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It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d been searching for her. Not until he’d sprawled in her booth, emptied out all the little packets of salt, and order up a plate of spicy chicken wings. He’d been so relieved to discover that the diner actually did make them that it took a moment to realise his waitress was familiar, and that she was looking at him with an almost debilitating confusion. But then the rush of relief had him relax his shoulders and the hurt in his head shifted enough for him to finally see what Dru had claimed all along.

His head was filled with Buffy Summers. There was no denying that now, not when she stood before him dressed in an ugly little white uniform and with a vacant expression in her eyes. He couldn’t for the life of him find any evidence that she might be concealing a stake; he had to conclude that she wasn’t carrying one—her journey from her real life complete.

He’d expected some degree of snark with the taking of his order, and the disappointment when she turned her back and put it in to the short order cook was severe. He might have felt fury that she’d forgotten who he was—what he was—if he hadn’t caught her sneaking peeks at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. If he hadn’t picked up her frantic heartbeat over all the sluggish ones that fought past the grease on their plate. It was enough—he still carried enough of a rep to have her stealing glances and wondering if she was going to have to betray herself and fight…or not.

The diner was slow around him and so it was easy for Spike to engage the Slayer in an obvious staring game. He held her gaze intently, wondering if she even had a clue what he was doing here.

Not to kill her.

Not this time.

Not anytime, if how he was feeling of late could be trusted. Dru had dumped him on his ass as soon as they’d reached Brazil, flapping some twaddle about how he was all covered or some such rot, and in a fit of temper he’d driven his beauty all the way back, intent on hunting down the little destroyer of dreams and making her pay. Only now that he saw her, saw the sadness in her eyes, had his motivations been turned on a dial. It was hard to make someone pay when they’d sold their soul to Hell.

He studied her every move as the waitress, Anne, brought his order to him. She moved slowly, hesitantly, and yet displayed no real concern of the demon that was near. It was the drudgery of working on her feet all day that caused this lethargy, and Spike had never seen a sadder thing.

“Hey, Anne. Shift’s over. Why don’t you park your butt and chat up the hottie?” Malicious snickers were all too evident from the back of the diner; Spike felt himself wanting to defend her with a growl and a gnashing of teeth, but Buffy shot him a look of despair that held him quiet.

But she took the other girl’s advice and sat across from him—her wary, dull eyes never leaving his face. Spike liked that look—despite the fact that she looked half gone. There was no hate, no fury at his presence, and the acceptance made his admittedly pathetic day.

He’d figured on her jumping straight into the ‘why are you here, Spike?’ part of the conversation, so he felt all nifty that she forged ahead and saw something totally different going on in front of her.

“I so can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s good to see you, Spike.”

He grinned. It felt bloody good to see her, too, but the words stuck in his throat. Now that he’d managed to make it past the possibility of her rushing him with a stake, he was all buoyed up with enthusiasm.

“Bloody brilliant to see you too, pet. Lost some weight, I see.” And now that his tongue was loosened there was no telling what kind of train wreck he could set in motion.

She pouted at him, and Spike wondered how he’d ever missed that potentially savage hook at catching a man. She looked delightful, all put out and sullen.

“It’s rude to comment on a girl losing her puppy fat.”

Spike almost laughed out loud at how light he felt now. This strangest of meetings was just perfect for what he’d been after and he couldn’t help but lean forward, catch her hand and bring it to his lips. After the surprising spontaneous kiss, he felt like singing. She’d borne his lips on her skin and all was bleeding perfect with the world.

“’M a bad, rude man, Slayer. An’ it wasn’t puppy fat. Was very delectable curves you’ve gotten rid of. It’s a shame.” He looked at the top half he could see above the formica top of the bland white table and whistled appreciatively, relishing her surprised blush. And then finally the spicy aroma of his meal beckoned him and he let go of her hand, wishing he could hold it longer but knowing he risked all his parts if he attempted to extend the play.

He tucked in, loving the oiliness and the light tang on his tongue as he stripped the bones bare. He enjoyed the way she watched it all, his fingers at his lips, his tongue licking the grease from the corners of his mouth as he studied her all the while. It was like a silent seduction when neither party had been aware it was possible—let alone taking place.

“Sticky fingers,” she said randomly, indicating his now stained and deliciously decorated digits and for a fleeting moment he got hard at the thought of her lips around them and sucking them clean.

