s—“

“If you say complicated,” she said calmly, “There’s a very good chance you’ll get the kind of splinter that makes you go all dusty.”

He looked hurt. Well, she couldn’t really blame him—she was being an uber-bitch. But hey, his crazy-ass ex had masqueraded as Spike. She’d made out with his crazy-ass ex. As far as Buffy was concerned, he definitely deserved a little abuse of the verbal variety. “Why are you being like this?” he asked her.

Oh, great. Hurt-puppy look. “Why am I being like this? Angel, your vampire ex just decided to go all lesbo on me! She made me think she was Spike!” Oops. Buffy stopped, realizing belatedly that she was screaming at him in the middle of the Bronze.

“Someone call my name?”

She turned around to a very welcome sight: the other Slayer was standing just behind her, holding two drinks and looking puzzled. “Buffy, who the ruddy hell is that? And who’s the chit on the floor?”

Buffy sighed. Oh, goody, ‘spainey-time. My favorite. “Angel,” she said wearily, “Meet Spike, the other Slayer. Spike, meet Angel, the vampire with a soul. And Drusilla, who’s the crazy vampire on the floor.”

Predictably, both men exploded. “Vampire with a soul? How the hell is that even possible? An’ ‘f that girl’s a vamp, why isn’t she staked?” Spike demanded, coming closer to examine the unconscious body on the floor.

“Slayer? Captain Peroxide there is a Slayer?” For the first time since she’d known him, Angel was sneering.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Okay, you can tone down the sarcasm,” she informed him. “Yeah, Spike’s a Slayer. It’s a long story, okay? And so is the soul-having thing,” she cut in hastily before Spike could say anything, “So can we just not?”

Spike instantly looked concerned. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked, setting down the drinks. “Did she hurt you?”

No, she just made me think you were all horny and wanted to go at it in the stairwell. Buffy blushed bright red. “Um, no…she was just doing mind trick things. Drusilla’s kind of psycho that way.”

“Wait—Drusilla? The vamp’s got a name and you haven’t killed her yet?”

“Geez, anal much?” Buffy snapped. “Of all times to go uber-Slayer, now is very bad. Drusilla is Angel’s ex, okay? When Angel was all grr he drove her nuts and then vamped her. So it’s kind of a touchy-feely thing.”

Now he didn’t look pissed off, just amused. “Your life’s a ruddy soap opera, did you know?” he said, looking at Drusilla with new speculation. “So the poof used to be evil?”

“Huh?” Buffy frowned. “What’s a poof?”

He smirked, nodding at Angel. “I b’lieve in the States the polite term is faggot.”

Okay. That really shouldn’t have amused her as much as it did—and she shouldn’t have had to suppress a giggle at the look on Angel’s face.

“You’re steppin’ out of line, boy,” he muttered, glaring at Spike.

The blonde only snorted derisively. “Right. An’ what’re you gonna do, Peaches, kill me? ‘ve staked more of your kind than I can count.”

“Only takes one,” Angel shot back.

Okay. Enough was enough—and Buffy didn’t really want to have to stake Angel, but she totally would if he so much as tried to kill Spike. “Can we stop it with the macho pissing contest, please?” she said impatiently. “Because seriously, I came here to have fun.”

Spike abruptly dropped the glaring act. “Right,” he said, dismissing Angel, “What’re you gonna do ‘bout the bint there?”

“I’ll take care of her,” Angel muttered.

Buffy smiled at him, hoping to smooth the situation over. “Thanks, Angel.”

Oh, great. Now Spike was glaring at her, and Angel was looking distinctly smug. “I’m glad to be able to take care of it, Buffy.”

Now it was her turn to look annoyed. “Don’t push it, Angel.”

“Right.” He bent down and picked Drusilla up; a second later he was gone. It was a testament to how weird Sunnydale was, Buffy thought wryly, that not a single person seemed to think it was weird to see a broody-looking guy carrying out a pale girl in a dress.

“Well, that was one of the stranger things to happen since ‘ve got here,” he remarked. “Is it always this wonky ‘round here?”

Buffy shrugged, willing herself to forget what had happened with Drusilla. It wasn’t Spike, it was a crazy vampire…it was just someone who looked like Spike, and God it was sexy…no! Not sexy! Sick and wrong!

“Pet? You there?”

“Huh?” Buffy looked up, startled. Spike was watching her with a concerned look on his face. “Um, yeah. Sorry.” She forced herself to smile. “I just got all spacey.”

“Right, then.” She could tell he didn’t altogether believe her, but luckily he dropped the subject. “So, now that I’ve got you to m’self again…” he began with a suggestive grin.

“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head resolutely. “No way are you weaseling your way out of meeting my friends.”

“Oh, c’mon.” He pouted at her—she could almost feel her knees getting weaker. “Please?”

Scratch that. She could feel her knees getting weaker, and she didn’t like it. Not one single bit. “No,” she snapped. “Now come on. I’ve kept them waiting long enough.” She started walking back towards her friends, hoping that he decided to follow.

Funny how even above the music she could heard him muttering angrily—but luckily, he set off after her.

Willow and Xander were chatting companionably when she got back. “Hey, Buff,” Xander greeted her. “Took you long enough.”

She fought off a blush. No. You didn’t do anything wrong, because the whole thing with Drusilla was totally fake. And the fact that you thought it wasn’t and that Spike was coming on to you even before that doesn’t mean anything. Nope. Not a single thing.

“There was, um, trouble,” she stuttered. “Drusilla’s back.”

“Oh—oh wow.” Willow’s eyes bugged out. “Back as in…”

“Back as in, fully sane, powerful, and doing the weird mind tricks,” Buffy finished for her.

“Oh, God. She’s not going to try to vamp me again, is she?” Xander asked. “Because not so big on the fang-having. And hey, is that Spike?”

“Um, yeah. Spike, this is Willow and Xander.” Her friends nodded at the guy beside her with a lot more equanimity than Buffy herself could have managed. “Willow and Xander, this is Spike.”

“An’ these two pals ‘f yours know about you bein’ the Slayer, right?” Spike asked, smirking.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “No, Spike, everybody in Sunnydale knows about Drusilla and other vampires.”

“Actually, it’s entirely possible that they do,” Xander pointed out as Buffy and Spike sat down. “I mean, how high does a town’s body count have to be before people start getting suspicious?”

“Pretty high, apparently,” Willow said.

Spike snorted. “’s the sun,” he said. “Fries all your delicate Yank brains—ow!” he broke off to glare at Buffy, who’d jabbed her elbow into his ribs. “Bit delicate there, pet.”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What happened to you that you could possibly be—“ she broke off, realizing that he was looking at her with what could only be called cynical amusement. Blood rushed to her cheeks when she recalled exactly why both of them have bruises. “Um—never mind,” she said in a small voice, hurriedly taking a sip of her Pepsi and darting glances at Xander and Willow. Her friends didn’t look confused—no, to her humiliation, they actually looked embarrassed.

“So, you two…got in a fight?” Willow asked, looking doubtful.

Spike smirked. “You could say that,” he said, giving Buffy a lascivious look. “Was certainly violent enough…”

Okay. That was it. Buffy narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. “I kicked his ass,” she said to her friends, keeping her eyes on Spike, “Because he was getting on my nerves.”

“You kicked my ass? That what you’re gonna be tellin’ people, Slayer?”

“Wait—you did something to his ass? Buffy, that’s disgusting!”

“I didn’t!” Buffy exclaimed, mortified. “We just got in a fight!”

“Got in a fight? You had your hands aaall over my hot little bod,” he teased, running a hand up and down her back.

She threw it off violently. “If you’re going to be such a jerk, Spike, why don’t you just leave.”

He had the nerve to look wounded. Wounded! After all the crap he’d just said about her! “I was just kiddin’, Slayer. D’you really think now’s the time to be so damn touchy?”

She was about to respond with exactly what she thought about him accusing her of being touchy when she happened to catch a glimpse of Willow and Xander’s expressions. They both looked completely disbelieving of her behavior.

She closed her mouth, feeling incredibly disgruntled. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m just in a bad mood.”

“’s alright, kitten,” Spike said, grinning at her. “So, how’d you two find out ‘bout Goldilocks, here?”

Xander and Willow immediately starting talking about how they and Buffy had come to be friends. It made for an interesting story—interesting enough that, to her relief, Buffy didn’t have to talk much. Aside from answering the occasional question, she was silent for the rest of the night…mulling over the problem that was Drusilla.

~*~

Angel slipped through the alleyways quickly, wanting to get Drusilla deposited somewhere quickly. He planned on taking her and putting her in the middle of the town, where she’d dust the second sunlight touched her.

Just because he couldn’t bring himself to stake her didn’t mean he wanted her threatening Buffy.

He rounded a corner and came to what passed for the town square. He lay her down gently on the bricks, wincing when her head hit them; well, he did have a soul. And when he was Angelus, Drusilla had been important to him.

He watched he for a moment; being a vampire, she didn’t have to breath, so it was difficult to tell if she was ever going to wake up. But then, he didn’t care. You can’t care, he told himself firmly. Drusilla was evil; that was all there was to it. Resolutely, he turned and began to walk away.

He’d gotten two streets away from where his former love lay in the moonlight when he sensed another presence. He whirled around, shifting into game face. “Who’s there?’ he snarled angrily.

“Angel?”

He relaxed immediately. “Buffy. What are you doing out here?”

She stepped forward hesitantly. “I just…I wanted to make sure you handled Drusilla alright.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “What’s she to you?” he asked, unable to keep the mocking tone out of his voice.

The Slayer smiled faintly. “I know she matters to you,” she said, walking closer, keeping her eyes on Angel. “I know…how you feel about her.”

Angel took a step back and fell onto what appeared to be a mattress. The fact that there was a mattress in the middle of a street didn’t strike him as odd, for some reason…he knew it should…

“Buffy—“ he began—but he halted when he saw that she stood in front of him, wearing nothing at all.

“Shh,” she said, putting her finger to his lips. “Now’s not the time for talking.”

Before he had a chance to say anything—before he could protest, ask a question, or even gasp out her name—she had flicked open his fly and drawn him inside of her.

Heat. Soft, squeezing fire, all around him, fire that he hadn’t felt in almost one hundred years. Angel let out a strangled cry, gripping Buffy’s hips, forcing her down further on his cock. Buffy only smiled and moved her hips against his, bringing him closer, closer…

When he exploded, his eyes and mouth opened in a strangled cry—one that became very real when he saw who was riding him, who suddenly vamped and sank her teeth into his neck. But it was too late; his orgasm had come upon him, and all he could do was ride it out as the vampire drank from him. “Buffy!” he gasped, a prayer, a cry for help—and then he passed out on the mattress.

Minutes slid by; the vampire next to him cooed and kissed him, lapping up blood from the rapidly healing wound.

A little while later his eyes opened—yellow—predatory. He could feel the hunger, rising up in him. Hatred. Cold, crystalline fury. The need to torture, to feed, to kill.

Angelus turned to a sex-rumpled, smiling Drusilla. The younger vampire cupped his face, cutting her thumb on one of his fangs and hissing in delight when he sucked the blood from it.

“Welcome back, Daddy.”

~*~

~*~

“I still don’t see why he has to come!”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to keep him cooped up all day, Buffy, that would be mean!” Joyce put her hands on her hips in what Spike was starting to think was the universal Mum gesture. “You are going to let him come with you, and that’s final, Elizabeth Anne Summers!”

She was cute when she was annoyed; it was something he’d observed many times over the past few days. “Why the hell does he even have to come? He’s nineteen, he already graduated from high school!”

“Language, Slayer,” Spike scolded, grinning. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself, using that word in front of your mum.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are so lucky that in America it’s illegal to kill people.”

“Buffy!”

“Well, if you don’t want me to be rude, you shouldn’t make me stay around him!” she exclaimed. “It’s bad enough that I had to spend all Sunday with him—now you’re going to make me play tour guide!”

Joyce took a deep breath; the set of her jaw suddenly reminded Spike of her daughter. Bloody stubborn, these Summers women were. His eyes flicked over to Buffy, taking in the short skirt and form-fitting top.

Stubborn, but damn hot.

“Buffy,” Joyce said slowly, enunciating every word, “If you continue to refuse to be a decent hostess, I will ground you until it’s time for you to graduate.”

Spike grinned at the small blonde eagerly awaiting her answer.

But he was destined to be disappointed. Jaw set, clearly murderously angry but unable to do anything about it, Buffy growled, “Fine.”

