Author's Chapter Notes:
Hey every one of you lovely people still following this story, i know it's been a while. Sorry it took me so long, but now i give you chapter 16. I hope you enjoy! The next chapter should be up sometime within the next two weeks!
"Spike, you don't have to walk me back."

They were meandering down the street in front of Leonard's, in the middle of town. The sidewalks were empty and the moonlight shone bright in the partially clouded sky. It was only by her companion's insistence that she wasn't alone, walking with headphones in back to Grams' place.

Spike had refused to let her go home by herself. After he'd first offered and she had told him it wasn't necessary (though she did crave his company), he said he didn't want her to go alone.

"Like I said, pidge, s'not safe at night."

That brought out another smile from Buffy. "Spike, this is MayBell, for one. And two, I've walked home alone at night before. And look," she stopped and gestured to herself, "still here."

His eyes swept over her like a fluttering fan of heat, lingering on her torso which adorned an open jacket. That shirt she had on was definitely not one of her sweaters, and while a part of him missed the big oversized things for some inane reason, Spike was also very pleased by the alternative. This blouse clung to her body and showed her beautiful shape, small breasts that pressed enticingly against the fabric, buttons taught. His mouth watered.

"Yeah," Spike said, "An that's the way I'd like to keep you, pet. Still here."

He reached out and took her hand, leading the way; and smiling when she squeezed his fingers in hers.

"No hatchet-y murder-y guy is gonna come and steal me, Spike," she said.

"Let's hope not. I'd have to go hatchet-y murder-y myself, then." His voice was light, laced with tease as he repeated her term, though something in the message itself offered a strange kind of seriousness.

Buffy scowled without heat. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Never," he said with mock sincerity, as he fought back a grin.

She pressed her lips together and glanced his way, feeling a lightness in her steps even as her feet ached with every one.

"So, when'd you get the job?"

"Oh," she looked at the ground, taking in the night sounds and breathing deeply. After being inside with greasy food smells all day, it was very nice to have some fresh air. "Today. It was time I got one, just to save up some money."

He looked down at her. "Thought you had money."

"Left over. But it won't last forever, and I've waitressed before." She shrugged. "It's not much, but I don't need much."

"Can't be easy either," he said, tilting his head in that Spike way and frowning in concern.

"It's okay." She turned to him as they walked, and with a voice approaching optimism said, "My boss is really nice. And Harriet, another waitress who works there, she showed me the ropes today. She's really sweet. They like that I'm quick. It wasn't very hard to get the hang of things."

Spike nodded, giving her a considering look. "I know how you hate crowds, love; much like m'self. It's not buggin you havin to deal with the customers all day?"

"Oh, I didn't say that." She glanced up at him. "My head pounds unless I'm holding a coffeepot and my cheeks hurt from smiling just about as much as my feet do, I have to carry heavy trays all day, and the people are pretty talkative..." she sighed, "but it's not so bad at times. I kinda... like it, just a little. Not really the social aspects but it isn't as hard as I thought it'd be... to concentrate. Ya know?"

"Not really, love," he said with a small grin. "I've never been a waitress before."

Buffy watched their feet stepping in sync. "Bet you'd look cute in an apron."

"Ha!" He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "Not as cute as you do, kitten."

She blushed. She turned positively pink, and couldn't resist leaning up to kiss him on one perfectly defined cheek.

Spike pulled her closer as they walked, grinning like a schoolboy. They headed through town, going past dark homes until finally coming to the street where only a few residences sat widely separated, and just one house whose windows weren't dark.

"Grams is still up, as usual." Buffy puffed out a short laugh. "She'll be wondering what I was doing all day."

"You gonna tell her you started waitressin, petal?"

Buffy illustrated an entertained smile at the nickname she found so cheesy cute and abundantly corny that only Spike could pull it off without making her gag, and she replied kindly. "Yeah. She was the one who mentioned it, actually. And while I don't think she meant for me to get one RIGHT away, I'm sure she'll get over the surprise quickly enough."

"You don't think she expected you to get one now, huh?"