“Yeah,” he choked before clearing his throat and trying again for manliness everywhere. “Yeah, happens like that when you eat greasy foods.”

She never said a thing, just reached for his hands and cleaned them off with her dish towel, taking her time finger by finger like she was being careful not to break a single piece of fine china. Spike was moved, simply watching the interaction and knowing in his gut that, though he might not have known he was searching for her, he definitely knew what he’d found. And now that he had, he was desperate to not let her go.

“You got any plans for tonight?”

Buffy looked startled, then before he could move he could see her withdraw into herself.

“I don’t slay. Not anymore. Don’t make me have to fight you, Spike.” A pause. “Please?”

He blanched at the tears in her eyes and cursed himself for his lack of lead in. Should have guessed she’d be all touchy about that part of their past. He didn’t have much of a clue what had gone down after he’d legged it with Dru over his shoulder, but the world was still as he knew it, and that could only mean that she’d destroyed Angelus somehow. And good riddance to poofy-haired wankers.

“Didn’t mean that. Thought I could take you out—go to a movie…or just walk. I can do that you know. Walk, I mean. Was touch and go there for a while, but I got the kickers movin’ again. As you know.” He was babbling and that was beyond disturbing. The Big Bad didn’t babble and yet he was making a royal fool of himself in front of a chit that he had no feelings for and who was so young he should have been able to charm her out of her dodgy uniform in seconds of meeting her. If she hadn’t been the Slayer.

“What are you doing here, Spike?”

Ah, so now it came down to it.

“You gonna believe me if I tell you?” He watched as she studied him carefully, and then that tiny almost missable flicker at her mouth and the look down at the table before she admitted it.

“Probably not.” And then she looked back up and stared straight at him, almost knocking him over with the power of her loneliness. “You still wanna go to a movie? If we walk, you’ll talk, and as much as you might think that accent is irresistible, I’m not up to conversation.” Big wide open green eyes sucked him in and Spike had sudden visions of happily snogging the slayer in the theatre and waited for the bile to rise in his throat.

Snogging the Slayer was not what he’d come looking for. Not that he was drowning in affection these days, but a bloke had to be a little choosy, and as miserable as the bint looked, it wasn’t his responsibility to make her feel good about herself.

It took the feel of her warmth beside him as they left the diner and walked toward somewhere that had Spike quickly altering his perception. Who was he to knock back a quick kiss if it was on offer? And then the idea became very palatable and he thrust his hands in duster pockets before he started attempting to hold her hand or swing an arm around her shoulders.

“At the risk of boring you with the sound of my sexy accent, what the bloody hell are you doing in a dive like this?” It was conversation at best, but a start to something he suddenly didn’t want to get awkward. Spike was relieved that she didn’t go looking for a handy sliver of wood, instead continuing to walk beside him as they went looking for movies and popcorn.

“A girl has to eat, even if she’s not the Slayer.”

That made him balk. “What do you mean, not the Slayer? If you’re not, then who is?”

She seemed frighteningly apathetic when she replied, and it disturbed him more than he ever thought he could be where the Slayer was concerned.

“Oh somebody is. Someone would have replaced Kendra.” That wrought some emotion from her and Buffy struggled to hold back tears, stopping their progress to quickly search her pockets for an absent tissue. Spike had no such thing to give her but turned her toward him and used his thumb to brush away the two tears that had begun their sad little slide down her cheeks.

“None of that, luv. How ‘bout we hold off on all the potentially nasty history lessons and go have us some fun? I’d wager that’s a foreign concept to you lately.” He took heart in her grateful nod and her easy acceptance of his touch on her face, and they were off again.

The cinema came into view and Buffy pulled him to a stop before he could even check out the posters. “Did you eat someone so that we could do this?” She was so earnest he almost laughed.

“Not nice to quiz a bloke on his funds, Slayer. How ‘bout we forget all of that and just go have some good old fashioned fun, yeah? Unless you’ve got a stake shoved up your ass that prevents you from doing that?” His brow inched up in honest curiosity, wondering if this would be the proverbial straw that tripped her up and made her one with the animated crowd, because the emotion that didn’t make it to her face was disappointing him no end.

Buffy glared at him for interminable minutes before finally flouncing up to the ticket box and putting in her request. To say that Spike wasn’t surprised when she picked a mopey chick flick was putting it mildly. He rolled his eyes, paid for the tickets then wandered over to see if they sold packs of tissues.

He had the feeling it was going to be a wet night.





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