“Good. Now, have a good day, sw—“

She never got a chance to finish; Buffy grabbed her bag and stalked out the door.

Joyce turned to Spike with an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry. She gets so touchy sometimes…”

’specially given that her knickers are in a twist because the lack of touching lately, Spike thought smugly. During training yesterday she’d been giving out more signals than the average satellite dish, and Spike had deliberately ignored all of them. “’s alright,” he answered Joyce. “She’s a teenage girl, yeah? They’re hormone bombs.”

Joyce smiled at the description. “Just...Spike, can you do me a favor?”

Something in her voice made him stop and look at her more closely. “Yeah?”

“Can you—can you watch her for me?” She tried to smile, but it was wobbly at best. “I know, it’s silly—she’s a Slayer, with all kinds of powers and knowledge, but—she’s my baby, and knowing that she’s in danger every day and night, it’s just—“ She broke off, closing her eyes. “It’s silly, but knowing someone else will be there, someone who can protect her—“

“I get it,” he said softly. And he did. Did Buffy realize how lucky she was, havin’ a mum who cared so fiercely about her? He could see that it tore Joyce apart every day, knowing that her child was the one who had to fight the darkness. “’ll watch her, Joyce.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” Two words, but the warmth in them conveyed more gratitude than Spike had ever heard coming from one person before.

He shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, right. Not a problem. ‘d best be goin’ now.” He started for the door.

Joyce patted his shoulders in a motherly manner. “Have a good day, and don’t forget to come home and tell me if you two are going to be going anywhere after school!”

Spike grinned at her before walking over to the Desoto and sliding into the driver’s seat; Buffy was already in the passenger seat, her arms crossed moodily. “I won’t,” he called, and waved at Joyce, before putting the key in the ignition and leaving the driveway.

Buffy didn’t speak; he hadn’t expected her to, really. Bint was more stubborn than even her mum, and he knew she was mad at her.

“So, ‘ve never really been to a high school before,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

Silence.

“Giles yanked me outta school when I was a little bugger—only ten years old. Started training me.”

Still silence.

“When did Jenny find you?” He was careful to keep his vice neutral, not wanting to betray that he really wanted to get her talking again. Just because he’d deliberately goaded her yesterday didn’t mean he wanted her to ignore him for the rest of eternity.

Finally, she decided to answer. “They didn’t think I’d be the Slayer,” she said quietly, “So the Watchers didn’t find me till after my first vampire attack.”

Spike sucked in a breath—his first little outing with vamps had been tough, and that was after five years with Rupes. “What happened?”

“I burned the school gym down. That’s why we’re in Sunnydale.”

He fought to restrain his laughter. “You burned down a whole gym?”

“It was a small one!” she said defensively, “and there were a lot of vampires in it!”

Spike shook his head, unable to keep himself from chuckling. “Hell—what I wouldn’t give to ‘ve seen that.”

He saw her roll her eyes. “It was boring. Buffy runs in, Buffy drops torch, Buffy runs back out and locks the door. Very amateur.”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, “But considering you didn’t have a Watcher…”

She shrugged. “Still not all that impressive.”

It was amazing, he mused, how incredibly nonchalant she could be about something that would’ve had most people, Slayer or not, positively full of themselves. “Sorry, luv, but I think it is. One girl with no training, getting rid of a nest of vamps?”

“At the cost of a multi-million dollar school building,” she pointed out.

He pulled into the Sunnydale High parking lot. When he cut the ignition, he turned to her. She was looking out the window, her full lips pulled into a pout. Unable to help himself, he reached out and turned her head towards him. “Money or not,” he said softly, “You saved human lives. You’re a hero, kitten. You can’t wiggle out of that.”

She didn’t respond, which he figured was a good thing; meant she wasn’t arguing with him. Instead she just stared at him, her eyes boring into his. He looked back steadily. Man could get lost in those eyes. Hazel, bordering on green but sometimes almost blue. He had gotten lost in them before—he was now.

“I’m not a hero…” she whispered, staring at him. “Not any more than you are, at least.”

He didn’t want to admit how much that statement affect him, how much he wanted it to be true. “Well, we’re both Slayers,” he said with a slight smile, tilting his head to look at her. “Though you gotta admit, I can kick your ass any day of the week.”

She snorted, but didn’t move her eyes away from his. “Yeah, right. So never gonna happen.”

“You know ‘m ‘bout to kiss you, right?” he said, moving closer to her and resting a hand against her cheek.

She nodded; her own hands came up to hold his shoulders as she leaned towards him. “I kinda figured,” she said breathlessly…

And their lips met.

It was a strange kiss—exploratory, gentle, but at the same time desperate. The first time they’d kissed, they both hadn’t known what the hell was going on. Now they both did, and they were, if anything, even more confused.

Spike knew that if he had even the tiniest amount of common sense, he’d stop and think about what the hell he was doing. But common sense wasn’t exactly a priority right now; the girl in his arms was soft, warm, and, for the moment at least, his.

She was making little noises, not quite moaning, and running her hands down his back. “Spike…” she whispered against his lips.

He didn’t pull back, only traced her bottom lip with her tongue. “Yeah, luv?”

“Snyder…”

He pulled away from her, a frown on his face. “Who the fuck is Snyder?” he snapped, annoyed at having her interrupt them to say some idiot’s name.

Wordlessly, she pointed at the driver’s side window. Spike turned around to look—and jumped about a foot in the air. Glaring into the car was one of the ugliest blokes he’d ever been unlucky enough to see. “Who the fuck—“ he began again—but the man outside answered that question for him.

“I am Principal Snyder, in charge of this school, and you are two miscreants who need detention,” he informed them, his voice carrying through the Desoto’s only partially closed windows.

Bloody hell. He tried to kiss his girl and got some rat-like man on his case. Wasn’t that just typical? “Look, mate, ‘m not—“

“I am not your mate, I am your principal, and I suggest you shut your mouth, young man, before you get in even more trouble than you already are!” Snyder narrowed his eyes at Spike dangerously. “I could expel you, if I wanted to.”

Spike had had enough. He let go of Buffy, yanked off his seatbelt, and threw open the car door, causing Snyder to take a few steps back.

He wasn’t the tallest bloke in the world, and he knew it. But Snyder was shorter—and Spike had the menacing Slayer look about him, something he’d used to his advantage many times before. “You know what, rat-boy?”

“Excuse me! I am the principal of your school, and I refuse to allow you to speak to me that way!”

He leaned against his car. “I can talk to you however the hell I want, Snyder. ‘m a visitor, not a student.”

Snyder’s narrow face suddenly became devious; Spike felt his stomach clench. Shit. “And who is the student you’re visiting?”

“Uh, you probably don’t know her,” Spike said quickly, “She’s pretty new, real nice girl…Buffy Summers?”

“Unholy glee” suddenly took on a whole new meaning. Spike watched as a self-satisfied smile spread across the little man’s face. “You know what this means? Suspension for you both!” he cackled, before raising his voice. “Ms. Summers! Out of that car immediately! I need to have a word with you two.”

Spike watched as Buffy got out—her little face looked murderously angry. He clenched his fist in an effort to keep it from slamming into Snyder’s face.

Oh, balls.

~*~

“I can’t believe this. You got us suspended before the day even started!”

“I got us suspended?” Spike snorted derisively. “Takes two to tango, Blondie.”

“Yeah, but—“

“An’ besides,” he continued, “Technically, we didn’t get suspended.”

“What are you talking about? Snyder stood there and said—“

“That you were suspended,” Spike said with a smirk. “Didn’t say anythin’ ‘bout me.”

He regretted teasing her a second later when she punched his arm. “Ow!” he yelped, holding the spot. “Bloody hell, Slayer. Tryin’ to put me out of action?”

“If it means you stop being ego-guy, yeah,” she replied pertly.

“Y’know, any other chit ‘d be glad for a vacation,” he grumbled. “Why can’t you be?”

“Because I have to spend it in the house all day with you!” she yelled. Several passerby gave her odd looks, but her glares made them hurry on soon enough.

Spike stopped and rolled his eyes, leaning against a lightpost. “You are, without a doubt, the strangest person ‘ve ever had the doubtful pleasure of talking to.”

She scowled at him for the insult but cocked her head curiously, saying, “’splainey?”

“You don’t have to stay in the house,” he told her. “Hell, you don’t even have to stay in Sunnydale ‘f you don’t want to. You’ve got a fifteen day vacation.”

She was the only person who could look stupefied when he stated the obvious. “I can?”

“Well, yeah.”

Her eyes slowly widened as a devilish awareness came into them. “Go anywhere I want…do anything I want…for fifteen days.”

“That’s pretty much the size of it.”

A grin spread across her face and, quick as lightning, she grabbed his hand and tugged him down the street.

“’ey! Watch it, Slayer! Where the bloody hell are we going?”

Her eyes were glinting more than it ought to be proper for a hero-type when she said, “Shopping.”

~*~

She was evil. That was the only explanation.

Spike had been dragged all over town, from store to store, and not once had they been stores that he’d actually wanted to go in. Jewelry stores, girly clothes stores, once a Babies R Us—but never any store where a bloke could find somethin’ interesting to do.

Now it was almost six in the evening, and they’d taken a break to eat at the food court in the mall. Buffy was sipping a milk shake and pouting at Spike. “Come on, please? We haven’t even hit the good stores yet.”

Spike shook his head resolutely. “We’ve been at this all day. ‘m tired of it.”

“Spi-ike,” she whined, pouting at him.

He’d managed to avoid touching her, kissing her, since they’d been sitting in the car. Now he wanted to jump her in the sodding food court. Shit. “No, Buffy,” he snapped, more harshly than he’d intended.

She instantly dropped her eyes, lips thinning. “Fine then. Be that way.”

“Bloody—“ He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. Whoever’s listenin’—mind givin’ me some patience? “Buffy, ‘s not that I don’t like it when you drag me from one girly store to the next for nine hours, but you realize we haven’t gone in a single store I actually wanted to go in?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I thought guys didn’t like shopping.”

“’s not all ‘bout buying clothes and jewelry, love. Bet there are stores in Sunnydale you’ve never even given a second glance.” He smiled condescendingly at her, inwardly praying she’d take the bait.

She did. “Oh, please. You’ve only been in Sunnydale for three days. Like you could show me anything I haven’t already seen.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Wanna make a bet on that?”

Spike absolutely loved it when she tilted her nose in the air like that. “You’re on,” his Slayer said snootily.

He felt himself smile. “Right, then,” he said slyly. “Close your eyes an’ follow me.”

“What?” Buffy asked, utterly appalled. “I’m not going to—“

“Oh, c’mon, Slayer,” Spike whined. “’s daylight, not like ‘m gonna take you to be eaten by a bunch of vamps.”

“I’d feel them anyway,” she retorted. “But either way, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw the bathtub.”

He snorted. “You could toss it ‘cross town an’ we both know it.”

“Well, okay, fine.” He had the satisfaction of seeing her roll her eyes before huffing impatiently and, crossing her arms, closed her eyes.

He grinned and took her hand, glad for a chance to touch her—and surprised when, contrary to what he’d figured would happen, she just squeezed his fingers and allowed herself to be led down the sidewalk.

They probably made a rather odd pair, but he knew that in a town like Sunnydale, hardly anyone would notice and no one would care. Couldn’t possibly be stranger than seein’ pale people dart about under blankets all the sodding time.

Down two blocks and one to the right—she was starting to get antsy. He didn’t blame her, really; ‘f she’d tried to put him through what he was forcing her to put up with he’d have probably refused. Still, he was glad she hadn’t. He’d caught sight of this little shop on their way to the high school, and he was determined to visit it. The fact that she was along for the ride just made it that much more fun.

He led her to the entrance of the shop and then, caressing the inside of her palm with his thumb, he said, “A’right, you can open your eyes.”

The second those alert hazel eyes snapped open and read the sign on the shop, he knew he was in for a bit of a fight. “Fenwick’s Used Book Store?” she said in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

“Bet you didn’t know it existed, did you?” he asked smugly.

“Well—okay, no,” she admitted, “But why would I want to know about some musty old bookstore.”

He could barely believe his ears. “Musty old bookstore? You’re starin’ at a treasure trove, luv.”

“A treasure trove.” She was blatantly skeptic, but at least she wasn’t makin’ fun of him.