"Nope," Buffy shook her head. "I think she only mentioned it because she wants me to get out more. She knows how... antisocial I can be."

Spike was charmed by the way that nose of hers twitched sometimes when she talked, and he smiled with his next question. "You tell her about me?"

Buffy's face became slightly guarded as Spike raised an unthreatening eyebrow at her. She hadn't said anything to Grams. She didn't really want to, afraid of sharing details about Spike and then getting teased or questioned like crazy.

However, Grams hadn't brought up the subject since she'd asked who had told Buffy the story about punching some guy named Arnie in the face. "Not really..."

He frowned. "Why not? Afraid she'll ask me over for supper an I'll embarrass you?" It was said in jest; truthfully, he wasn't worried much over the fact that Buffy was keeping him a secret from her grandmother. Which is why he was surprised when she turned on him with a defensive look.

"No. I-I just..." she stumbled over her tongue, looking down before frowning up at him again. "This is really... new, Spike. I don't want to have to deal with a bunch of questions. Grams is great but... I'm still-"

"Her granddaughter." Spike nodded considerately, reaching up to tuck a strand of blonde behind her ear. "I know, Buffy. She'd be curious and probly nosy. S'only natural, bein your Grams an all. She cares 'bout you."

Buffy nodded, looking at him with apology in her eyes. She wasn't sure why she felt guilty. She wasn't ashamed of him or anything like that, it just wasn't time yet. She wasn't even sure if they were dating or not. She didn't know much about his family, or how old he was, what his job was- She only knew Spike, but not a whole lot of details.

"Who cares about you?" she suddenly asked, her voice soft.

"What?" He gave her a blank look.

"You." Buffy's brow furrowed before she continued. "I'm nineteen, and Grams is the only person I've got left. I have money because of a fire that stole my life away, and I waitress at a tiny diner in a tiny town with no more than a thousand residents. Probably less, I never looked at the population count on that Welcome sign on the bus ride in. But... this is my life. My only real family is in this town." She bit her lip and fumbled a little, fingering her bag's strap which wrapped around her torso. "Where's your family, Spike?"

The question threw him. His body tensed and his face turned to expressionless stone. He didn't want to talk about this, never did, and spent a hell of a lot of his time trying not to think about the past. It bit at him. And if he was going to tell her anything at all about it, he'd have to lie or seriously cut out details. The prospect did not sit well.

"Gone," was his only answer. He hoped she wouldn't press any further.

But the sudden distance in his eyes and the bleakness Buffy saw there alarmed her greatly. She had never quite seen this look on him before, only a similar grief once when she'd caught him reading over a piece of paper long ago, at their library.

She took an experimental step closer and was emboldened when he didn't protest or move away. "How old are you, Spike?"

It felt weird asking that question, he knew her age but she'd never gotten to ask his. It was one of those simple things people should know about each other, especially ones who were close. And they were close. Spike even got a sudden bit of surprise in his eyes, as if he too thought the same thing, right before all emotion was cut off again. She hated that look on him, was used to it on herself.

She touched his arm, silently urging him to give her an answer.

"I was um..." Spike laughed a little unexpectedly, a self depreciating sound. "Well, in human years m'about ten years older than yourself, pet."

Ten years. Wasn't that sort of much? Buffy didn't particularly think so, and idly wondered why so many people believed age gaps mattered all the time. "Well," she started. "you said you lived alone. How long have you been that way?"

"What way?" he asked irritably.

"Alone," Buffy pressed. She'd be as gentle as she could approaching this, she didn't want to hurt him, and obviously digging up the past was going to be painful. But he'd listened to her, and she wanted to make sure Spike knew she would do the same for him. She wanted to help. And she really wanted him to trust her. Like she trusted him.

A trust she was starting to believe in. It would have to go both ways, though. For his sake.

He didn't answer her, and Buffy felt cruel for even asking or using the word 'alone'. She pushed her feelings down as far as they would go and took one of Spike's hands. His skin was cold.

"It's okay," she said. "You don't have to... I just want you to know that I'll listen, okay? Remember when you said that thing to me?"

