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Author's Chapter Notes:
I love you! to everyone who had been leaving reviews. Cordykitten has my special thanks for her fab support and encouragement. You rock! -huggles-
In her dreams, she was alone again. Well, alone but for the blurred figures of her tormentors. She growled, baring her fangs in warning, struggling in her chains when they only laughed. Angelus stepped closer, and though she couldn’t see his face, she knew it was him.

Suddenly he was there, slamming her back into the wall so hard that her vision clouded and a dull roaring sounded in her ears. When she regained full awareness, it was a sharp stab of pure panic that made her thrash wildly. She could feel him, hard thighs crushing hers as he rammed into her with brutal force, his cock tearing her tender skin as his hands squeezed tighter and tighter on her wrists…

With a sharp gasp, she shot up in bed, frantically trying to free her hands. A loud rip shook the nightmare’s last hold on her away, and she looked down to see the torn sheets lying around her, tangled from where she’d obviously been squirming in her sleep. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep, unnecessary breath, trying to calm herself.

Feeling more in control, Buffy stretched, wincing as the muscles only now fully healed gave her a resentful twinge of pain. Grimacing at her lack of fitness, she hopped out of bed, rolling her shoulders experimentally as she rifled through the closet. It was early morning, the sky still dark, though it didn’t bother her as she wandered towards the door to the training room she’d seen briefly yesterday.

Pushing open the door, she stopped short at what she saw before grinning. Though other, much more fun, apparatus called to her, she headed for a punching bag; stripping down to the sport’s bra she’d been brought she began a series of gentle stretches to warm up her muscles.

When she felt suitably limber, she moved to stand facing the bag, falling into a fighting stance with a familiarity that made her smile wistfully. For a moment she was still, before one fist lashed out with deadly precision. The bag dutifully swung away, only to be pounded by her other fist on its return.

And so it went, her cold body warming as the work-out continued, though she didn’t sweat. She started out slowly, using only her arms to alternate between blocks and strikes. After a few minutes the remaining tension in her muscles began to drain as the familiar patterns came back to her, her body remembering even though her mind was unsure.

About half an hour after starting her training, she began to include kicks and more complicated footwork, the silence of the morning only broken by her grunts and the thud of her flesh on the bag. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice Wood slip quietly into the room, watching her with expert eyes.

Picking up the pace, she began to circle the bag, her movements so quick they seemed almost to blur into one fluid dance. Step, block, step, strike, kick, retreat… The rhythm came easily now, her weight shifting with perfect timing as she closed her eyes in preparation for the finale. As the bag swung towards her, she flipped backwards, her hands lightly touching the floor as her weakened muscles protested. Her legs struck outwards to propel her over, smacking into the bag and ripping it from its wire as she landed.

Applause drew her from her peaceful satisfaction and she spun, dropping into a practiced crouch before relaxing as she saw the Watcher. In silence their gazes met and he offered her the hilt of a light foil, a dull practice sword. Swinging it experimentally, she shrugged and retreated to the centre of the room, hesitating for a minute before holding the ‘en guarde’ position.

Wood smiled to himself. Spike rarely fenced, as he preferred hand-to-hand combat, getting up close and personal with his enemy. It was a chance for him to both test her skills and to give himself a workout too. Crossing blades with her in the cheesy, time-honoured movie tradition, he worked his sword against hers and spoke over the screech of angry metal.

“Begin.”

Instantly he lunged, half of him ready to pull back and the other half ready to sweep her head from her neck should she try to harm him. She parried, giving him a narrow-eyed smile that momentarily chilled his blood. Then he rallied himself, beginning the dance as silver flashed between them like live snakes seeking the perfect moment to bite.

Buffy didn’t let it show, but she was hard-pushed to keep up with him. Wood was obviously a master and she was tired from her earlier exertions. Only her superior strength and honed instincts were keeping her from losing. Feeling herself flagging, she skipped back, intending to give herself a moment’s rest.

Seeing his chance, Wood darted forwards just as Buffy lifted her foot to step back into the fray. His heavier body crashed into hers, the point of his sword scoring her ribs as she twisted with vampiric agility, turning hers away. They toppled to the floor, his tall frame crushing hers as she groaned, feeling the sting of the cut on her side.

Buffy looked up into glittering eyes, seeing the flash of white against brown as he grinned at her. Smiling weakly in response, she braced her palms against his chest and pushed, only to find that her arms had given up and she felt as weak as a kitten again. About to speak, she blinked in shock as Wood suddenly vanished from her sight, to be replaced with an angrily scowling Slayer as he took in her limp, exhausted state.

“Um, oops?”

Spike rolled his eyes, his hand gentle as he pulled her to her feet. She swayed, leaning against him for support. Their eyes met, and he felt his mouth grow dry as her eyes darkened to stormy jade. He almost groaned as her pink tongue swept out to moisten her lips, bending to do the job for her, his arms twining around her waist as her hands buried themselves in his soft hair, their lips getting closer and closer…

“Ahem.”

Wood’s subtle-as-a-sledgehammer cough made the couple jump. Spike flushed guiltily as he remembered Cecily, stepping quickly away from the blonde vampiress, who bit her lip to stop herself reaching for him again. The Watcher smirked, leaving the room with a last warning glance at his Slayer. Buffy spoke without looking away from the floor, which was suddenly fascinating.

“I’m gonna… shower… go. Yeah, bye!” She darted out the door, leaving the Slayer to adjust his aching erection, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. Oh yeah, he knew who he’d be dreaming about tonight.





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