“Hell, yes. Anything could be in there. These aren’t just shiny new books, fresh outta the factory without even a good history to recommend ‘em. These are books with history, with souls, with—“ Suddenly he stopped, embarrassed. Right, then. William the God-Awful Ponce, front an’ center.

“You were a huge geek when you were littler, weren’t you?” she said, looking at him thoughtfully.

He knew what she’d say—knew he was settin’ himself up for any number of cutting insults to be delivered by her—but he couldn’t stop himself from telling her the truth. “Well, I did have Giles for a Watcher,” he replied as lightly as he could. “An’…well…yeah. Till I was ‘bout fifteen, I was a little wanker.”

“What happened then?”

“Same thing that happened to you, I guess. Some vamp tossed me on my ass, an’ I grew up.”

For a second she was silent; he prayed she wouldn’t start tossing insults at him. Ponce he may be, but he honestly didn’t like fighting with her constantly. A lot of the time, yeah, but not all the time.

“Okay,” she said finally, smiling a little. “Let’s go in, then.”

He stared at her. “You’re not gonna rib me?”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes at him playfully. “Do you even remember meeting Willow?”

Well, she had a point. He grinned and followed her in.

~*~

~*~

Musty bookshops? Definitely not her thing. But outside, Spike had looked so heartfelt, so vulnerable, that she would have had to be a huge jerk to just refuse to go in.

And now she was sort of getting into it. He hadn’t turned it into a big ha-ha-I’m-right-you’re-wrong sort of thing, so she was okay with just hanging out in here, browsing through some musty shelves. In fact, Buffy had found one really interesting 1980’s bodice-ripping pirate romance that looked like it had drool marks on it…

She was investigating a passage that looked particularly well-thumbed when she felt two arms steal around her waist.

Almost against her will she relaxed into them—then stiffened when she felt him pressing against her. “Bookshops make you horny?” she asked, giggling.

“No,” he purred, rubbing a hand up and down her stomach. “Bein’ alone in a small, dark space with a hot little blonde makes me horny.”

Because she, Mensa candidate that she clearly was, had chosen the most remote corner of the shop to do her browsing. Real smart, Summers. “Well, you’re going to have to get over it,” she said primly, “because if you think I’m going to—“

He silenced her by spinning her around, pressing her against a bookshelf, and kissing her.

The second her lips touched his—before that, really, if she was going to be honest with herself—electricity raced through her. She scooted up a bit against his body, wrapping her legs around his waist, feeling the bookshelves dig into her back and not caring in the slightest. All she cared about was his hands moving all over her fervently, arousing feelings in her she’d thought only existed in cheesy romance novels…his lips, so skilled in their teasing kisses that she’d beg for more if he made her…and his hips, dear God, his hips, moving against hers and driving her absolutely insane…

“Spike,” she gasped, pulling away from him—but her hands stayed where they were, fisted in that oddly soft hair, and both pairs of hips kept grinding against one another in that almost obscene manner.

“Somethin’ you were—aaah, fuck—gonna say, luv?”

“What if—ooh!—someone sees?” Her lips returned to his, tongues battling. Really, she didn’t know where all their energy came from…she couldn’t remember ever being quite this desperate before….or at least, since the last time they’d kissed.

“Then they’ll get a show,” he growled, peppering kisses up and down her neck. “Nothin’ in this town we can’t kill ‘f we want to, anyway.”

She moaned in acquiesce, not bothering to answer verbally. She was too busy feeling his incredible lips as they sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and nipped it—and at the same time, his hand moved to her breast, tweaking the nipple he found there.

This was incredible. No, this was beyond incredible. She was so going to kill Giles and Jenny for keeping Spike away from her for so long. After she and Spike were done here…which she hoped didn’t happen for a really, really long time…

“Buffy?”

Spike’s lips froze on hers; his hand stayed on her breast, but to her dismay, he was no longer playing with it. She could almost feel his anger radiating from him when he growled, “What the fuck do you want?”

Buffy slipped out of his embrace when he faced Angel, fury sparking in his eyes. The vampire just raised his hand; a thick volume of what looked to be poetry resided there. “I was just here to get a book.”

“An’ that required disturbing us?” Spike snapped. “Bugger off.”

His eyes stayed unreadable; Buffy shifted nervously. Usually to her, Angel’s eyes were transparent. It was like he channeled all the emotion he refused to show on the rest of his face into them. Now, though, they were almost glassy. “Angel?” she said uncertainly. “Are you—are you okay?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, and a second later, his voice sounded in her head. What the hell are you up to, Summers? Why do you care about this ponce’s health?

She gasped—well, she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t every day someone decided to start talking to her in her mind! “What—how—“

Spike was apparently just as surprised as she was—his eyes had gone wide and he darted a glance at Angel before saying quickly, “Just answer the girl’s question, Peaches.”

“I’m fine,” Angel said harshly. “Buffy, I need to talk to you about things—Dru and all that. Can you meet me in the graveyard tonight?”

Ordinarily she would have agreed to it without a second thought; what could one repent-ey vampire do to her? But today, for some reason, she was feeling a lot less sure about Angel. “Sure,” she said, smiling perkily. “Spike and I will meet you there.”

His eyes, those oddly glassy, almost malevolent eyes, narrowed for a second before he smiled hollowly and said, “Okay, sure. See you both there.”

Without another word, he walked away, presumably to find a sewer that would lead back to where he lived.

Buffy glanced at Spike; his eyes were on Angel’s back. Ever muscle in his body was tense. “Call me crazy, but did he seem just a little bit off to you?”

“A little bit? He’s never been like that before,” Buffy replied, frowning. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He was acting—“

“Evil?”

Buffy looked up into the implacable blue of Spike’s eyes, surprised. “Angel? No way,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“He’s a vampire, pet. They’re not known for their cuddley goodness.” He winced as soon as the phrase came out of his mouth—bloody hell. ‘m even startin’ to sound like her!

“Yeah, but Angel has a soul.”

“Does that mean he can’t lose it?” Spike asked solemnly.

Buffy looked up at him, surprised. He’s serious, she realized. He really thinks that Angel may have…that he’s evil again. “I—I don’t know,” she stuttered. “He’s—Spike, I don’t think—“

He relaxed a little when he saw her confusion, pulling her back into his arms. “Shh, kitten,” he said, rubbing her arms gently. “’s okay. I’ll go with you tonight, an’ if the ponce is evil again then we’ll deal with it then, a’right?”

She nodded, sniffling. “Sorry. It’s just, I don’t—“

“Want to have to put down a friend like a mad dog?” He smiled crookedly. “I get it.”

She felt a sudden rush of tenderness, an odd feeling considering she and Spike usually spent all their time antagonizing each other. “Thank you,” she whispered, savoring their closeness and putting that odd psychic connection thing out of her head for the time being.

“Sure,” he said, hugging her briefly before releasing her—but not letting go of her hand. “Wanna go home an’ be bums, then?”

She laughed at his description, and they walked out into the sunlight together…neither noticing the two pairs of eyes that followed them as they left.

~*~

~*~

They’d been in the house for an hour. They had both eaten, joking around, and now they were standing awkwardly in the kitchen, trying to fight the attraction they could feel and ignore the burgeoning psychic connection that had asserted itself in the bookstore.

In short, there was a huge, multicolored elephant standing in Buffy’s kitchen, and they were both pretending it didn’t exist.

She watched him shrug, seemingly uncaring. “Dunno. Got some movies?”

Further proof that she was definitely as evil as he’d accused her of being—Buffy could feel a grin spread across her face as she thought about what sorts of movies she owned.

“Sure,” she said, that smile still in place. “And I know exactly what we can watch.”

She went out into the family room, expecting him to follow her. What she didn’t expect was to heard his voice once again reverberating in her skull.

So, Summers, you gonna make me watch a girly movie?

She jumped, spilling the DVDs she’d been holding out onto the carpet. Holy shit! Don’t do that!!

You’re such a girl.

Well, duh, she shot back sarcastically. I am just a little bit of a girl, you know.

Suddenly she felt him behind her, his hands pulling her backward. I know that, he all but purred.

To her everlasting shame, she damn near melted. His voice even sounded sexy in her head. Are you always this horny? she demanded irritably.

He grinned as he released her. ’f I answer no will you be nice an’ indulge me?

Hmph. Guys are so stupid, she grumbled, walking over to the video player.

“What’s that, luv?” Spike asked aloud, his tone teasing, as he sat down on the couch and propped his boots up on the coffee table.

“Boots down,” she ordered. “And I said, Guys are really stupid.”

“Oh, really? Think ‘ll have a few insults ‘f my own to throw around before the movie’s over. Bet you picked some girly flick.”

She forced herself to smile vaguely. Will you tease me about it in my head? she asked curiously.

He sighed. “Yeah, I kinda figured you’d be askin’ that.”

“Do you understand why it’s happening? I mean, why are we all with the mind-melding?”

“Maybe ‘cause we’re both Slayers?” he suggested.

She wrinkled her nose as she thought. “Would that be enough to make us be all psychic together?”

“Hey, ‘m not exactly an expert,” he said, shrugging. “’ve got no bloody idea what’s goin’ on right now.”

“But didn’t you say you’d been training for, like, ever?”

She rolled her eyes at him as he snorted; it hadn’t been all that stupid a question. “Been training for almost a decade, but just the fighting stuff. Giles learned early he wasn’t gonna shove some nancy-boy book learning crap into my head.”

“But…don’t you have to know stuff? You’re the Slayer!” Buffy protested, remembering vividly all the nights when Jenny had forced her to sit down and memorize dates and facts and a bunch of other boring stuff that she couldn’t have cared less about.

“Please. ‘f the Watchers had their way, Blondie, we’d be sitting in a schoolroom all day,” he told her. “Haven’t you ever stood up to Jenny b’fore?”

She could remember the one time she’d tried—the fury in Jenny’s eyes and the promises that made what vampires did to the humans they tortured look like fun and games. “Um, no.”

“Wimp,” he said with a grin, his tongue between his teeth.

She made a face at him and plopped down next to him on the couch. “Oh, like you’re not.”

“’ey! I’ll have you know ‘m just about as non-wimpy as they come, you silly bint.”

“Is that a fact?” Buffy could feel an evil smile spreading across her face as she held up a video in her right hand.

Spike stared at A Walk To Remember with what could only be described as horror on his face. “That’s below the belt, luv.”

“Well, then,” she said, popping the video into the VCR, “We’ll just have to see how much you have down there, huh?”

As the opening credits started rolling, she could hear him almost whimpering. “Sodding girly flicks,” he muttered.

“Shh!” Buffy ordered, her eyes already glued to the screen.

She was busy watching the (in her opinion, riveting) adventures of Landon and his less-than-honest-friends when she felt Spike’s arm slip around her wait and pull her closer to him. She shot him a warning look, half expecting him to start tickling her…but keeping his eyes on the TV screen, he smiled. One thing this movie has going for it—you’ll be sobbing like a baby by the time it’s done.

Despite the fact that she’d seen it five times and had done just that, Buffy retorted, I so will not! And anyway, you’ll cry, too.

Right. You go on livin’ in your little dream world, pet.

You totally will. Anyone who watches Dawson’s Creek is a shoo-in for this movie. They’ve probably done some kind of experiment on it.

Who said I watched Dawson’s Creek? he said indignantly.

You did. When we were shopping, remember?

A pause. Then: Oh, yeah. Dammit.

Buffy giggled aloud. “Now hush,” she ordered. “It’s getting to the good parts.”

He snorted but obeyed her request. They were both silent throughout the movie, though when Buffy glanced over at Spike she found him alternatively absorbed in the movie and raising a definitely sardonic eyebrow at it. He can’t admit he’s actually liking it, she thought smugly.

I’d admit I liked it ‘f I did, pet, he suddenly informed her. Which I don’t. Landon’s a bloody idiot.

How did you hear that? she demanded. I wasn’t talking to you!

Well, you weren’t talking to anyone, he replied. But c’mon, pet, you were thinkin’ so loud I couldn’t help but hear it.

Thinking loud? Now she was going to have to worry about privacy in her thoughts, too? Buffy groaned. “This really can’t get worse, can it?”

“Well, ‘s a two-way street. If you wanted to take a dip in my head you could.”

“Really?” Somehow the idea had never occurred to her before…wrinkling up her nose, she projected her mind towards his.

Suddenly, a myriad of colors and sounds whirled about her. She could feel her feet still securely resting on her living room carpet, but her—did they call it consciousness?—was stuck in what she could only guess was Spike’s head.