He swallowed, his eyes hard and the colors in them unbending. "What thing?"

She smiled, trying to coax a little emotion out of him. "About not having to be alone? Not if I didn't want."

He grumbled quietly and scoffed. "Took you a bloody while to accept it."

"Oh I still haven't. Not really, anyhow." Buffy leaned up to kiss the corner of his frozen mouth. "But I'm getting there."

Desperate wonder stormed his eyes in an instant. He stared at her for no more than three seconds before grabbing her around the waist, and hauling her close. He kissed her immediately, parting her lips with his tongue and tasting her warmth. Spike held on almost too tightly but Buffy took the embrace as what it was. His way of grasping for what she was offering, a need to have faith in her, just as she'd needed to have faith in him. Doubt and fear laced the kiss, along with a pleading wish to trust.

Spike claimed her fiercely, his mouth ravenous and heat spreading throughout his limbs. His head was empty and his nerves singed, but his heart clung onto the warmth Buffy kindled. Warmth he craved from her. The fire she fed. The peace she offered. God, nothing more than WANTING to trust her, to believe she would always be there as he would for her, could feel this powerful. Nothing would make him desire this frantically and heavily. She didn't know what he WAS, he wanted to tell her everything and never talk of anything. The creature lying beneath his skin wouldn't allow either.

Only when his mother had gotten sick and he'd blamed everything on himself, and thought of what could have been avoided if fate had been changed; only when he felt the acute pain of the loss of his family- Only then, when truest agony entered his world had Spike EVER wished for his humanity back. Wished he was fangless, mortal.

He'd never again, in a million years apologize for what he was; he refused to, knowledge and time having brought reality into his brain and fought down guilt. He was a vampire, he'd always loved it, and only once in a blue moon had wished not to be it. And only because of what might have gone differently for his loved ones. Or perhaps, he could have avoided the loneliness immortality served. But never again. He'd promised himself long ago not to feel guilty for loving what he was, even if he did drink bagged blood.

But in this moment, as he pressed Buffy harder against him and held on tight, kissing her for all and more of what he was worth, a part of him wanted to be human. So he wouldn't lose her.

He tore his mouth away. NO. If he'd been human he would have died, and never met her. His girl would be without anyone to cry in front of, she'd be hurting, and he wouldn't know her.

He wouldn't be here.

"Spike," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her lips brushed his in invitation and Spike consumed her whole again, his tongue thrusting possessively into her sweet mouth. He wasn't going to lose her. In that instant Spike refused to believe it. She was too good, too powerful to him, and she was his and would remain that way. He'd do whatever possible and a part of him, somewhere deeply seamed within the demon and the heart, believed she wouldn't run from who he was.

Not his Buffy.

All he needed was time.

She moaned and pressed closer to him, shuddering when both of his palms ran across her back and under her jacket. She could barely breathe and idly considered giving up the habit all together if it meant she could have more of this. Longer. With no breaks in between.

Her arms tightened when she felt his hand roam down and squeeze, grinding her intimately against the apex of his thighs. Buffy gasped, the hard length of-

Her arms hugged him unmercifully and she whimpered, sensation lancing through her so fast that she felt herself shaking.

Spike hissed in pain.

Buffy abruptly pulled away, her breaths trembling and her cheeks flushed with heat. "W-What is it?"

Spike put a hand to his ribcage and his face creased in discomfort. "Nothin just, uh... bruised a couple a ribs the other night, is all."

Buffy gasped. "That's all?!" she shouted. Right away she reached for his coat and pushed it aside, attempting to slide the hem of his T-shirt up. "How did you bruise your ribs?" she asked, concern etching every feature on her glowing face.

Spike let her reveal his discolored torso, being careful to make sure she didn't go high enough to notice the knife wound. It was only a scar now but he still didn't need her worrying about that. "I uh, tripped down the stairs. Bloody clumsy move. Just 'bout healed up now, though."

Her fingers ran delicately over his skin, so light he could barely feel it. Little tingles of heat spiraled delicately through him like magic, Buffy's fingers gliding as her eyes scanned searchingly. There was so much sweet distress on her face Spike wanted to kiss her again.

