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The next day, Tara checked out a few books from the Magic Shop library and they had what Buffy referred to as an old-fashioned research party.

They were camped in their kitchen with the brown, ceramic tiled floor, the cream walls and the bottle green cabinets. Whenever he bothered to think about it, Spike realized he hated the color scheme of that room. Luckily, that was hardly ever. They were clustered around the circular, wooden table with the books spread out like a feast. Between the three of them they'd gone through half a box of Wheetabix, four glasses of Guinness and a pint of blood. Buffy liked drinking dark beer when she was digging through arcane secrets. She'd confessed to Spike that it made her feel rebellious thinking of how Giles would react.

Tara had been poring over a particular volume for the past half hour, making interested sounds and occasionally reading passages. Buffy was also lost in her book, though her right hand was tracing absent circles on Spike's thigh. After his second beer, Spike had abandoned any attempt at scholarship and began drawing his sister's face.

“It says here, whole Viking tribes would bind their souls to promote unity in battle, of course, they didn't have to deal with the vampire emotional cheesecloth thing,” Tara said.

Spike looked up from the pad he'd been doodling on, regarding Tara with a raised eyebrow.

“Nobody has before us, though, right?” Spike asked.

“Not that I know of,” Tara said.

Buffy stretched, arching her back. Spike took in the view and held his breath before he remembered he didn't need to breathe.

“If we had access to the council archives...what about talking to Lacy and Giles?” Buffy asked.

Tara smiled at her and then fished a cracker from the Wheetabix box.

“I could,” Tara said, with a smile.

Buffy took a sip from her glass and then set it down, inadvertently leaving a touch of foam on her upper lip. Spike leaned over and kissed it off while Tara was still distracted by the information she'd found. When Tara looked up, they broke the kiss of with a soft smack.

“Hey, do that again,” Tara said.

Buffy opened her mouth to ask a question, but Spike didn't give her the chance. He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into another kiss. Spike ended the kiss, leaving Buffy with a veil of blushes over her face.

“That was the mildest blast of lovey-dovey yet and I was totally unprepared for it, too! I don't even want to give you a pedicure, Buffy. Not that I don't love you, Billy, but there are some places we shouldn't hang out together, your foot fantasies being one,” Tara said.

“Understandably,” Spike said. He had a thought that tightened the space between his eyebrows.

“Buffy, there are some ugly things up here,” Spike said, rubbing his forehead, “Are you sure you want that?”

“Yeah, I really kinda do,” Buffy said.

Buffy looked at him and when their eyes connected, they had the same thought at the same time. Spike stroked Buffy's arm and her eyelashes fluttered, a shy smile on her lips.

“O.K., I felt that one. Next time warn me,” Tara said.

**

Spike stood in the middle of a corn field, his boots sinking slightly in the dark earth, his senses attuned to the vampire Buffy was herding his way. The green stalks were tall enough to conceal him completely from his prey and the sweltering night was windless. His palms tingled with excitement as he heard the other creature pounding through the thicket of plants. The vampire was a female, freshly turned. She smelled of death. Spike realized he must smell like that, too, but he cast the brooding, useless thought aside. He didn't want to let his musing cost him the kill. Spike stuck out his left hand a second before the other vampire ran into it, throat first. She didn't have time to scream.

Spike dragged the struggling monster to his face. He turned out her pockets, tore her gold necklace off and then staked the creature. Her amber eyes struggled for understanding before they shuddered into dust. Buffy had already killed the female's companions. He checked the wallet he'd found on the vampire. It smelled of someone else's blood, and was probably taken from her kill earlier in the night. There was no identification, only a coupon for a free ice cream cone and twenty seven dollars. Spike pocketed the cash and then ditched the wallet, feeling every bit the monster as the vampire he'd just killed.

Spike heard the frantic thrum of Buffy's heart, her light, quick footfalls, and he stuck out his right hand. He caught Buffy by the arm and then yanked her close. Her stake was raised, ready for a fight until she recognized her lover's eyes. He didn't know why he risked everything so foolishly like that, why he got hard seeing her poised for the kill. All Spike knew was that she loved it too when he'd play catch while they were out on patrol, probably something to do with their demons dancing together. Buffy's mouth found his and it was almost too hot. They were all tongues and teeth; all hunger. She was pulsing and alive, impossible to contain but he was going to try with everything he had. He was going to hold her this time.