Images all but attacked her—she saw Giles’s face often, and vampire bumpies showed up a lot, too. Blood, rather a lot of it, and a kind-faced older woman that she guessed was his mother.

“Buffy? Buffy!”

“Huh?” she blinked and found herself staring into Spike’s concerned face. Unable to help herself, she smiled weakly. “Oh. Hi.”

“Where’d you go, luv?”

“Into your head.” She frowned. “Kinda literally. Is it all ‘this is your brain on drugs’ when you go into my head?”

“On drugs?” he asked, amused. “’s that what you saw, pet?”

“Never mind,” she said dismissively. “It’s an American thing. How can you sort out my thoughts in all that mess?”

Now it was his turn to look confused. “There’s a mess?”

She nodded. “A big one. Didn’t that happen when you went into my head?” When he continued to look dumbfounded, she elaborated. “You know, lots of swirly colors, some pictures…?”

He shook his head. “Think you’re goin’ a bit deeper’n I bothered to, luv. I just sorta skimmed your mind—caught onto the stuff that was right there on the surface. Your thoughts.”

It was totally unfair, the way he could make it sound so easy. Buffy scowled at her male counterpart. “You know what? I completely hate you sometimes.”

He rolled his eyes. Bloody irritating bint.

“Hey! I heard that!”

“See? You’re making progress.”

Starting a Slayer on Slayer smackdown in her living room wouldn’t be the best of ideas. Buffy was mature enough to acknowledge that. But she really, really wanted to. “So, all you ever do is insult me, huh?”

Spike’s smirk disappeared when he saw that she was actually semi-serious. C’mon, you know I wasn’t serious!

No, I really don’t. I’ve known you for—how long? Two days?

Uncertainty was coursing through her, and she was pretty sure he could feel it. She was getting irritated with herself, because she was being stupid and girly and teenager-ey, and she knew it, but at the same time, she couldn’t help herself. Some part of her was desperate for clarification about this thing they had going.

Yeah, during which we’ve fought an’ nearly shagged more’n could possibly be healthy.

What? No! We didn’t shag! There was no shagging!

Sarcasm radiated from him when he replied, Right. You go on believin’ that, luv.

Tears filled her eyes. So, that’s what I am? Some random, slutty girl who happens to be able to kick your ass?

“What the—balls,” Spike said, frustration in his voice. The statement seemed to echo in the house, which for all the emotion-charged communication had been completely silent for the past few minutes.

When she didn’t respond—because what could she say?—she heard him move until he was sitting next to her on the couch.

His fingers brought her chin up until she was looking him in the eye. “I don’t think you’re just a potential shag, luv. ‘f I thought that, I’d be out trollin’ that club of yours right now. You’re a brilliant, irritating, bloody beautiful chit, an’ there’s not a chance in hell I could ever think ‘f you as anything else.”

It was corny beyond belief, but Buffy found herself smiling. “Irritating, huh?”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, grinning shamelessly. “’m not gonna turn into a complete poof and start singing your praises, so don’t hold your breath.”

She smiled slightly and moved towards him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “Thanks,” she said, releasing him.

Their eyes met, blue and hazel, warmth and coolness. After a moment Spike coughed uncomfortably. “So…’s almost six-thirty. We’d best be gettin’ down to the cemetery so Peaches doesn’t wet himself wondering where we’ve gone.”

She rolled her eyes at him but hastily hopped off the couch. “One great thing about Southern California—no coats needed,” she teased him as he grabbed his coat on the way out.

“What can I say?” Spike smirked as he opened the door. Buffy was jamming on her shoes. “Old habits die hard.”

“Yeah, right,” she joked as they left. She was careful to lock the door—demons weren’t the only thing in Sunnydale that would like to get into her house. They had a fair number of burglars, too.

“You know, I really think you only make fun of Angel because he’s just like you, minus the bleach,” she continued as they began to walk.

“Am not!”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the immaturity of his protest. “Yeah, right. You go on believing that,” she teased as they rounded the corner and kept walking, out of sight of Buffy’s house.

Crickets chirped as the chatter of the two blondes grew more and more distant. The light in the front of the Summers’ home burned steadily, warding off the encroaching dark.

Angelus stepped out of the shadows and onto the porch. In his hand was a small bundle, one that he carelessly dropped at Buffy’s doorstep. Taking out an object from his pocket, he laid it on top of the package. A hollow smile graced his lips.

“And the games begin.”

As he disappeared, following the pair of Slayers as they made their way to the cemetery, the severed finger he’d dropped onto the package bled sluggishly into the paper of the envelope, staining it dark red.

~*~

A/N: Creepy enough for you? I swear, this fic keeps getting little plot twists! *pouts* Sorry about the delay in updates…I had this great problem where my dad dropped my laptop and I had to rewrite this chap…and yeah, I keep making excuses ;) But thanks muchly for the reviews!

Two hours earlier…

“I’m just saying, I think they’re kind of…intimate,” Jenny said as they watched the teens leave the bookshop.

“I’ll admit there’s a certain amount of chemistry,” Giles admitted. “But really, do you find it so abhorrent that there is? We’re not altogether platonic, either.”

Jenny smiled, walking her fingers up his chest. “I know. You really couldn’t wait to jump me last time, could you?”

Giles’s look turned darker and he skimmed a hand down her back, pulling her closer. “I still can’t,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

“Now, now…what would your Slayers say if they caught you at this? It’s a disgrace, it is.”

Giles and Jenny jumped apart. The British man’s eyes narrowed. “You must be Angel.”

The vampire smiled crookedly. “Would you look at that? I’m famous,” he said, his voice lightly mocking.

Giles felt Jenny go tense beside him. When he looked at her questioningly, she shook her head and said to Angel, “You seem…happy. Did you spike your blood?”

He chuckled at that. “Now, Jenny…why don’t you just say what you’re thinkin’? We both know I’m a pet theory of yours.” He held up a manila folder. In Jenny’s slanted cursive writing was written his name.

Giles was becoming rather confused at that point, which irked him to no end. “Jenny? What does he mean, a theory?”

“Our lovely little pagan’s been explorin’ my soul.” Angel smiled; somehow, it seemed an abomination. “She’s got some nifty little theories about it. Seems she thinks that maybe, just maybe, my soul might not be as safe as you think it is.”

Suddenly, Giles felt sick. Not the sort of nausea that one garnered after eating too much; no, this feeling went much deeper. Angelus. The Scourge of Europe, the vampires even higher order demons had reason to fear. A pure sadist, who enjoyed causing pain above all else.

He was back…and looking Giles straight in the eye.

“Your soul,” Jenny blurted out, clutching her companion’s arm. “How—“

“Now, now, Jenny—we don’t have time for pleasantries,” Angelus said with an almost gently rebuking smile. “I’ve got places to go, other people to kidnap…”

Before Giles even had a chance to process that statement, Angelus was beside him, twisting his arms behind him. “You don’t mind if I borrow the pretty little Gypsy, do you?” he hissed, and brought the bookend down on Giles’s temple.

He passed out immediately…before Jenny even had time to scream.

~*~

The graveyard was dark. Well, duh; it was nighttime. But somehow, to Buffy, the graveyard seemed darker than usual. “Spike?”

“Yeah, pet?”

His voice was oddly comforting, slicing through her fear and placing an almost visible damper on her uneasiness. “Is it just me, or is it darker out here than usual?”

He shot her a look, sharp blue eyes taking in the uneasy lines of her face. “Bloody—are you scared?”

“No!” Buffy winced; her voice was high, shrill, and entirely unconvincing. “Well, okay, maybe a little,” she admitted. “It’s just…what if Angel really did lose his soul?”

Spike forced himself to shrug nonchalantly. He, unlike Buffy, was rather well-educated in the more famous of vampires. The idea of Angelus loose upon the world again chilled his bones. “Dunno, luv. ‘ve heard…stories of what Angel was like b’fore he was cursed.”

“But you said you’d never heard of Angel before!”

“That’s b’cause I hadn’t,” he said flatly. “As far as the Council is concerned, after he got his soul, he dropped off the face ‘f the earth.”

“And now you think he’s all ooky, like he was before he got it?”

Spike sighed. There weren’t words to describe how much he was not looking forward to giving this particular nugget of information to Buffy. “He wasn’t just ‘ooky’, Buffy. He was…he was the worst.”

Buffy was silent; he could feel just enough of her emotions to know that she was measuring up all she’d seen over the past few years with what ‘the worst’ could possibly be. “Oh my God,” she whispered finally, fear coming into her eyes.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe in him?”

Both blondes whirled upon hearing the mocking voice. Smiling congenially, Angelus strolled out of the shadow of one of the mausoleums.

Buffy’s fists were up in a defensive maneuver in seconds; Spikes’ followed. “Get the hell outta here, Angelus,” he ordered through gritted teeth.

“Now, now, Willy,” Angelus said patronizingly. “I’m not here to talk to you. It’s the girl I want.” He leered at her. “In more ways than one.”

He recognized that rushing one of the worst vampires in the history of vampirism was not the wisest thing to do. Unfortunately, pure instinct had taken over; and now, his instinct demanded an attack upon the creature who’d hurt his girl.

“Spike!” Buffy yelled—but it was too late. Angelus had dealt him a blow that sent him sailing backwards, where he smacked into a stone statue and fell solidly to the ground.

Ow. Was it just him, or was the world spinning? Spike struggled to his feet, trying to ignore the way everything looked like he was taking a trip to the carnival funhouse. Buffy had her stake out now, and was circling Angelus with what could only be called deadly intent.

“Don’t you want to talk, Buff?” Angelus asked, sounding almost like his usual, perpetually wounded self. “I gotta say, I was expecting a warmer welcome.”

“Yeah, well, flinging my boyfriend across the cemetery wasn’t a very good way to get one,” Buffy snapped. She ducked when Angelus rushed at her, kicking him in the back and flinging the stake at the exposed spot between his shoulder blades.

Buffy had never seen a vampire move so quickly—one second, her stake was about to get real well acquainted with his heart, and the next, he’d whirled around, caught the stake, and hurled it to the ground.

Angelus glanced over to Spike, who was still struggling with almost crippling dizziness, and laughed. “The Chosen Two,” he said between snickers. “An infatuated little girl and a boy who can’t seem to go two seconds without seeing double. Oh, this will be fun.”

Buffy couldn’t help herself; she threw a punch at him, followed quickly with a flying front snap kick that at least knocked him down. “Did you have any reason for coming here?” she asked waspishly as he got up. She knew better than to try to attack him again. Spike had called him the worst; before she wanted to square off against the demon who’d stolen Angel’s body, she wanted to talk to Jenny and find out just how bad he was.

“Not really,” Angelus drawled. “I’ll just tell Jenny you said hi. She’s just dying to see you again.”

Realization hit: Jenny. She’d been fighting Angelus—not even fighting him, really, more like taking pokes at him—and his minions had been taking Jenny from her. “You bastard!” she screamed, right before she launched herself at him wildly.

Buffy, no!

She heard Spike’s voice echo in her head…right before Angelus’s fist slammed into her face, tearing skin and bursting blood vessels.

Angelus kicked her ribs in contempt. “You know, I’m rather disappointed in the two of you. Maybe this won’t be as much fun as I’d thought.” He sighed. “I suppose I’ll just have to go torture your Watcher, then.”

She passed out, of course…but she had plenty of time to scream before she did.

~*~

Buffy! Dammit, Buffy, wake up! You silly, stupid little chit, if you don’t open your eyes soon I swear to God I’ll rip your sodding throat out!

Probably not the best way to ensure that she’d wake up, but Spike wasn’t feeling particularly logical right then. All he knew was that he hadn’t been able to get to Buffy in enough time; that Angel had hit her and she’d crumpled like a rag-doll, unable to fight him.

He knew that when she woke up, she wouldn’t blame him. For all her ornery ways, she wasn’t a jerk; she’d recognize that when he was so dizzy the ground kept comin’ up to meet him, not being able to watch her back wasn’t his fault.

But he felt like it was.

“Buffy, please,” he said desperately, grabbing her shoulders and hauling her into a semi-upright position. “Please, pet, wake up.”

“Mmmpf,” she muttered, her head lolling to one side. And ugly purple bruise marred the right side of her face, glistening by virtue of the tears staining her cheeks. “Jenny,” she whispered, agony in her voice.

“No. Buffy, no. She’s not dead, jus’…we can get her out, Goldilocks, but you gotta wake up. C’mon, luv, don’t do this to me! Wake up!”