"You fell down the stairs?" There was no accusation or dubiousness in her voice, and considering she didn't know who he was in history, he wasn't surprised. If she was aware of his vampire makeup she'd be giving him a third degree by now.

"Yeah," he studied her fretful, downturned face. No one worried over him. He hadn't had anyone, let alone a woman, to show the concern that Buffy was showing right now. It made his chest tighten. "I'll be okay, Buffy."

Her eyes snapped up to his for the first time since she'd gotten a look at his bruises. She looked slightly embarrassed, right along with determined and troubled. "Did you go to a doctor?"

He frowned. "Well... no. They're just bruised, s'nothin a doc can do anyhow."

She scowled and brushed her fingertips against one of the bruises again. "What if they're broken, you could puncture a lung or something."

"They're not broken, Buffy."

Her forehead creased with lines of disapproval, and just when he thought she might argue again, instead she said, "Well you should at least wrap them or something."

He smirked. "I've been in worse shape than this before, kitten. I heal quick an you don' wrap somethin that isn't broken."

That frown of hers was so cute Spike had to bend to kiss her right over the lines denting her forehead. "The bruisin will be gone soon, love." That was true, he'd probably be completely healed in a day or two. Of course, he couldn't quite tell her that.

She let his shirt fall back into place and kissed him chastely on the mouth. "Okay," Buffy murmured. "But no falling down steps anymore," she ordered.

Spike chuckled. "Not plannin on it, Goldilocks," he replied, and then kissed her again.

They stayed that way, in the sweet embrace for a few minutes, before Buffy pulled back reluctantly for air. As Spike watched her breathing against his chest, his useless lungs sucked in air he didn't need but sought all the same. The human and the vampire, a novel and surreal thought, even worse when it was true. She was so alive, almost too much, Spike thought. Because every time he was around her, he soaked up the sensation and swore his heart might be beating for her.

His human heartbeat, a small girl filled with life and a whole lot of grief to match. Spike absently traced a thumb over a dark circle beneath one of her eyes, and he felt pure concern flow through him. With a little niggle at the back of his mind urging him to ask, Spike said, "Have you been sleepin well, Buffy?"

She looked up dazedly, and then bit her lip when her brain sorted out his words. Should she tell him about the nightmares... she didn't want him worrying. There wasn't anything he could really do about them.

She settled for something close to the truth. "Yes... and no. Sometimes I get crappy dreams but, they're just dreams, right? They'll pass."

He frowned at her offhanded answer that clashed directly with the way she averted her eyes, and the way she shrugged. A movement which was supposed to be casual but ended up cramped and awkward. He touched her chin, encouraging her to face him. "Sometimes?"

She could lie to him, but he'd probably just see straight through it anyway. Shit. "Okay," she relented. "Often. Almost every night... but it's not like they'll never go away." She smiled positively, trying to make the worry on his face disappear. "It's no big deal."

"If you can't get sleep it's a big deal," he claimed.

"I can get sleep. I get plenty of sleep." She turned around and started for her house, absentmindedly shaking off the chill that fell on her when their contact broke. "As a matter of fact it's probably a good thing I get the nightmares, otherwise I'd never get out of bed," she joked.

It didn't fool him. Spike was at her heels and he was concerned. Deeply. Which bothered him, especially considering he couldn't do anything about bloody dreams. The unease wouldn't lessen. "How long have you had them, Buffy?"

She shrugged casually again. "Since the fire."

He halted abruptly. "You've had nightmares every night... for months."

"Not every night," She said, then sighed loudly and turned towards him, a weary look coming over her features. "Spike look, I can't do anything about them, okay. And I don't want to medicate. So stop looking at me like I'm some charity case, they'll..." Buffy waved a careless hand and looked at the ground. "They'll go away in time."

Spike agreed, but it didn't mean he had to like it. And it didn't mean he couldn't try to help her.