Suddenly Buffy pushed him away.

“You're it,” she said, and then took off running through the rattling corn stalks.

He immediately lost sight of her and had to go by feel, tasting her skin on the air. Spike broke out of the corn field onto the scant grass that separated it from the paved, narrow road that led out to the highway and back home. He could smell that she was close, but couldn't see her anywhere. Just then he heard the sounds of corn stalks being crushed and of a body landing with a grunt. Spike followed the sounds back into the field.

He found Buffy fighting off three vampires dressed in overalls, flannel shirts and completely sincere trucker hats. Spike ran up to the biggest one and yanked him away from his beleaguered Toy. He punched the creature in its distorted face.

“Hey man, what are you doing fighting your own kind?”

“She's my kind, moron,” Spike said, before he ripped off the other vampire's head like a champagne cork. As he watched the ashes falling into the dirt, Spike could smell Buffy's blood. It seemed to ignite a fire inside him.
He turned around set to destroy, only to find that she'd dusted the other two and was examining the contents of a wallet emblazoned with the John Deere logo.

“This weirdo clipped his own obituary. No wife, no kids. It says in life he enjoyed assembling puzzles and spending time with his cows. He's been kicking around since 1984 and all he has in his wallet is the obit and seven dollars. We need to patrol in some better neighborhoods if we're going to pay our rent next month,” Buffy said with a grin.

Spike hadn't stopped panting, he thought his silent heart was going to explode. Here he'd thought she was being drained and it was only a scrape on her elbow, she was quipping and laughing and he was about to lose his fucking mind.

He stalked toward Buffy and grabbed the sides of her face, forcing his lips onto hers. He finally let her go when he realized she couldn't breathe.

“What was that for?”

“You scared me.”

“It's just a scratch,” Buffy said, touching his cheek.

“Not to me, that smell is like, it's like you were screaming,” Spike said.

Buffy hugged him and he buried his face in her shoulder; he suddenly felt exhausted.

“Let's go home,” Buffy said.

They walked through the field hand in hand and then along the dark, silent highway. The area where they lived was so rural there were no street lights illuminating the way. Luckily the moon was bright, painting the tall grass by the blacktop in translucent shades of blue and white. The sounds of cicadas were deafening but there was something else in the humid, airless night that was not quite a scent or a sound. Something felt off to Spike. He held Buffy's clammy hand wishing that they'd taken the Citroen instead of walking.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing, just a weird feeling, you know?” Spike said.

Buffy nodded, and swung their twined fists like a hammock. They didn't speak until they were within sight of their white, two story house. It made Spike smile to see that Tara had left the porch light on.

“Which symbol do you think I should use for the tattoo? I was thinking either a pot leaf or Yosemite Sam,” Buffy said.

“Both classics. What about a star burst?”

“I'm more of a Jolly Ranchers kind of girl.”

“Cheeky.”

Buffy smiled up at him as they left the pavement and began taking squishy steps on the moist lawn. Spike couldn't help but smile back at her, even though he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

**

Wesley watched the two of them swanning about like a super-powered Hansel and Gretel; Wes was hidden by a spell designed to conceal him from even a vampire's heightened perception. Apparently it didn't quite work, Wesley thought, or Buffy's pet would not have had an inkling they were being watched. Wesley cocked the gun in his hand, wishing that he'd brought the rifle but knowing he wouldn't have had the nerve to use the weapon. This would have to be done less impersonally. Buffy deserved that, Wes thought. She was more beautiful than ever, laughing for the first time in years. The monster had done more for her than Wesley had, and it pained him. Wesley scraped at his stubbly chin with his thumb. He could do this, he would no matter what it cost, and he would do it before the witch could complete the soul binding spell. It didn't matter that he loved her.

Wesley would kill Buffy because it was his duty to save the world.





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