“S-Spike?”

Her voice was weak, tremulous, but in light of her waking, he hardly noticed. “Buffy!”

“Yeah, that would be me.” She grimaced as she tried to sit up. “Spike, we have to get to Jenny, Angelus said—“

“Shh.” He slipped his arm beneath her legs and picked her up, standing with no difficulty. “We’ll get her back, luv, but we have to find Giles first.”

“Where’re we going?” she mumbled, stirring restlessly in his arms.

“We’re gonna swing by your house an’ grab some weapons. Hopefully, Giles’ll be there, too.”

”If he’s not?” There was dread in his girl’s voice, and it made him tighten his hold on her.

“He will be. He’ll be waitin’ and we’ll go an’ get Jenny. It’s all gonna be fine.” He walked a little more quickly, some small part of him drawing hope from the way she, even in her half-conscious state, clutched him so tightly.

He was more than a little worried for the old man, as well as Jenny. He knew that if they didn’t find the two soon, then they might both be Angelus’s next playthings. So as he walked, he repeated his assurance to Buffy over and over in his mind, a mantra that he refused to relinquish: It’s all gonna be fine.

~*~

A/N: *dodges projectiles* Thanks for all the support I've been getting!

~*~


Giles wasn’t at the Summers' house.

By the time they arrived, Buffy was able to walk on her own; when they walked in she headed straight for the weapons chest, pulling out a long and dangerous-looking sword.

Spike arched a brow when he saw it. “Hero complex, luv?”

“He took Jenny,” she replied grimly. “There’s no way I’m letting that bastard get away with it.”

He might have taken Giles, too—that thought was first and foremost in Spike’s mind. Angelus was a sick fucker, and he probably knew that if he killed Giles when they thought he was alive simply because he hadn’t mentioned capturing him, then both Slayers would be devastated.

Keeping that in mind, he picked up an axe. “You can have your needle. ‘m goin’ in with the best weapon I can get.”

“An axe?” she said skeptically.

“Hell, yeah. That’s what I was fightin’ with that first night, remember?”

He watched her relax a little. He knew what she felt, since the same emotions were running through him. Every other battle either of them had fought, they’d done it alone; now they had each other.

Something told him that two Slayers would be a hell of a lot more effective than one.

They were leaving the house when Spike spotted the envelope lying on the ground. “Looks like your mum’s got mail, Goldilocks,” he said, stooping down and picked the envelope up.

He didn’t see the finger until it rolled off the envelope and bumped against his boot. “What the hell—“

He froze. Blood was still sluggishly dripping from the severed appendage; and when he saw the ring that had fallen off the finger, rage overcame him.

It was a simple silver band, heavy with inscriptions that had been worn down to the barest of scratching, but Spike would have known it anywhere.

“He’s got Giles.” Spike’s voice was flat; inside, he felt like screaming.

“Spike—“ Buffy reached out to touch him, and at the same time he felt the gentle brush of her mind against his. He flinched away from both. “The bastard’s got my Watcher!”

“I know,” she said. “He’s got mine, too. But we have to—“

He stood up suddenly and whirled around to face her, pure fury rising in his mind. “What? Stay calm? How the fucking hell do you expect me to stay calm when some vampire friend of yours cut—“

Her fist to his nose stopped his insults. “My friend?” she spat, sounding every bit as angry as the male Slayer. “You think he’s my friend? He took my Watcher too, you judgmental ass!”

“But he didn’t maim yours!” Spike yelled back, every bit as incensed as she was yet reluctant to hit her. Some part of his civility still remained.

“No,” Buffy said quietly, her voice venomous. “He might have killed her instead.”

Silence took over the porch. Spike was shaking, fighting off the urge to destroy something, anything; he couldn’t get the horrific image of his Watcher’s finger out of his mind. Giles was being tortured—and it was all his fault. He was the Slayer. He had a responsibility towards Giles, and he’d failed.

He wouldn’t fail again.

Abruptly he hefted the axe on his shoulder and said grimly, “Let’s go, then. Time to put that bastard in the ground.”

She put her hand on his arm to stop him, her touch gentle. “Spike, we can’t,” she said softly. “Angel—I mean, Angelus—he’s—“

“He’s just another vampire, Buffy,” Spike said shortly. He saw her flinch at the coldness in his voice. Fine, then; let her flinch. Let her be hurt. It wasn’t his problem. First and foremost, he owed his loyalty to his Watcher.

“No, he’s not,” she insisted. When he turned to glare at her, she caught his eyes with her own—and suddenly he found himself falling through her memories and witnessing the fight she’d had with Angel nearly a year before.

It was horrific. Not because he was hurting her, but because that for all that he was a weakened creature, supping off pigs’ blood and deliberately curbing his strength, he was still faster and better than the Slayer he faced. He didn’t move quickly, the way both the Slayers did; instead he moved sinuously, like a snake. Not so quickly, but every move was calculated, and when he wanted to, he could snap out like lightning.

If he charged in seeing red, Spike knew he wouldn’t last.

He forced himself to accept the calming force radiating off of the female Slayer, taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw.

Better now?

The light brush of her mind on his as she spoke to him soothed him more than he’d ever be able to tell her. Little bit. How’re we gonna play this?

He watched her bite her lip. Even in the middle of a crisis, she was adorable. Angel…doesn’t think I’m all that bright, she admitted after a moment of thought. I could go to him, play the scared little girl, ask him what’s wrong—distract him. And then maybe you could rush in and get Giles and Jenny free?

He’ll try to hurt you, luv. Spike tried to inject his disapproval into that thought. The idea of Buffy taking on that bastard alone made his blood run cold.

It’ll only be for a minute, she assured him. Just long enough for you to get the bo—for you to get them out.

He’d felt what she was going to say before it reached her brain. Taking her hands and pulling her closer, he said, They’re alright. They have to be.

She leaned into him for a second, sighing. I know, she said, but she sounded unsure. It’s just…really not with the believing in happy endings right now.

I know. Spike took a deep breath and said aloud, “Well, ‘s as good a plan as any. You’re positive you can hold off this bastard till I get ‘em out?”

Buffy nodded grimly. “I couldn’t kill him, but I’m pretty sure I can at least distract him enough for you to get Jenny and Giles out.”

He watched her fingers tighten around the hilt of her sword; she was just as scared as he.

“Let’s move out, then,” he said.

They departed hand in hand, both fighting to smother the fear that screamed out the names of their Watchers as they walked.

~*~

Drusilla cocked her head, cooing to imps that no one but she could perceive. “I hear them, Daddy,” she said, clapping her hands in delight. “The little tin soldiers are coming to give us a visit.”

Angelus turned to her, smiling benevolently. “That’s excellent news, Dru.” He turned back to the two figures chained to the wall. His smile widened. “Isn’t she a wonderful childe?” he asked the two. “So very perceptive…Drusilla, darling, I think I’ll have to reward you for that.”

Drusilla squealed. “Is Daddy going to give Princess tea and cakes? The men at the castle called to me, said it was tea time. We shall drink from golden plates and dance with the stars.”

Angelus cocked his head at her. “I don’t know if I can get what yer talkin’ about,” he said, “But how does a nice little torture session with one of the Watchers sound?”

She took the proffered knife and approached the Watchers with the same wicked smile Angelus wore, made all the more terrifying by the insane light that sparkled in her eyes.

“Naughty, naughty,” the vampire scolded, shaking the knife and causing the blood on its blade to spatter the two pale faces. “Shouldn’t have gone outside, not when Miss Edith told you to stay with the picnic. Such bad, bad little dollies.”

She traced a deep line down Jenny’s cheek and smiled when the witch whimpered in pain. “She dances with the starlight and laughs at the fire,” Drusilla whispered, almost to herself. “Now—let us see if she will scream.”

~*~

A/N: Are there any really tall people who want to beat up my writer's block for me? ;) Thanks for all the support I've been getting!

~*~

Even before they were halfway there, Buffy knew they were too late.

Well, okay, she didn’t know; unlike that freaky bitch Drusilla, she wasn’t clairvoyant. But she felt something at the pit of her stomach, a distinct sinking that she could only attribute to one thing.

“Spike,” she whispered. “They’re…they’re hurting.”

Spike nodded. “When we get them out,” he remarked almost lightly, “’m gonna have to drive Giles utterly carrot-top by beggin’ him for explanation. Why the bloody hell do all ‘f us suddenly have so many arcane connections?”

Buffy shrugged. “It could have something to do with the inherent wonkeyness of the Hellmouth,” she suggested, her eyes still scanning the darkness. It had turned into something of a paranoia for her; surely Angelus wouldn’t just let them come?

“True,” Spike agreed, gripping his axe a bit tighter. Sensing something, luv?

No, she replied, tense eyes scanning the darkness. But I wasn’t sensing anything earlier, either, and look where that got us.

Right, then. Suddenly Spike stiffened. Behind us, luv. Twenty of ‘em.

How do you do that? Buffy demanded, impressed in spite of herself.

He smirked. Training, luv. ‘s all part of the training. He tossed her a stake, which she caught and stuck in her belt. Reckon they’ll be attacking any minute now.

I’m using the sword, she shot back.

Don’t like the idea of my girl being under-armed, is all, he replied, sugary innocence almost dripping her in her mind.

She snorted aloud. “You’re a pig, Spike.”

“Don’t you know it, baby.”

“They’re right behind us, aren’t they?”

“Yep.”

Grimly, Buffy dove to the ground. A vampire leapt over her. Drawing her sword, she jumped up and slashed at another one. Spike was swinging his axe in a wide arc, decapitating two at once.

Her eyes narrowed. Oh, no you don’t. There was no way his body—or dust—count was going to be higher than hers. She’d never hear the end of it.

She leapt up and dealt a back kick to one vampire while her sword sliced the head off of another. Grinning at the subsequent cloud of dust, she grabbed her stake from her pocket and sent it through the chest of the one she’d kicked.

Two down, eighteen to go.

The fight was long, but not particularly difficult. Either Angelus was getting sloppy or he wasn’t trying to kill them, because when the last vampire settled around them in a cloud of dust, both Buffy and Spike were barely breathing hard.

“So…he’s at the mansion, right?” Buffy asked calmly, resheathing her sword.

“Far as I can tell, yeah. His aura’s getting stronger every minute.”

Buffy pouted. “Lucky you, getting to feel auras and stuff.”

“You could too, if you weren’t lazy,” he teased.

She smiled—but again, it was a strained smile. In the back of both their minds was the image of Giles’s finger, and the worry that they were going to be too late.

Almost instinctively, they moved closer together. Buffy had to fight the shivers that always began when he was so close. It was probably wrong on several different levels to turn into a total slut when they were headed into mortal danger, but…if the Powers wanted her to be all good and focused and whatnot, then they should have given her a less hot slay-buddy!

Slay-buddy. God, she knew that she was cracking when she started coming up with funky phrases like that.

When Spike reached out to catch her hand, Buffy reached out and eagerly tangled her fingers with his. He sent her an amused look—one that was quelled when she said, It’s just nice to have something to hold on to, you know?

I know.

They were silent for the rest of the walk. Both felt a kind of deep sense of panic as they neared the mansion. They’d slain hundreds of vampires each, but Angelus was a new breed. The others had killed to live, but Angelus lived to kill.

It scared them both.

When the mansion came into view, Spike gave Buffy’s hand a last squeeze before releasing her. When she threw him a questioning look he explained, “Can’t have us distracted, luv. If the poofter’s gonna throw any more of his minions at us, it’ll be here.”

“Oh, right,” the other Slayer said quickly. “I knew that.”

The corner of Spike’s mouth quirked upwards in an almost-smile. “’course you did, luv,” he drawled.

“I did!” Buffy insisted.

“Sh.” Spike abruptly flung out a hand. Buffy grew silent and listened carefully. Footsteps?

Comin’ from the left side ‘f the house. Bet they’re waitin’ for us to get a little closer b’fore they jump us.

Dorks, Buffy grumbled. Okay, let’s go right. At Spike’s questioning look she added, There’s a side entrance.

And you know this…how?

Believe me when I say you don’t want to know.

Right, then. Let’s go.

They crept across the lawn and over to the right side of the house. About twenty feet in, there was a very small door. Crouching down, Buffy grasped the knob, praying that it would turn.

It did. They slipped inside and found themselves in a narrow hallway. Both their Slayer senses instantly went crazy, screaming vampire! in a thousand different directions. Buffy found herself shuddering under the weight of it. How are we supposed to find Angelus in all this?