She didn't back away when he approached, and she let him wrap her in a hug. A tight, warm embrace that she allowed herself to burrow into. Tears stung slightly behind her closed eyelids, but there was no reason to cry and she didn't want to. She just wanted to be comforted, without water works or sniffles.

"You know," Spike murmured, "you can talk to me about them if you want, love. I won't turn you away."

She nodded against him, and that was all the response he needed. When the light in the living room of Buffy's house went off, it spurred her attention to the fact that she should probably get inside. She didn't want Grams going to bed without knowing she was home.

She stepped out of his arms, sighing silently. With a gentle smile at Spike, she said, "I guess I should get inside. We've been standing out her for awhile now."

That brought a sinful smirk to his lips. "We've been a bit busy."

Buffy blushed, remembering the kisses and forcing her heartbeat back to normal, even when Spike's grin widened, almost as if he'd heard it.

He leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers in a soft but sensual contact, pulling away before they both could let it deepen. "Goodnight, Goldilocks."

"Goodnight, Spike." Buffy turned again and started up the stairs to the house, pausing at the screen door when her guy called her name.

"Be sure to call if... well, for any bloody reason, really," he said. His smile was warm, endearing to her, and all tenderness and boyish welcome.

"I will," she said with a grin of her own.

"Even if you don' have a reason, love," he added. "M'always home and- Oh, balls." He stopped suddenly and sighed. Loudly. The man's head leaned back and he groaned at the sky.

"What is it?" Buffy asked.

"I've got some friends stayin with me..." Spike wiped a hand over his face. "A couple of which I believe you've already met."

"Oh." She thought of the two men at the diner, Blake and Dylan. Were those Spike's only visiting friends? She wondered if he would revoke his invitation now. A cold disappointment touched her; and she wondered if he'd do it because of his friends being a possible embarrassment, or HER.

Buffy's question was answered the next moment, though, when Spike gave her an apologetic look and said, "If you come by, kitten, your company's much appreciated. Probly the only thing that'll keep me from blowin my own head off over there. But I warn you, m'friends are... well, they're ridiculous an very well might irritate the hell out a you."

She made a small sound of amusement. "Seems like you have a very high opinion of these guys, Spike."

"No," he said, ignoring her sarcasm. "I actually bloody do, they're good blokes, just..."

"Embarrassing?" she ventured, grinning and laughing when Spike groaned again.

"Yeah, that's the best word to describe it, I s'pose."

She nodded. "Well thanks for the warning, I'll keep it in mind." She opened the screen door and then the next, about to step inside when she turned back to him and added, "But it's not gonna scare me away, Spike."

He grinned. "Knew it wouldn't, love."

><

The smoke was black, she couldn't find her way, could barely see. A long hallway with no end, numerous doors that wouldn't open on each side. The sounds of pleas for help echoing in her ears, pleas she heard at night but had never actually known. Turmoil engulfed her and sickness planted itself in her gut.

Her feet frantically moved over a hot floor, the air was too thick and she felt like she was suffocating but she couldn't collapse. She wasn't breathing but her body kept fighting, and yet, the pain didn't stop. Like drowning with no end. The hallway was infinite, as were the screams in the darkness.

Her hands grabbed frantically at doorknobs as she ran to the people calling for help. Each one was locked, nothing would budge. Her shoulders ached from trying to bang into unyielding doors, because she swore someone was crying and screaming behind each one.

Tears spilled from her eyes and she burned her fingers when she touched a scalding door handle. This was the one. Her mother's pleading voice begged from the other side. Buffy heard her.

"Mom! Mom, it's okay! I'm here!" she screamed against hot wood, throwing herself into the door even as her shoulders screamed their own soundless misery. Buffy rattled the doorknob until it threatened to break off, begged for it to turn and open, no matter that she knew flames would be roaring on the other side. She just had to get in.

Her mother's tears were in her mouth, the smell of smoke surrounding her, her vision a blur. She couldn't see a thing. She had no idea where Papa was, all she knew was that her mom was here. She had to help her now, then she could go and-

The door disappeared.

"Mom!" Her desperate shriek was met with sudden silence, then she was falling. Buffy's throat hurt but no sound came out. An endless pull of gravity, unforgiving, the floor unseen.

An orange and red glow came into sight amidst the ever thickening smoke, and she realized flames were her awaiting ground. Her cheeks singed from the fire's heat, her lungs gave out and a stabbing pain engulfed her chest; all the while she fell.

She woke up on the floor, gasping for air that felt foreign. She sucked in breath after shaky breath and her limbs quivered. It wasn't real.

Her mind rolled in on itself, remembering every minute detail. She still couldn't breathe right. Her eyes were spilling over, salt was in her mouth.

"Shh," the sound whispered in her ear with urgency. Buffy flinched as arms surrounded her, a comforting cold embrace she knew. She shook beneath the large form of a man, and he murmured to her in a voice all too familiar.

"Shh, it's alright. You're alright Buffy, it was only a dream." Spike held her closer. His unbeating heart breaking as he watched her crying, thrown out of her nightmare and onto the floor.

Buffy didn't fight him, she couldn't even if she wanted to. In the aftermath of these nightmares she was often an incoherent mess. The crying lasted until her head cleared enough for her to understand the world again, and right now she was only aware of Spike. He was there. She could lean on him.

It would be okay.

He managed to arrange her on his lap, and he leaned against the wall hoping her grandmother wouldn't hear anything and come in. He held Buffy with a protective concern the likes of which millions would envy. Anyone who could see the way he clutched her then, knew; one arm around her back while a hand cradled her head against his shoulder. He murmured to her in soothing tones, shushing and leaving kisses in her hair and on her forehead.

She just wouldn't stop shaking. It was almost worse than the tears. She was literally trembling and Spike felt near helpless. He just had to give her time to calm down, and be thankful that her breathing had evened out now.

Bad dreams she had told him. No big deal, they didn't come every night.

Bollocks.

After leaving earlier he'd decided to do a patrol, look to see if Flora was around, and then come back to Buffy's and watch over her while she slept. Just for a little while, until morn.

He hadn't even thought about his plan, it felt like instinct. Without second guessing himself and refusing to go back to his place and deal with a million questions, Spike hadn't even decided to go back to Buffy. He simply did. It wasn't a choice but an occurrence.

Approaching her open window at the sound of her whimpering was a kind of fear Spike hadn't experienced before. He couldn't see what was causing her distress until he'd reached the windowsill, and then he'd paused for a mere second in shock before lunging inside her room just as she'd hit the floor.

He was torn between relief that it was only a nightmare and not something physical which had harmed her, and then grief over that same fact. Her heart was breaking every time she had these dreams and God only knew how many times she'd fallen out of bloody bed during them. Tossing and turning, strangling her legs beneath quilts, sweating ice.

It was something Spike couldn't stop and therefore it was disconcerting. Buffy as the victim made it fucking terrifying.

He held her tighter. She was chilled, but warming quickly.

Her cries quieted, then silence was the only company to her breathing and silent teardrops along her cheeks. Buffy realized exactly where she was. The cool air of her bedroom, Grams' house. Spike was holding her, the smoke was gone, no smoke had ever been. No endless hallway. No screams or flames.

Her head jerked up, and green reddened eyes stared into Spike's icy blue. The look on his face was almost too much, and his gaze glistened with tears. Their foreheads touched. So close. She could feel his cool breath. He was always so cold but Buffy felt warm. It was beyond strange, and her mind didn't feel like studying the thought.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice sounded weak even to her ears, and she held back a cringe. Vulnerability and her were not good friends.

"You said you had nightmares..." was Spike's tentative answer. He let out a pointless exhale and tugged her impossibly closer. "I came back a lil while after I left, to check on you. I saw you thrashin on the bed, your window was open. Came in when you hit the floor."

Buffy's lip trembled mutinously and her heart skipped a beat. Her voice was shaky as she asked, "Why did you do that?"

The question seemed ridiculously simple to answer, but at the same time it was extremely difficult. By impulse, desire, and instinct Spike sought to prevent harm from coming to her. So, almost with offense, he answered, "I wasn't just gonna let you lie there twistin in the sheets."