Concentrate. The word echoed in her brain as though Spike had somehow penetrated more of her mind than usual…and why why why were naughty thoughts coming up at that image? Gah!

Spike, apparently unaware of her sudden turmoil, continued, Angelus is so strong that he’ll have a unique signature. Concentrate an’ you oughta be able to find it.

Buffy screwed her eyes shut. Dammit. Concentration had never been her strong point…she just plain wasn’t smart enough for it. Why did she get the feeling Spike had been the kind of kid who’d rather read a book than go outside and play?

Wait. Stop. Concentrate. Angelus was here somewhere…and he had Jenny…was, in fact, threatening her…

That did the trick. Buffy felt her senses sharpen, homing in on a presence she now felt acutely. It was pain, it was malignance, it was evil—and it was hers.

Remember, she said to Spike. No matter how bad I look, no matter how much it looks like I’m losing, get them out. Okay? I need to know that you won’t try to help me.

She could feel his reluctance, his mistrust of her ability to fight off a creature sure as Angelus. But in the end he sighed almost inaudibly. Right then, pet. Let’s take this bastard down.

~*~

A/N: I suck. Suck suck suckity suck suck. That’s my way of saying that my muse or my brain or whatever helps me write fics has completely abandoned me with this one. Don’t worry, it’ll come back…eventually. Hopefully the four days I’m about to spend in IL will help…and I promise to have an update when I get back =) Thanks for all the support I’ve been getting!

Angelus was holding court in the largest room in the mansion—a room that she rather thought would be a ballroom were it not covered in random articles of clothing and red splotches that she knew were blood. Luckily, the room lacked minions. Angelus must have anticipated the two Slayers and sent the lesser vampires away. It was Angelus’s style, she knew; he would want to toy with them himself, with no lackeys interrupting his fun.

Please let us be in time.

Spike dropped behind her, and she knew without even having to reach out to him that he planned to go back, wend his way through the halls, and sneak in behind Angelus to get Jenny and Giles.

For there they both were, amidst copious blood spatters. They were both tied to chairs and were looking so haggard that Buffy’s heart clenched just seeing them. But they were alive—that much luck had been with them.

Angelus himself was sitting in a chair that could only be called a throne. Buffy felt almost physically sick when she saw that he dandled Dru on his knee. Like she’s a doll or something…Even worse was the knowledge that it had been Dru who made him lose his soul.

Not that she had proof, or anything—but who else would it be?

Angelus spotted her as soon as she stepped into the light. His face, so smooth and deceptive, split into a wide grin.

“I was wondering when you’d come, lover.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Lover? Okay, not only was he a gross serial killer, but he was crazy. “Kissing you isn’t the same as sleeping with you,” she pointed out coldly. “And as a general rule, lovers don’t kidnap each other’s Watchers.”

“You never kidnapped my Watcher,” Angelus said in false innocence.

Dru clapped her hands and cried out in seeming pain.

“Daddy! The tin soldiers have come to take Mummy’s toys away!”

“So I noticed,” Angelus said, keeping his eyes on Buffy. “Now, is that polite, Buff? Stealing my girl’s fun.”

“You left a finger on my porch,” she snapped, allowing her anger to show. “I’m sending you to hell.”

She threw a stake at him. It whirled through the air, its speed making it sound out a thin, clear note in the silence. Less than a second after she threw it, Angelus reached out and caught it about two feet from his chest.

“That was rude,” he said chidingly. “I was gonna tie you up and torture you, but I might have to kill you and just settle for making your boyfriend bleed. Damn, I hate it when things don’t work out the way I want them to…”

“You really like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” Buffy said, not really expecting an answer.

Angelus’ face darkened; Drusilla piped up and said, “Enough talk. Daddy, the stars told me to melt the tin soldiers down.”

“And melt them we will,” Angelus said cheerfully. He hopped off his throne; Buffy’s eyes darted to behind him. She had to fight from sighing in relief when she saw Spike standing in the shadows.

No matter what happened now, he would get them out.

“No offense, but generally we humans don’t take kindly to melting,” Buffy said cheerfully. “I mean, our skin burns, and then there’s pain, and it’s all a world of bad from there.”

“Pain? Well, I don’t want to cause you that!” Angelus grinned as his face shifted and the demon came to the fore. “Oh, wait—I do.”

“Not loving the corny villain jokes,” Buffy said impassively, keeping determined eyes on Angelus’ face even as Spike crept up to Giles’s chair and began to untie him.

“But they’re so much fun to make,” Angelus said plaintively. “You’re not having fun?”

Buffy sneered at him. “Come on, Angel. I know you’re not that bright, but even you ought to be able to figure this one out.”

“Hmm.” His body went almost unnaturally still, and Buffy stiffened. What was he planning?

Buffy, watch out!

The warning came less than a second too late. Angelus whipped out a gun and shot straight at her heart—Buffy darted to the side and felt pain tear into her shoulder, the tissue ripping apart in an explosion of pain as she fell to the floor. “Shit,” she hissed.

Buffy! Buffy, pet, just hold still and I’ll--

NO. She gritted her teeth against the pain. Not now, Spike! Not ever, actually, if you keep it up. We’re gonna get through this. But you have to get them out. I told you I’d create a diversion, didn’t I?

And getting shot was part of your plan? Behind Angelus, Spike glared at her. You’re bloody insane, did you know?

Duh. She grimaced at him, and grimaced again when Angelus laughed, thinking she was afraid. Now get them the hell out of here, would you? This whole stalling thing isn’t exactly working out!

Right. He finished pulling the ropes off of Giles and started on Jenny’s. Bastard, tying ‘em ‘round their vitals—I can’t cut ‘em off.

Well, hurry up with the untying. Pain is definitely a factor here.

“Are you drifting off on me?” Angelus asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Hunh? Uh, no. No drifting off here.” She smiled brilliantly at him, gritting her teeth. She didn’t think a single bullet wound would kill a Slayer, but she honestly didn’t want to find out.

“That’s good,” Angelus said, and he viciously backhanded her.

She flew across the room, slamming against the stone wall and falling to the floor.

Okay. Ow.

Pain was spreading all over her, radiating out in all directions and she knew she should get up and fight but she just hurt so much and all over that when her legs screamed at her to move she lay inert on the floor and waited for Angelus to strike again. She knew he would, just like she knew that Jenny would be so disappointed in her, failing when she didn’t even really have to win, just stall him and run away.

This, then, was what failure felt like. Cold. Cold and alone and…ending.

“Buffy, what the fuck are you doing?”

She cracked an eyelid open. Huh. That was definitely not Angelus speaking to her…

“Spike?” She’d meant to sound strong and Slayer-ey, but it came out as a whisper. Damn. And there was so much blood all around her…

“Buffy, get up.” She’d never really heard him sound like before. He sounded more panicked and more desperate than he had since she’d met him. And okay, that had only been a few days ago, but she still almost smiled to hear the concern in his voice.

The almost-smile turned into a grimace. “Spike, get out of here,” she whispered, every word bringing shooting pain to her chest. “Angelus, he’s going to—“

“Dru’s holdin’ him,” Spike said grimly. “She’s babblin’ about her dolls.”

“That’s nice, Mom,” Buffy said faintly. “What’s for dinner?”

Spike stared at his fellow Slayer for a moment, appalled, before doing the only logical thing in that situation: he hoisted her over his shoulder. Buffy was just lucid enough to think oh no, not again before he simply carried her straight out of the mansion.

Jenny and Giles were waiting for them outside; thankfully, they could both still stand.

“She’s hurt,” was Spike’s curt explanation for carrying Buffy like a trophy earned in wartime. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“Is she going to be okay?” Jenny asked, rushing towards the girl. “Buffy, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been stupid enough to get kidnapped—“

“She can’t really hear you,” Spike informed the woman, his voice harsh with anger. “She’s delusional.”

“Hey!” The girl in question pinched him—he barely refrained from yelping. “No, I’m not!”

“Well, you’re sick,” he told her bluntly, “An’ your not gettin’ out ‘f that.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, wrinkling that cute little nose at him, “Because I’m not sick, I got shot, dummy. Now take me home.”

Jenny screamed. “She got shot?”

“Later,” he snapped in what he hoped was a compelling voice. “Right now, we’ve got one pretty pissed off master vampire who may or may not decide to come out and make us his nighttime snack, so we need to get the hell out of hear, got me?”

Jenny hesitated, then nodded. Good; the whole Slayer bit was still comin’ through. The Watchers, for all that they were older and maybe wiser than he was, were acknowledging that he knew better than they did.

“Let’s move, then.”

He rocked her in his arms, gently, pressing his hand against her wound as tightly as he could to stop the bleeding. He could feel the wound trying to knit itself together, and he winced when he realized that her Slayer powers were healing what shouldn’t be healed till they got the bullet out.

“Hold on, luv,” he whispered. Her eyelids flickered, but her eyes stayed closed.

“This is gonna hurt plenty more b’fore we’re through.”

~*~

~*~

She was swimming.

Except, she was relatively certain that she wasn’t in a pool, not unless they’d started making multicolor pools that whirled and tilted like an amusement park ride. Somehow, Buffy doubted it.

Wherever it was, she thought, it was definitely pretty.

Slowly the colors began to take shape, becoming swirling nebulas and vague shapes. Buffy watched them, only half-interested but unable to look away; she didn’t seem to have eyes.

Some where in the back of her mind, she noted that she really ought to feel alarmed…but somehow, she simply couldn’t muster the energy.

It was when the shapes suddenly took human form that she (metaphorically) sat up and started paying attention.

She was in her bedroom, with its annoyingly pink and frilly décor, and Spike was sitting on her bed. Wait, no. Spike was lying on her bed, and she was standing in front of him, wearing a nightie—which was interesting, because she didn’t actually own a nightie. All her pajamas were flannel. She really didn’t want to think of how badly her mom would freak out if she found out that her daughter was buying slinky satin nightwear. Or slinky silk nightwear. Or slinky anything, actually.

But apparently her mom didn’t exist in this dream, because she found herself looking Spike up and down and saying in a sultry (sultry?!) voice, “Well, well, well. Did you get lost looking for the guest room?”

He smirked back at her. Well, of course he was smirking. Buffy was relatively certain she was having the girly equivalent of a wet dream; there was probably some sort of law that said he had to smirk in a dream like this.

“Think ‘m exactly where I’m s’posed to be,” he said, his accent much lower and gravelly than she’d ever heard it before.

“Is that so?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “I haven’t known you very long, Spike.”

“An’ I barely know you,” he acknowledged with a sexy smile.

“So…wanna have sex?” Buffy asked hopefully. It was her dream, after all; what harm could come of it?

Dream-Spike looked startled, which she definitely hadn’t expected, but a minute later his surprise melted into another heart-thumping smirk. “Sure.”

Silence. Buffy fidgeted where she was standing, and Spike sat on her bed, eyeing her speculatively. Finally, Buffy said, “Um. I’m really not in the mood.” She was surprised to find that her voice was back to normal, no longer disturbingly porn star like.

Spike cocked his head at her. “C’mere.”

She obeyed, taking baby steps till she stood in front of him.

His hands came up to rest on her hips; she resisted the urge to jump. Was it possible for hands to burn holes in fabric? It felt like his just had. “Spike—“

“Shh.” One of his hands moved to her back, gently caressing. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, pet.”

“I—I know,” Buffy whispered, “but…” She hung her head.

Scared, luv? Hadn’t pegged you for that type.

Anger rushed through her, and suddenly she found herself meeting his eyes fiercely. “I am not afraid,” she hissed furiously.

His lips quirked in a mocking smile. “Yeah? Prove it.”

So she did. One second she was standing in front of him—the next, she’d practically tackled him, sealing his lips to hers in an aggressive kiss. She was going to wake up in the morning hurting all over, and there was still the whole Angelus thing to deal with. Right now, she wanted to enjoy her dream.

The kiss soon turned urgent; clothing seemed to melt away and then there was just skin against skin. Spike’s fingers trailed across her hip and in between her legs, and she felt her own fingers wrap themselves around him like a vise. He hissed—but not, her dream-self knew, in pain.

Writhing, gasping, fingers sliding over silk, cloth, and finally skin; it all melted together in the infuriating way that dreams have. Buffy heard herself gasping, felt her body convulse just as Spike’s did the same—and then, as their lips met in another kiss, everything began to fade away.

Buffy turned over in her sleep, smiling.