Buffy swallowed. She wriggled in his grasp and sat up. "You came back just to... watch me while I slept?" She peered at him with puffy hazel eyes, questions abound in the irises that still shone with residual moisture.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Was just gonna check in on you. Didn't 'spect your window to be open, or for you to fall out of the bloody bed." Irritation grew. These dreams were a much bigger deal than Buffy had first clarified. At least to Spike they were.

She felt an argumentative stir at his reproving tone. "The nightmares are not usually this bad. And I like to sleep with the window open when it isn't too cold out."

Spike glowered at her. "You flew out of bed, Buffy."

She stiffened. "Well, take it up with my subconscious, Spike." She tried to push away from him but he held fast.

"I'm not sayin it's your fault."

"Good. Because it sure as hell isn't."

He released a mental sigh, and gave her a considering look. "Will you do me a favor?"

Buffy relaxed marginally and turned away. She didn't want to be angry or upset, and the melancholy which her nightmare had delivered set her close to tears even if she had already sobbed quite a few out. In a weary tone, she answered him. "Okay."

"Let me stay with you."

She met his eyes, a hundred questions suddenly materializing. "What? Y-You mean like here, i-in my room?"

He nodded.

Nerves bombarded her quicker than a whip. He couldn't mean... No. He wouldn't, not right now. Buffy shook her head. The mere thought was ridiculous, and she refused to acknowledge the tingle in her veins caused from where her mind had just went. "W-Why?" she stuttered.

He smiled knowingly, guessing exactly where Buffy's thoughts had ventured. As incorrect, and yet tempting at the same time, as they were, he wasn't going to move in on her. Not tonight. He just wanted to see her get some rest. "You might sleep sounder if someone's... nearby."

Was that a twinkle of amusement in his eyes? Was she blushing? Buffy swallowed. As much as she hated being vulnerable or weak, Spike's presence was comfort in the best possible package. A huge part of her rebelled against this idea, yet still, she sat there. In his arms, warm and... safe. It was so unfamiliar a feeling that she wanted to turn around and rage at the things which had stolen it away from her to begin with. The past, the dreams, the fire. But one couldn't fight a ghost of unfortunate events and memories.

Spike didn't press her for an answer, and it was over a full minute before he received a jerky nod.

Standing without putting her down, Spike ignored Buffy's halfhearted protest that she wasn't five, and carried her bridal style to the bed. Setting her on the quilts, he surreptitiously nuzzled his face into her hair too quickly for her to notice, and then pulled back. The warmth of her form beat like a drum on him. He missed holding her weight immediately once he'd released her.

Spike swiped a pillow quicker than a blink, and then one of the ten blankets from underneath her legs. Buffy just watched him, silent and confused as he sat on the floor and, with a casual drop of the pillow, straightened out. Putting one hand behind his head, he lay there. Still and on the ground as if he might just be ready to sleep, with a quilt that was too small to cover even half of him, and a squashed pillow.

Spike looked at her, and Buffy frowned. "What are you doing?"

He frowned back. "What do you mean?"

She gestured at his splayed out form and pursed her lips in annoyance. Was he supposed to sleep down there? Was she wrong to assume he'd share the bed with her? It was large enough. Well, they'd have to sleep close but still, no way was she letting him rest on the hard wooden floor of her bedroom. Especially when he was only staying here for her. "You're on the floor."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

She scowled at him. "You're not sleeping on the floor, Spike."

He sat up on one elbow. "I'll be leavin by mornin, pet. Unless, of course," he gave her a smirk that only managed to set her teeth on edge due to the fact that she felt awkward and knew she was blushing, "you don' mind your Grams findin me in here when she rises. Might scare the color back into her gray hair, whattya think?"

Ignoring that comment, she sent a glare his way and then waved her hand futilely at his resting place again. "I don't care if you are leaving soon, I don't want you sleeping on the floor!"