Downstairs on the couch, Spike woke up, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Bloody hell, he’d shot off in his sleep…abso-fucking-lutely humiliating, even if that particular dream had been more than a little pleasant. Gritting his teeth, he sat up and grabbed some tissue to clean the mess up.

~*~

“I was this close! And that nasty, sanctimonious little bitch stole it from me!”

Drusilla watched Angelus rant with her head cocked. She could see the feelings swirling about in his head—so many colors, like bits of a rainbow.

“Daddy isn’t happy?” It hurt her in a way that she didn’t understand, seeing her Angel’s face so very black. Black like night, she thought, humming to herself. Black like night without the glitter of the stars…

When he hit her, when he abused her body and brought the stars into her skin, burning and singing, pain and pleasure, agony and tears and dirt, dirt scrubbed into her skin—when he bruised her and hurt her and brought her closer to the stars, Drusilla laughed.

Sunshine’s going to come. Sunshine will come and burn us down, and we shall die laughing at the cinders.

When Angelus came, rubbing his hands in the blood that streaked Drusilla’s stomach, the vampire beneath him was laughing.

~*~

Spike damn near fell over in the chair he sat in when Buffy walked into the kitchen next morning. How was it that she made even flannel pajamas look sexy?

“Feeling better?” he asked, eyeing her as though he was checking for injuries. Fuck, those curves…

“Um,” Buffy said. “I guess so. What happened?”

“You went carrot-top and Jenny pulled some stunt with a crystal. Then we put you in bed, an’ that was that.”

Spike was fighting hard to ignore his dream. It wasn’t real. She’s fucking injured, an’ you’re getting hard over a dream!

Wonderful. That was all he could think. He knew that judging how she looked based on a dream was beyond stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. The girl was gorgeous.

“Oh. Um…that’s good.”

Spike was watching her closely, so he saw her blush. So, ‘m not the only one gettin’ all hot an’ bothered…

Buffy blinked and looked directly in his eyes. WHAT did you just say?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. “Uh…nothing,” he said quickly, hoping to distract her by speaking aloud.

“I am in no way distracted, mister,” Buffy said sternly, folding her arms. “Would you like to tell me what exactly you just said?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied defensively. “Not my fault you were pokin’ in my head.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not my fault you look funny,” Buffy said huffily. “I was worried.”

“You’re the one who was all delirious yesterday!”

“And you’re the one who’s thinking about sex when I’m in flannel!” The second the words left her mouth, Buffy squeaked and clapped a hand over the offending opening.

Some part of Spike, the wicked bit that he was pretty sure was going to hell, smirked at her. “But it’s sexy flannel,” he all but purred, raking his eyes over her again for effect.

She fixed him with a stern look. “There’s a knife less than two feet away from me,” she informed him flatly. “A Slaying knife with a wicked sharp point. And I have really good aim.”

He just smirked at her, unable to resist baiting her just a little bit more. “But wouldn’t you rather I stuck somethin’ in you?”

Even after Buffy soaked him with her glass of lemonade, Spike was laughing.

~*~

A/N: I molested the italics in this chapter. Sorry.

~*~


“So,” Buffy said, sitting down on the couch.

Spike arched an eyebrow at her. “So?”

“We need to get a plan together to kill Angel—I mean, Angelus,” Buffy said, wincing at her mistake. The last thing she needed was to start thinking about how Angel had been before he’d lost his soul again.

“So we put a stake through his heart.” He shrugged. “End of story.”

“Do you honestly think it’s that easy?” Buffy asked impatiently.

“’ve been training for almost a decade,” he said, plopping down on the couch next to her. Buffy immediately looked away. It was completely and totally unfair that someone so sexy and so…well, sexy, was sitting on her couch and she wasn’t allowed to do anything about it.

And it was even worse, she thought at her face reddened and she felt his mind brush against hers, that she wasn’t even allowed to think about it without him finding out.

“Naughty thoughts, pet?” he asked, leering at her.

“No!” she all but yelped. “I—I mean…okay, so you’ve been training since you were ten, but you’ve never staked anyone like Angelus before, have you?”

Spike tilted his head thoughtfully and sucked his cheeks in. Buffy fought not to stare.

Hell with it. Her eyes flew to his face and traces the line of his cheekbone. God, it was so sharp, and she wanted nothing more than to trail her tongue down it and to his mouth…

Go ahead, then.

She jumped. “Hunh?”

Spike smirked at her. “’f you keep sendin’ thoughts like that to me, we’re never gonna get anything done.”

She could’ve done several things at that moment. She could have blushed and steered the conversation back to Angelus; she could have fervently denied that her thoughts had been anything but G-rated; she could even have knocked him out and dragged him back to Sunnydale Motel. But when she twisted over to his side of the couch and straddled him, feeling his erection beneath her, she knew she’d made the right choice.

Angelus was probably going to try to end the world, and their Watchers were both still injured, and then there was that annoying destiny thing—but right now all Buffy could think about was how much she wanted to kiss Spike.

So she did.

It was hot, and messy, and a little confusing, since she’d jumped on his lap and started kissing him in about a second. Spike’s mouth had been open when she brought her lips to his, so there was also some confusing tongue action going on…

But then he moved, placing his hands on her hips and holding her firmly, and his mouth began to move against hers, and it might have been messy but at that moment it was perfect.

“Mmm,” she murmured, slipping her hands under his t-shirt, “I think we should do this all day.”

“Can’t. We’ve got—work to do.” But even as he said it, his hands were hiking her top up and cupping her breasts.

“Work later,” she murmured, leaning into his touch. “Right now…play.”

She wasn’t actually being irresponsible. Not at all. Throwing herself at Spike wasn’t immature or bad in the least. It was fun. Lots and lots of fun.

Buffy moaned, partly in response to his fingers and partly because she felt herself going all melt-ey because of something that had nothing to do with the way he was touching her.

When they kissed again, it was with renewed determination on her part. The dream she’d had last night meant nothing. Not to her and not to him. The fact that they had a psychic connection, that he was more in tune with her than anyone else had ever been—that didn’t mean anything, either. He made her feel good, and that was the end of it.

But when they broke apart for air she buried her face in his neck, not wanting him to see just how much he was affecting her. I didn’t want to go out with Angel back when he was all non-evil, but the second Spike comes along, I get all horizontal with him. Wonderful. Why did she feel like such a slut?

Spike’s hands stilled the second he felt her stiffen. “Buffy, pet? ‘s something wrong?”

“It’s just—“ she sighed. “Never mind, I’m being stupid. What were you going to say about Angelus?”

He arched his eyebrow at her; she was still straddling his lap. Blushing, Buffy swung her leg back over and sat beside him. When he put an arm around her, though, she didn’t resist.

“I don’t know much about him. I mean, I know the basics—mass murdered, really damn old, hooked up with a whore for most of his unlife—but I don’t know much ‘bout him. Fighting styles, attitude, favorite bloody color, whatever. That’s your territory.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “So you want Angelus lessons?”

He scowled. “I s’pose so.”

“Right, then.” She drew up her knees and cuddled closer to her fellow Slayer. “So, you know he’s really big—and not like that,” she added severely. “God, you’re such a pervert. He uses size to his advantage—like, he literally throws his weight around. So I guess that’s a point in our favor…”

~*~

By the time Buffy had finished analyzing Angel’s strengths and weaknesses and comparing them to his own, Spike was feeling sorry that he’d ever asked. On the surface, the chit didn’t appear to be that smart—but he’d be buggered if he’d ever met a girl who was quite that thorough when she set her mind to something.

Made him wonder what she’d be like in other areas of study…

That, mate, he told himself firmly, is just perverted. Perverted an’ wrong an’ bloody stupid. You really wanna get mixed up with a girl whose expiration mark is stamped on her forehead, just like yours? Kind of luck you have, you end up gettin’ her killed even sooner.

But that was just the thing. When he was around her, he felt safer than he ever had before. He felt like a pouf, admitting that he wanted to feel safe…but he did. He liked knowing that someone was capable of watching his back.

Plus, he thought, grinning as he dodged another of her punches, he never had to hold back with her. That was fun.

When she’d kissed him in the living room—well, she’d pulled away, and he’d let her. Only a wanker would’ve tried to keep her there. But he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to stop. He’d known the girl less than a week, but she was already under his skin. He’d been in her head, had felt her thoughts and emotions; in many ways, they were closer than couples who’d been together for months or even years.

When she feinted to the left and succeeded in knocking him to the floor, he laughed. And when she straddled him and announced triumphantly, “Gotcha!” he merely held her closer.

“That you do, pet. That you do.”

It was only late that night, as he drifted off to sleep with the image of Buffy’s laughing face before him, that he realized: Fuck it all to a thong-wearing rabbit's hell. I’m falling in love with her.

~*~

A/N: YES, there was a lag in updates. And if you're still sticking with this fic then you pretty much kick ass. Thank you. *hugs readers*

~*~

Ah, FUCK! Buffy!

Wincing, not just at the pain she felt shooting through her but at the disturbingly pornographic images that flitted through her head with that particular exclamation, Buffy said, “What’d you do?”

“Stubbed m’ sodding toe,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Why do they keep statues on the floor, anyway?”

Buffy glanced at the statue in question. “It’s made of cast iron,” she said cheerfully. “If it fell of the table then it would crush every bone in your foot like a pasty bony beetle.”

“What a simile.” He placed a hand on his chest dramatically. “Be still, my heart. She’s just as talented as Keats himself.”

“Har-dee-har-har,” Buffy said sarcastically. “Okay, so how are we supposed to get rid of Angelus?”

“I still stand by the staking idea,” Spike said flippantly. “Give the git a splinter, he goes poof. Nice, simple, easy.”

“No,” Buffy said firmly. “That is not the way to go. We need a spell.”

“Hence the reason we’re in a magic shop,” the other Slayer muttered dryly, plopping down at a table conveniently located next to the book shelves.

She quelled him with a dark look, taking the seat opposite his. “We need a spell,” she repeated, “Which is why we’re waiting for Willow.”

“Thought you said the redhead was a sub par witch at best,” he complained. “What the hell is she gonna know ‘bout fixing evil vamps? We oughta be asking the Watchers.”

“Oh, right.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “That would go over really well. ‘Hey, Jenny, you know that uber-evil vampire that almost killed you? Yeah, well, we’re gonna try to make him good again instead of doing our sacred duty and just killing the guy. We thought you’d understand. Wanna help?’”

“Overdosing a tad on the sarcasm, luv,” Spike informed her. “’m not saying we ought to run to the Watchers immediately—well, fine, I was, but I don’t really think that’s the answer. Just don’t like our options, is all.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “But it’s all we have.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

“So,” Buffy said, breaking the companionable quiet. “Think Willow’s ever gonna show?”

“Red doesn’t seem like the type to break an ‘pointment…”

“Did you just call my best friend ‘Red’?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s disrespectful, you know. She could come in here and curse your ass off.”

“Right. Because you’re the paragon of respect, talkin’ about girls messing with my arse—“

“Who’s messing with your butt?”

Both blondes jumped when the origin of their argument breezed into the room. “Er—no one,” Buffy said quickly. “There’s no butt-message. Of any kind.”

“A ‘butt message’, Summers?” Spike quirked an eyebrow at her. “Your butt’s been talkin’ to you lately?”

“You’re a perv,” Buffy informed him flatly.

“Uh, guys? Not that the gutter isn’t a, a nice place to be and all…but don’t we have to find a spell to keep Angel from killing everybody and a-attacking innocent pets and stuff?”

“Pets?” Spike looked cute when he was confused, Buffy decided.

Although, come to think of it, she was confused, too. “Wait. Willow, did something happen to your goldfish?”

“Um…” Willow stalled.

“Willow!”

“Yes!” She cringed. “They’re kinda…dead now.”

“Bastard,” she cursed under her breath. “Look, Wills, we need to get Angel back to happy fluffy soul-having land, and we need it now. Do you know of a spell that will—“

“Ooh! The curse!” Willow was all but hopping on the balls of her feet. “I can just…re-curse him. He lost it with a moment of happiness, right?”

“Yep. From what I know, it was a ‘Wham, bam, thank you ma’m’ kind of thing,” Buffy said, her nose wrinkled with distaste.

“How’d the bird get him to sleep with her in the first place, d’you know?”

Spike didn’t miss the guilty glance the two girls shared. “Right. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Last year, Angel and I had…a thing,” Buffy said, cringing.

“A thing,” Spike repeated. He tried to feel for her with his mind, but she had firmly closed her emotions from him. “What sort of thing, exactly?”

“I-it wasn’t Buffy’s fault!” Willow hastened to assure him. “When she moved here—“

“I was new,” Buffy cut in, “And Angel was all handsome and mysterious—“

“But then Drusilla showed up, and she found out that he was all fangy and stuff—“

“And he told me that we could never do anything because he was in love with me and meant to be with me but if he slept with me than he’d lose his soul—“

“That’s a lot of ‘with you’s” Spike said, carefully arranging his expression to something that resembled blankness more than insane jealous rage. “So, ‘m guessing that somehow Drusilla made him think he was screwing you?”

“Oh, ew.” Buffy suddenly looked sick to her stomach. “So did not need that thought.”

“So Drusilla mindfucks Peaches,” Spike said, affecting a bored drawl, “An’ now we’ve got an insane master vampire who wants all of our arses nice and dead, am I right?”

“Pretty much.”

Willow looked rueful. “Does anyone else miss the carefree frolicking on the beach, back when all we had to deal with was tests? I do.”

The Slayers exchanged a glance. That was something that, no matter how long they were friends, the others would never understand. Neither Spike nor Buffy had ever had a normal teenage life; for them, frolicking on the beach was as much a myth as vampires were for most people.

Willow being Willow, she caught on right away. “Oh. Oops. Um…awkward. So! Who’s up for research?”

“Research. Research is good. How are we gonna break this thing?” Buffy asked, standing up and heading for one of the many bookshelves.

“Well, I figured we’d just redo the curse,” Willow said, looking relieved that her subject change was being gone along with. “You know—put his soul back in.”

“Is that possible?”

Willow drew a sheet of paper out of her backpack. “Well, Jenny thinks it is. She reworked the spell.”

Buffy snatched the piece of paper from Willow’s hand. The curse was in Latin, and definitely not anything approaching readable. “This makes no sense,” she said bluntly.

“Turn it over,” Willow suggested. “There’s a shopping list on the back.”

Buffy obeyed and saw, in Willow’s neat handwriting, a list of ingredients. Some were simple, like rosemary; others, like—Buffy wrinkled her nose—skin of rat would probably be harder to find.

“Some of this stuff is just downright gross,” Buffy informed her friend.

“But hey, once we’re done—boom! Good Angel will be back.”

He’d better be. Spike’s voice sounded loud in her head, almost making her drop the paper. Else, my plan’s gonna have to be put into action.

We’re not going to kill him, Buffy said firmly, So stop that.

Sorry, pet, but he just ‘bout killed our Watchers. I’m not gonna say I wouldn’t be glad to end him.

Buffy raised her eyes and met Spike’s. “I know,” she said, looking at him. “But if there’s a way to keep him alive—Spike, I can’t even count the number of lives he’s saved over the years. He’s worth saving.” Please, she added silently, letting him see some of the desperation and anger that consumed her.

She wasn’t terribly attached to Angel, not really…but damned if she wasn’t pissed with Drusilla for taking him from her.

He held her gaze for a moment before standing up. “Right, then,” he said determinedly. “Let’s get all these ingredients together, yeah?”

Thank you.

~*~

“Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte. Nici mort, nici al fiintei... Lasa orbita sa fie vasul care-i va transporta, sufletul la el.”

Sparks danced around the now-glowing orb. Buffy and Spike exchanged a nervous glance from their places next to Willow on the library floor; aside from the very definite creepy factor of the magic, nothing really seemed to be happening. Giles and Jenny had told them that the power flowing through Willow would be very obvious, but aside from the glowing and the sparks, nothing really seemed to be happening.

After a few minutes Willow said, “Guys? I’m, uh, really not getting anything here.”

Buffy sighed. “Maybe we should’ve had Jenny here with us…”

“No, pet. We talked ‘bout it, remember? The Watchers are our weak spot, and Angelus knows it.”

“Well, apparently that’s not our only weak spot,” Buffy shot back. “The spell didn’t work!”

“Guys! Don’t worry about it, okay?” Willow looked at the two Slayers anxiously. “I—I can find a way to make it work.”

“Got any ideas ‘bout why it didn’t work?” Spike asked shrewdly.

“Um…” Willow bit her lip. “No. Not really.”

“Right, then.” Spike stood up and drew a stake from his duster. “Let’s go hunting, then.”

“Spike, no!” Buffy jumped up hastily. “We have to try again, maybe we missed something—“

“We didn’t miss a damned thing!” he barked. “You’re so fucking hung up on the fact that it’s your precious Angel that you can’t see the big picture. He’s a vampire, Blondie, and you know what we’re supposed to do with them!”

His voice was so angry, so derisive, that instead of ripping him a new one like she’d planned Buffy found herself standing utterly still, staring at him like he was one of those weird armless statues in a museum.

“Spike…” Her voice was small and weak and she hated it but God, what was she supposed to do? He’d completely closed off their connection again, but the anger in his face was enough to make her worry.

“Don’t even start.” Disgust radiated from him. “Every second that bastard is walking is another second an innocent person’s life is in danger. But you don’t see that, do you? All you’re worried about is Angel-love being able to fit into an ashtray!”

Before she had a chance to respond—or burst into tears, she honestly wasn’t sure which would happen first—he left, duster swirling, the perfect picture of righteous indignation.

She was going to chase after him, but Willow laid a hand on her arm. “I—I think he wants to be left alone,” she said quietly.

“Left alone, my ass,” she bit off. “He’s going to find Angel and try to kill him.”

“Not that I’m not supporting you one hundred percent, but…is that such a bad thing? He—he did try to kill Jenny and Giles.”

Buffy stared at Willow disbelievingly. “Are you kidding? Angel is two hundred years old, Will! He’ll squish Spike like a bug! He’ll chop off Spike’s finger and leave it for me to find like he did with Giles! If Spike goes off to fight Angel, he will die!”

Willow’s eyes were wide at the shrill edge of hysteria that had entered Buffy’s voice. “B-but how can you be sure?”

“Three Slayers, Willow,” Buffy said wearily. “Angel’s killed three Slayers. And that’s just from the female side.”

Silence reigned in the library for a moment before Willow let go of Buffy’s arm. Panic that matched her best friend’s had entered her eyes. “Go! Go now!”

Buffy didn’t need to be told twice. She sprinted for the door, hoping that she’d be able to catch up with Spike before he made the biggest—and the last—mistake of his life.

~*~

A/N: I completely made up the Angel figure. For all I know, he’s only killed one. I’m too lazy to do the research. =P But I figure from the line in FFL about Spike being “one of us” that he’s offed at least one, maybe more.

~*~

“Spike!” She’d been running for almost five minutes—Spike may have been going to the mansion, but he was deliberately taking a long, winding route through Sunnydale’s numerous alleys, trying to throw her off, tire her out.

The problem was that if she was tiring, then he undoubtedly was, too; and he showed no signs of stopping to rest before he took on Angelus.

She’d slipped up back there and she knew it. Showing her terror for Angel so openly, refusing to call him Angelus—because she’d shut off her emotions, Spike couldn’t possibly tell that she felt anything even resembling sympathetic towards the vampire.

Well, that wasn’t precisely true. She cared about him; how could she not? But far more important to her was her friend’s and her own well being. Spike, for all his academic knowledge, couldn’t possibly understand the fear that went through her when she so much as considered the idea that Angel was gone forever and Angelus had taken his place.

He didn’t even stop when she called him. Buffy gritted her teeth in annoyance and increased her speed, determined to catch up.

“Spike,” she panted, drawing level with him. “Spike, stop!”

“Why should I?” His face was grim. Shit.

She screwed up her face, bracing herself for what she was about to do—and punched through the mental barriers he’d erected between them. Because if you don’t I’ll jump on you, we’ll both fall in the mud, and then your coat will be ruined.

He stopped dead at that. His face was still dead serious, but she felt the flicker of anger-tinged indigation.

Low blow, pet.

The name, coupled with the fact that his voice rang clear and intimate in her mind, made her smile. Whatever. Can we please go home? We’ll call Jenny and Giles and have a research session, figure out how to kill Angelus without dying ourselves.

D’you really think that’s going to work? That we’ll find the magic spell or whatever the bloody hell is gonna let us get out ‘f this alive? He looked towards the mansion, and Buffy decided right then that she did not like it when he looked all creepy and broody.

I don’t know, she replied honestly. But I do know that if you charge in there, you’ll kill yourself.

He snorted. Big loss.

For about the millionth time since she’d met him, Buffy snapped. Big loss? The second day I met you I was ready to lose my virginity to you! Does that not make you cling to life even the tiniest bit?

She realized her mistake the second the words left her mouth—and so did he. He looked her up and down very deliberately before smiling in that devious way of his. Y’know, it really does. He sighed out loud, digging his hands into the pockets of his duster. “You’ve convinced me, Blondie. Let’s haul arse back to the library. Giles got a job there, he’ll let us in.”

Relieved, Buffy turned around with him. “You know, I’m not sure we’re even allowed there. It’s a school day.”

Spike took out a stake from his pocket and began tossing it from hand to hand. “And?”

“We’re suspended.” God, he was so socially retarded in some ways. “We shouldn’t be on school grounds.”

“So?” Spike shrugged carelessly before whirling around and throwing the stake.

Buffy didn’t even have time to yell at him. The sharp wood lodged itself in the eye of a scaly green dog-looking demon less than twenty feet away.

Impassive, Spike turned back around and headed for the school.

Her voice was shaking and she didn’t even care when she said, “Spike? What was that?”

“C’tarra demon,” he replied, not bothering to look at her. “Deadly poisonous. Nasty little bugger.”

“Not the stupid demon, I couldn’t care less what it’s called,” Buffy said, irritated. “What I meant was, what’s up with the—“ She imitated his throwing motion.

He shrugged. “Been training for almost a decade. It oughta be good for something by now.”

She wanted to hit him. She really, really did. How could he possibly be so casual about that?

“Okay, you do realize that a demon like that would have given me the serious wiggins?”

His eyes were cold and distant when he looked at her. “’m two years older than you. Give me credit for some experience, yeah?”

And just like that, she knew what was wrong. Thank God for mysterious psychic connections.

She placed a hand on his arm. It wasn’t enough and they both knew it as soon as the spark from the touch rushed through them.

“Please.” It was a whisper, but coming from him she knew that he might as well have gotten down on his knees and begged.

It didn’t feel like a concession at all when she went on tiptoe and kissed him.

At first it was as soft as her touch on his arm—a meeting of lips, nothing more. But then he gripped her arm much more tightly than she was holding him, and her arms went round him and her hands locked behind his neck, and suddenly the kiss was deep and hard and she just plain couldn’t get enough of it.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for breath, Buffy slid her hands down to his front to grip his leather jacket. She was careful to look him in the eye, their faces so close together that their noses were actually touching. “If he’d killed you,” she whispered, panting in between words, “I—I would’ve died.”

His eyes filled with tears. Real, honest-to-God tears. The past few days had been more stressful than either of them wanted to admit. “Fuck,” he muttered, the words an angry hiss. “I wasn’t gonna die, luv.”

“But you might have,” she insisted. “And then where would we be?”

His mouth twisted wryly. “Well, I’d be dead.”

She wasn’t sure whether he was serious or not, but right then she didn’t care. They were walking away from a death trap; that was all that mattered. “You are such a dumbass,” she informed him. “I really should have pushed you into the mud.”

He actually growled. And here she’d thought that only vampires could do that. “If you’d ruined m’ coat, you wouldn’tve needed Angelus to kill you.”

“That’s not funny,” Buffy announced, linking her arm with his. “But I’ll forgive you. If I’d pushed you over then I wouldn’t have been able to kiss you, so it’s all good.”

“You wouldn’t kiss me ‘f I was muddy?” he asked, wounded.

“Um, no. Seriously, could there be anything grosser? I like you all nice and non-muddy, thanks.”

“So it was self-serving. I get it.” He made as if to turn around. “Best go try to defeat Angelus, then. Reckon ‘d be able to stake him b’fore one of his minions killed me.”

“Nu-uh.” Buffy shook her head resolutely. “We are going to go to the library and Giles and Willow are going to help us figure out a way to end him, once and for all. Sometimes a little brain with your brawn can be a good thing, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He had the grace to at least look a little shamed. “C’mon, pet. The sooner we kill this rotter, the sooner I can relieve you ‘f that precious virginity of yours.”

~*~