Spike's expression of pleasure at her flustered state changed then. He gave her an almost daring look, but it was gentler than that. He was asking a question with his eyes that underscored his vocal one. "Where should I sleep then?"

Buffy looked around the room. There was no furniture asides from one small wooden chair, her chest of drawers, and... well, not much else. She could have moved other things into her room, but the space wasn't that large and honestly, what would she need to move in? She was fine with things the way they were, and she liked the openness and the color of the wallpaper.

But there was absolutely no other place for a protective bleached Brit to sleep, and she didn't mind the thought of him sharing her bed, but she was afraid at this point that HE did.

Buffy glanced at him. "Well, um..."

*Oh, just bite the damn bullet.*

She sighed.

And bit. "We can share the bed."

His eyes snapped with amazement, but she didn't see it because she was avoiding his gaze specifically. Spike wasn't going to embarrass her any more than she already was, and though that blush was oh so pretty, he wanted Buffy to look at him again without guarded hesitance.

She felt more than heard him move, standing up and dropping the pillow back on her bed. He set the quilt down by her leg and then lifted the others, and Buffy moved without having to be asked. She snuggled beneath the blankets as he stripped off his duster and hung it on the short wooden bedpost, sliding in next to her a moment after.

Before she had a chance to mentally curse herself for mentioning the bed, or accepting his offer to stay with her until morning, he destroyed her rigid worry over how the hell she was supposed to fall asleep without touching him in this confined space. Slipping a strong arm around Buffy's waist, Spike hugged her; not too close, not too slack. "No funny business, love," he assured. "M'just gonna watch over you."

She let out a soft sigh, and relaxed in his arms. The support he offered was addicting; and as ridiculous as the notion was, she felt like bombs could be going off outside and Spike's simple presence would hold them at bay.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy inhaled his scent, something masculine and dark that she couldn't describe but knew undoubtedly that she didn't want to share. Unwittingly letting go of her worries, she burrowed into his chest and smiled thankfully when he tightened his hold.

Placing her hand on his ribcage, mistaking his shudder for a wince, she gentled her touch and said, "And you wanted to sleep on the floor with your ribs like this. Stupid Brit."

Spike worked on ignoring his rather heated reaction to her closeness, and asked. "Did you just call me a stupid Brit?"

She nodded in the affirmative, and looked up at him with a glint in her eye. He was so glad she was smiling rather than crying, and even happier that she'd let him stay. "Yep," she said.

Spike couldn't help but grin. "Get some sleep, kitten." He drew the blankets up higher.

With another nod, Buffy settled. Whenever her dreams woke her up in the middle of the night, she was always aggrieved to have to go back to bed, worried that they would start again. But now there was no fear, no worry that she would wake up gasping or crying.

She dozed off quickly, and deep sleep finally came after so long of having evaded her.

Spike didn't sleep. He didn't shut his eyes or let his gaze linger from Buffy. He watched her breathe evenly, held her warm soft weight in his grasp and mentally waged war against her nightmares. When she stirred once and a little line of distress appeared between her brows, he smoothed it with his fingertip, and murmured nonsense to her until she calmed.

It was peaceful, the rest of the hours that went by. Only when Spike sensed the oncoming threat of sunrise did he force himself to separate from her. She protested weakly in her sleep as he stretched and moved away, and it nearly undid him. There was something fundamentally right about holding her, letting Buffy sleep near him. It brought focus to some feelings he wasn't yet ready to examine, and underlined the protectiveness he already felt towards her.

After he slipped on his coat, Spike bent to leave a kiss on her lips. It was light, but he felt the smallest of pressures from her, as if she'd sensed the action in her sleep, and returned it.

He inhaled her scent, listening to the comforting sound of a human heartbeat he didn't like to think of ever stopping.

Pulling away reluctantly, he whispered, "Sweet dreams, Buffy."

With a heavy heart, the vampire left, feeling bereft when the freedom to hold his girl was taken away from him.


Chapter End Notes:
Reviews are always appreciated, thanks for reading! :D
(oh, and please, tell me now. Am i overdoing the nicknames? I just love them, im sorry. *bites nails*)



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